CHAPTER 7. ALL THE WAY DOWN
“Holy cow!” I heard Gil shout as I passed over his head. His hands may have touched the soles of my boots as they flew past.
I hadn’t dropped what remained of the bookshelf plank, but I’d lost at least eight inches or so from it when I’d cracked it on the Galla’s face. With my arms pinned at my side, I didn’t have much room to repeat, but unless I could convince the demon that putting me down was wise, I was gonna need to give the thing some other incentive to drop me.
The Galla was carrying me over the length of the roof, through sheets of intensifying rain and gales of wind. From my new vantage, I could finally see the scale of the old sanatorium.
At one point, it may have been a mansion, but multiple buildings had been added over the years, growing the structure and giving it a real Frankenstein look. Roofs of different heights rose and fell across Callowleigh’s profile. The Galla looked to be carrying me back toward the main building at the center of the complex.
In my right hand, I spun the shard of wood so it was jagged edge downward. My back was smushed up against the Galla’s chest–real up close and personal. Close enough to feel it breathe, hot exhales blowing across my neck.
I twisted, trying to gain some leeway to move. I flicked rainwater from my eyes and looked down on the slate roof beneath as it picked up speed. I shifted, catching a glimpse of Gil and Jane far below me, running precariously on the peak of the roof, shadowing the Galla and it's baggage–me.
“Hold on, big man!” Gil shouted, his voice cracking like a teenager’s.
With every ounce of muscle I could manage, I leaned downward, pushing all my weight onto the wood and jamming the jagged edge straight into the demon’s leg.
The monster snorted, clacking its jaws and roaring as its wings sputtered and we lost speed. I pushed harder, twisting the wood deeper and feeling hot blood squirt over my hand. The demon’s body writhed and we lost more speed, its wings flapping with alarming irregularity. We lost altitude. Then a little more. I struggled against the Galla’s iron grip. Pushing once more, I felt its grasp loosen as one hand moved towards its bleeding thigh.
I let go of the wood and focused only on escape. I reached up, slapping at the Galla’s face as I grabbed for the bull’s throat. Dull teeth nipped at my hand. It missed a few times, but caught me at least once, tearing a chunk of skin off my hand and drawing blood. I smacked at the demon’s face and lunged once more, this time catching a twisted horn. I pulled, wrenching the bull’s neck as we skittered across the sky. With one hand already looking to remove the wood spike, the Galla released its other hand. When the second hand released me, I let go of the horn.
I fell.
We were probably only about fifteen feet above the peak of the roof when the demon dropped me. I was, however, probably about a hundred feet from the ground.
Falling, I saw Gil and Jane, wide-eyed and in shock, break stride and force themselves to a halt. On the wet slate with no traction to speak of, they slid.
I hit the roof just below the peak, and it felt like I had bellyflopped onto a frozen swimming pool. Gil, sliding crazily, was a few feet behind.
I’m not sure if it was the age of the roof or my speed or my weight, but I went through the slate tiles like they were made of construction paper. Gil followed me through the Dylan-shaped hole, arms spinning, and shrieking like a child.
I fell for a few feet before crashing through a folding table and landing unceremoniously on what looked like an old attic floor. I began raising my head, dazed and confused, when Gil landed on my back.
The old dry-rotted planking beneath me cracked and sagged downward. Gil reached out and laid a hand on the crushed table. Nothing else was within reach.
“Don’t move,” I muttered. I tasted blood in my mouth and I was pretty sure I split my lip.
“Yeah, I’m thinkin’ that’s wise,” Gil said.
Above us, I heard muted profanity accompanied by the squeaking of rubber-soled shoes. The caboose of the party.
“Oh no, no, no!” Gil said.
I closed my eyes and braced for impact. Nothing. After a long moment, I turned gingerly and glance up at the hole I’d punched through the ceiling.
The black shape of Jane dangled from the edge of the gap in the roof, rainwater trickling down on my face. She had a grasp on the slate tiles and she was trying to pull herself up and back onto the roof. I could see the side of her face, only just. Her jaw was clenched and her whole body was shaking with exertion.
“Slow,” I said. “Slow, Jane. You can do this. Just go slow. You can–”
She fell with a faint fffft as her gloved hands slid off the roof tiles.
Her body landed on top of us. The attic floor broke beneath our weight and we fell straight down.
We went through a few layers. A sub-ceiling and then a drop ceiling, maybe a thick layering of insulation. Finally we went through what felt like a few couch cushions nailed to cheap particle board. After that, we were inside a room. Unfortunately, it had a high ceiling. When we finally hit the ground, I was still on bottom.
“Good grief,” I muttered as the gang clambered slowly off my back. They climbed to their feet without any trouble, and I was jealous. My whole body was screaming.
“You all right, big man?”
“Ugh, I feel like Evil Knievel after a particularly average day.” Gil rolled me over and helped drag me back to lean against a wall. It was rather soft. After a moment, I paused, a thought dawning on me.
“Is this wall... padded?”
“Um, yeah.”
I opened my eyes but couldn’t see much. Rain was pouring through the series of holes above us and pattering to the floor beside me. I couldn’t have cared less at the moment. Above us, I could hear thunder rumble.
“Where’s the demon?” I moaned.
“After it dropped you, it continued on. I don’t anticipate its return,” Jane said, her voice cool.
I moaned. My face felt swollen. Hell, my whole body felt swollen. “Is this room...?”
“Yeah,” Gil said. “This is a sanatorium, after all.”
“It makes sense that in a facility designed for physical and psychological rehabilitation there would be at least one padded room,” Jane said.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Trying to open this door.”
“Locked?”
She sighed, sounding annoyed. “It has six deadbolts.”
“I mean, it’s a padded room,” Gil said.
I leaned back and moaned again. “Totally safe and secure. Hey, the floor’s not padded,” I muttered, as every square inch of my body served as a throbbing reminder. “Seems like a bit of an oversight. I think I’d like to lodge a complaint with the management.”