The Osiris Ritual by George Mann

Author:George Mann [Mann, George]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
ISBN: 9781906727048
Goodreads: 6066181
Publisher: Snowbooks
Published: 2009-09-07T04:00:00+00:00

—— Chapter Sixteen ——

Hesitantly, Newbury approached the lip of the building. He couldn't see any sign of the other man. He called out.

"Purefoy? Purefoy! Are you there?" He was panicking now. He didn't know how he could live with the responsibility if the reporter had fallen to his death.

There was a grunt from down below, somewhere in the fog. Newbury knelt on the edge of the building and leaned over, searching, urgently, for the source of the sound. "Purefoy? Is that you?"

"Here..." The voice trailed off, and Newbury heard the sounds of something soft and heavy banging against metal. There! He leaned over as far as he dared. An iron staircase resolved in the fog. It was an emergency stairwell, attached to the side of the building. And, dangling from it, twisting and turning, clutching on by only one hand, was Purefoy. He seemed dazed, as if he may have caught a blow to the head in the fall. Blood was smeared in a long line across his cheek. Newbury knew the situation was precarious. One slip and the reporter would be dead. He called out to him.

"Purefoy! Focus. Use your other hand. Hold on!" Purefoy seemed to respond to this. He eased himself around so that he was facing the brickwork, and swung his left arm up, trying to catch hold of the ironwork. His hand, however, did not seem able to find purchase, and he slipped, dangerously, crying out as he lurched awkwardly from side to side. Newbury feared the motion would cause him to lose his grip altogether as he swung wildly over the alleyway below. "Stay there. I'm coming for you."

Newbury stood, surveying the scene beneath him. The fog was thick here, and it obscured his view. He knew the iron stairwell would have a small platform, just to the right of where Purefoy was hanging, and knew also that it couldn't be far below the lip of the building itself. But it was difficult to see. Past Purefoy, he could make out the indistinct shape of a railing, but little else. He'd have to take it on faith. Edging along the lip of the factory, he drew a deep breath. If he missed, they would likely both wind up dead in the gutter below. He hadn't planned on this when he'd decided to visit Wilfred Blake that morning, and he wondered, absently, what Veronica would say if she could see him now.

Newbury judged he was standing above the metal platform. Purefoy had once again disappeared into the syrupy miasma. Below, all Newbury could see was a swirl of grey. He took a deep breath. He couldn't put it off any longer, and he couldn't let Purefoy fall to his death. He closed his eyes, flexed his shoulders, and jumped into nothing.

His feet clattered against the metal rungs, but the platform was higher than he'd imagined and it was this that nearly toppled him over the side of the railing as he fought to get his balance.

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