Page 22 of Silent Night

She ducked beneath his outstretched arm, feeling the whoosh of air as it narrowly missed her head. In one swift motion, she pivoted and landed a solid kick to his side, driving him back toward the cluttered shelf dominating one of the walls.

The man grunted, clearly surprised by her agility and strength. His eyes widened with shock and confusion, but the surprise quickly turned to anger. It seemed he hadn't anticipated such a challenge from her.

"Is that all you've got?" she taunted, adrenaline coursing through her veins.

Seething, the man attacked again, but this time with more caution. He circled Sheila, looking for an opportunity to strike. Sheila mirrored his movements, never taking her eyes off of him. She was waiting for the right moment to strike again.

The man lunged at her, but Sheila was ready. She dodged his blow and drove her elbow into his back. He stumbled forward, and Sheila seized the opening. She landed a quick jab to his temple, sending him reeling.

The man shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He seemed disoriented, and Sheila knew she had the upper hand. She launched herself at him, kicking him hard in the side and following it up with several jabs to the face. Despite landing these blows, however, he seemed unfazed, and Sheila felt a flicker of doubt.

He seems hardly bothered at all, she thought. Maybe I'll just have to wear him down.

Sheila's fists connected with the man's body, each blow fueled by her desperation to end this nightmare. Sweat trickled down her brow, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The man, despite his untrained movements, was proving to be a formidable opponent.

"Is that all you've got?" she panted between punches, hoping to throw him off balance.

With a snarl, the man seized Sheila by her waist, lifting her off the ground as if she weighed nothing. She felt the air rush out of her lungs as he hurled her across the room, her body slamming into the cold concrete floor and the breath rushing from her lungs.

"No!" the woman chained to the wall cried out, her voice cracking with fear.

Sheila's vision swam back into focus. Panic clawed at her chest as she tried desperately to breathe, but her lungs refused to cooperate. The massive figure approached her with slow strides, his shadow stretching ominously across the basement floor.

"Thought you were tough, huh?" he sneered. "You're just like the others, weak and pathetic."

As the man closed the distance between them, Sheila spotted a rusty pipe lying near her hand. It must have fallen from the cluttered shelves during their struggle. Gathering what little energy she had left, she wrapped her trembling fingers around the cold metal.

"Time to die," the man growled, reaching for her.

"Think again," Sheila said, swinging the pipe with all her strength. It connected with the side of his head, eliciting a satisfying thud.

The man stumbled, dazed by the unexpected blow. Seizing her opportunity, Sheila rolled onto her knees and launched herself at him. She pummeled his torso with a flurry of punches, each one fueled by the determination to save both herself and the woman still chained to the wall.

"Get...off...me!" the man roared, shoving Sheila back.

Sheila caught herself. Then, planting her foot, she jumped forward, uttering a wordless cry as she delivered one final, powerful strike to his jaw.

The man's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Sheila stood over him, chest heaving, her heart pounding in her ears.

In the sudden silence, she became aware of the sound of heavy footsteps pounding overhead. She braced herself, sweat dripping down her temple, heart hammering against her ribcage. The basement door flew open with a bang, and a shout reverberated through the space: "Police!"

A team of officers hurried down the stairs, guns drawn and faces set with determination. The man on the floor groaned, trying to push himself up, but he was no match for the swarm of police that descended upon him. They subdued him with practiced efficiency, pinning his arms behind his back and snapping handcuffs around his thick wrists.

"Are you alright, ma'am?" one of the officers asked Sheila, concern etched into his furrowed brow.

"Y-yes," she stammered, the adrenaline starting to ebb away, leaving her shaky and weak. "Check his pockets. Does he have a set of keys?"

One of the officers searched the man and quickly discovered a small set of keys, which he tossed to Sheila.

With unsteady steps, Sheila moved toward the woman chained to the wall. Her eyes were wide with terror, yet a glimmer of hope flickered within them as she stared at Sheila. As she approached, Sheila could see the bruises and cuts marring the woman's skin, evidence of her captor's cruelty.

"Hey, it's okay. We're getting you out of here," Sheila assured her softly, fumbling with the keys. Her hands were slick with sweat and trembling from exhaustion, but she refused to let that stop her.

As the lock clicked open, the chains fell away, and the woman collapsed into Sheila's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "He was going to kill me," she choked out between sobs, clinging to Sheila like a lifeline. "Just like the others."

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sheila winced as she wrapped her bruised hands with care in the sterile light of the sheriff's station break room. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, mingling with the all-too-familiar scent of stale coffee and burnt microwave popcorn. Her knuckles throbbed, a pulsing reminder of her recent fight with Simon West.

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