Free On The Edge by Jamie Hill Page B

devices, he didn't know.
    Roy turned to him, yelling, “There might be an easier way to get to it, but the fastest way is to take out the ceiling. It'll be messy.”
    “Do it!” Jake yelled back.
    As men moved into place and swung axes, Jake looked up at the ceiling. Sheetrock and dust poured down around them. Something white floated down the hallway. Jake caught a glimpse in his peripheral vision.
    He ran to the doorway in time to see the white filmy vision ascend the stairs. Jake was torn—he glanced back to where the men had hoisted themselves up, searching the ceiling, and decided they could manage without him.
    The train whistle sounded, almost piercing his eardrums. He raced for the stairs, took them by twos, and glanced around. He spotted one open bedroom door and decided to start there.
    At the doorway, a blast of cold air hit him in the chest. He immediately saw that the third-floor window stood open. Rushing to it, he skidded to a stop as he noticed the apparition through the window. He rubbed his eyes and looked again.
    Joss teetered on the edge of the sloped roof, three stories above the ground. She wore a billowy white nightgown that wafted around her ankles and bare feet. Her hands covered her ears.
    “Jocelyn,” he called carefully, anxious not to startle her. The concrete driveway circled in a wide span below, a long way down. If she fell, she couldn't miss it. She won't fall . He couldn't let her.
    Leaning out the window, he shouted, “Hey!” The rumbling racket of the train made normal speech impossible.
    She didn't face him. Standing on the slanted, uneven shingles of the old roof, Joss wavered. She wobbled, and his heart clutched.
    “Joss!” he yelled at the same time the house went silent.
    She whirled around, startled, and stared at him with sunken, glassy eyes. “What the—”
    “Don't move!” he called, reaching for her.
    “Jake!” She screamed, took a step, and fell.
    He lunged out of the window in a desperate grab. He made contact with a handful of soft fabric—her nightgown. Hanging on with all his strength, he inched closer as the fabric made small ripping sounds. “Joss!” He didn't recognize the voice as his own. He froze, terrified—more frightened than he'd ever been in his life.
    He couldn't see her. All he had was one handful of cotton. He reached over the windowsill, struggling to grab any body parts, an arm, a leg, anything. There was nothing.
    The gown split, making another tearing sound—a noise much worse than anything the mansion had thrown at him so far. He inhaled, focused his energy and dove forward, capturing her foot.
    “Joss!” Relief washed through him. He had her. They both might go out the window, but he would not let go.
    “What the hell?” Roy hollered from behind him, and suddenly three men filled the space of the window.
    Someone pulled Jake back into the room, while he still held her foot. Two officers lifted an unconscious Joss through the window.
    He could have wept with relief. “Joss!” He scooped her into his arms, laying her gently on the bed. “Sweetie, wake up.”
    She didn't respond.
    “Timmy, call an ambulance,” Roy ordered. “Tell them her breathing is erratic, we don't know much else.”
    Jake dropped to the bed next to her, feeling her pulse, checking her airway.
    “She's breathing on her own, that's a good thing,” Roy observed. “We'll keep her warm until the paramedics get here.”
    “Yeah,” Jake agreed, pulling the coverlet off the opposite side of the bed and throwing it over her. He stared at her for a minute, remembering how frightened and disheveled she'd looked standing on the roof.
    “What the hell was she doing?” Roy asked.
    “She's sick.” It was the only answer he could offer. The only justification he could find. The tea bags. He'd taken one to the lab yesterday. They told him it would take forty-eight hours for the results. He'd call them and put a rush on it. The goddamned Chief would call them if