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"No time," Sheila said, instantly pivoting on her heel and sprinting toward the elevators. Then, deciding she couldn't afford to wait for the elevators, she opted for the stairs instead, taking them two at a time as she raced upwards. Her legs burned with exertion, but the thought of Bailey in danger drove her forward like a relentless force.
As she reached the third floor, Sheila's heart hammered against her ribs. Rounding the corner, she spotted room 217 at the end of the hallway. The door was open just a crack, and even from a distance, she could hear muffled screams coming from inside.
Gun in hand, Sheila shoved the door open and strode inside. The hotel room looked like a war zone: furniture upturned, clothes strewn about, and a shattered lamp lying in pieces on the floor.
A young woman who could only be Bailey Jessop was backing toward the wall, a book raised in her hand like a shield. She was a mess, her hair disheveled, her clothes rumpled. Her eyes glowed with fear as Constance, knife raised, slowly advanced on her.
"Back off!" Bailey shrieked, hurling the book at Constance, who dodged it with ease. Constance's face was twisted into a snarl.
Sheila aimed her weapon at Constance. "Stay away from her!" she yelled, trying to divert Constance's attention. For a brief moment, their eyes locked. She saw the murderous intent in Constance's gaze, and it sent shivers down her spine.
Sheila's voice was firm and unwavering. "Drop the knife. Now!"
Constance's eyes flicked between Sheila and Bailey, a calculating expression crossing her face before she spun toward Sheila with surprising agility. In one fluid motion, she hurled the knife in Sheila's direction. Time seemed to slow as Sheila registered the spinning blade racing toward her, glinting menacingly in the afternoon light filtering through the window.
Instinctively, she raised her hand to deflect the incoming threat. The cold steel sliced into her flesh, pain flaring through her nerves as blood blossomed from the fresh wound. The gun slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor and bouncing beneath the bed, now out of reach.
Bailey, seizing the opportunity for escape, scrambled toward the window. Her hands shook as she fumbled with the latch, finally managing to throw it open. Desperation etched on her face, she began to climb onto the windowsill, staring down at the ground three stories below.
"Where do you think you're going?" Constance snarled, her gaze locked on Bailey. With no weapon in hand, she lunged for the cord still attached to the shattered lamp. Yanking it free, she closed the distance between her and Bailey in mere seconds.
"Watch out!" Sheila cried, but she was too late. Before Bailey could react, Constance slipped the cord around Bailey's neck, cutting off her air supply. Gasping and choking, she clawed at the makeshift noose, her face turning an alarming shade of red.
Wasting no time, Sheila charged at Constance. She launched herself, tackling Constance to the ground. The two women grappled fiercely, their bodies entwined in a desperate struggle for control.
Sheila focused on pinning Constance's arms down, using her powerful legs to hold her in place.
But Constance was strong and determined; she fought back with surprising ferocity. Sheila could feel her lungs burning, but she refused to let go. She knew Bailey's life was on the line, and failure was not an option.
"Get off me!" Constance snarled, her eyes wild with fury.
"Give it up!" Sheila shouted back, gritting her teeth as she fought to maintain her grip. "It's over!"
But even as she spoke, Constance managed to break free from Sheila's grasp. In one swift motion, she snatched a jagged piece of glass from the shattered lamp and swung it viciously at Sheila's face. Instinctively, Sheila pulled back to avoid the deadly weapon, feeling the wind from its passing just inches from her skin.
"Run, Bailey!" she cried. Taking advantage of the distraction, Bailey bolted for the door.
"Get back here!" Constance roared, abandoning her attack on Sheila to chase after Bailey, the shard of glass still clutched in her hand.
Sheila knew she couldn't let Constance reach Bailey. With a surge of determination, she launched herself after the other woman.
"Leave her alone!" Sheila said as she reached Constance and tackled her to the ground again. The two women crashed onto the floor, their struggle reigniting with renewed intensity.
Constance swung the piece of glass at Sheila's face again, but this time she was ready. She caught Constance's wrist, her fingers digging into the flesh with a fierce determination.
"Drop it!" she commanded through gritted teeth.
"Never!" Constance said, her eyes blazing with hatred. But with a twist of her wrist and a surge of strength, Sheila forced Constance to relinquish her hold on the glass. The weapon fell to the floor.
"Damn you!" Constance hissed, trying to crawl away from Sheila. But she held fast, her grip like iron around the other woman's arm. Constance reached under the bed, her fingers desperately fumbling for something, anything that might save her.
"It's over!" Sheila said again, sweat trickling down her brow as she struggled to maintain her advantage. She couldn't let this woman get away, not after everything she had done. Constance needed to face justice for her crimes.
Just then, Constance's hand emerged from beneath the bed, and Sheila's breath caught in her throat as she saw what Constance now held: the gun she had dropped earlier.
Constance pointed the barrel directly at Sheila's face. All traces of fear vanished from the murderous woman's eyes, replaced by a cold, calculating glint that sent shivers down Sheila's spine.
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
