Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery - Chapter 8: Chapter 8
You are reading Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery, Chapter 8: Chapter 8. Read more chapters of Ballerina’s Flesh Gallery.
I snatched a wooden chair and pressed myself against the wall by the door, motioning for Emily to take cover behind me with the knife.
The keypad chirped, and the door groaned open inch by inch.
The second the man's head came into view, I brought the chair crashing down—right onto his skull. He twisted toward me, but his legs gave out, sending him sprawling face-first.
"Now!"
I grabbed Emily's wrist and sprinted, not wasting a second to check if he was following.
We flew up the stairs, shoved aside a rusted metal grate, and finally—light.
The basement emptied into what looked like a normal living room.
No time to process. I barreled through and yanked open the front door.
A hallway stretched ahead. I pulled Emily toward the exit, but she went rigid.
"What?"
Her whole body shook, the knife slipping from her fingers with a clatter.
I scooped it up as she whispered, "This... this is the Faculty Residence."
Ice shot through my veins. I didn't want to believe it, but I tightened my grip on her arm. "Doesn't matter. Move."
A stranger's voice sliced through the tension.
"Students? What's going on here?"
I spun to see a middle-aged man—soft around the middle, late fifties, face naggingly familiar—standing in the hallway.
Emily faltered. "Chairman Melville?"
The chairman's eyes widened at Emily's torn clothes and wild expression. "Are you hurt? Why are you—"
A muscular arm hooked around Emily's neck from behind, jerking her backward.
I whipped around. The basement guy had her in a chokehold, dragging her toward the doorway, his fingers digging into her throat.
I raised the knife, gripping it like a lifeline. "Let her go! You touch her again, I'll put this through your ribs!"
The man swayed on his feet, blood matting his hair and dripping down his shirt.
He wasn't crushing Emily's windpipe—yet—but his panicked grip was still cutting off air. His mouth curled into a sick grin as he tightened his hold, retreating. "Try it. See who bleeds out first."
Every instinct screamed to stab him, but Emily was thrashing—one wrong move and the blade would sink into her instead.
Then I remembered—the chairman.
Keeping my eyes locked on the attacker, I barked over my shoulder, "Help me! Take him down first, then call security! He's hurt—we can—"
A door slammed behind me.
Had the chairman bolted?
I risked a glance back—and my stomach dropped.
He hadn't run. He'd closed the door.
His expression turned venomous as he glared at the man. "You idiot. This time, you've ruined everything."
They... were working together?
The keypad chirped, and the door groaned open inch by inch.
The second the man's head came into view, I brought the chair crashing down—right onto his skull. He twisted toward me, but his legs gave out, sending him sprawling face-first.
"Now!"
I grabbed Emily's wrist and sprinted, not wasting a second to check if he was following.
We flew up the stairs, shoved aside a rusted metal grate, and finally—light.
The basement emptied into what looked like a normal living room.
No time to process. I barreled through and yanked open the front door.
A hallway stretched ahead. I pulled Emily toward the exit, but she went rigid.
"What?"
Her whole body shook, the knife slipping from her fingers with a clatter.
I scooped it up as she whispered, "This... this is the Faculty Residence."
Ice shot through my veins. I didn't want to believe it, but I tightened my grip on her arm. "Doesn't matter. Move."
A stranger's voice sliced through the tension.
"Students? What's going on here?"
I spun to see a middle-aged man—soft around the middle, late fifties, face naggingly familiar—standing in the hallway.
Emily faltered. "Chairman Melville?"
The chairman's eyes widened at Emily's torn clothes and wild expression. "Are you hurt? Why are you—"
A muscular arm hooked around Emily's neck from behind, jerking her backward.
I whipped around. The basement guy had her in a chokehold, dragging her toward the doorway, his fingers digging into her throat.
I raised the knife, gripping it like a lifeline. "Let her go! You touch her again, I'll put this through your ribs!"
The man swayed on his feet, blood matting his hair and dripping down his shirt.
He wasn't crushing Emily's windpipe—yet—but his panicked grip was still cutting off air. His mouth curled into a sick grin as he tightened his hold, retreating. "Try it. See who bleeds out first."
Every instinct screamed to stab him, but Emily was thrashing—one wrong move and the blade would sink into her instead.
Then I remembered—the chairman.
Keeping my eyes locked on the attacker, I barked over my shoulder, "Help me! Take him down first, then call security! He's hurt—we can—"
A door slammed behind me.
Had the chairman bolted?
I risked a glance back—and my stomach dropped.
He hadn't run. He'd closed the door.
His expression turned venomous as he glared at the man. "You idiot. This time, you've ruined everything."
They... were working together?
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