Chapter Three: Where Is Elyse?
1071 Words
"Stop right there!" a voice barked behind Lucifer.
A burst of defense gunfire exploded through the night.
He spun instinctively, dodging left - but pain bloomed like fire in his leg. His body twisted mid-air, and he hit the ground with a hard grunt. Blood spurted from his knee.
"f**k!" he hisses, clutching the injury. The warm stickiness seeped through his fingers.
His fingers fumbled for the pistol. He rolled, aimed - and fired. The bullet struck his attacker squarely between the eyes. The man crumpled, dead before he hit the ground.
"Over here! He's been hit!" someone shouted in the distance.
Every movement was agony now, and still, his thoughts weren't on himself - they were on Elyse.
His daughter.
His tiny, innocent bundle wrapped in soft pink cotton. Her soft coos. Her warmth. Her heartbeat against his chest.
He reaches under his coat, quickly checking the noise-dampening baby earbuds she wore. Still intact.
She mustn't be caught up in this. She had to survive.
I must keep moving.
Heart pounding, he scanned the dimly lit alley. His breath fogged the air in thick bursts, mingling with the acrid scent of smoke and gunpowder. His ears rang with the fading echo of gunshots and the distant voices of Daemon's men sweeping the area.
Then he saw it.
A dusty, dented bin just a few blocks ahead - half- shielded by overflowing trash bags and shadows.
It wasn't ideal, but it might buy her time.
Lucifer gritted his teeth and forced himself upright. Every step was torture, but he limped towards it like a man possessed. He reached the bin, yanked the lid open, gently lowered Elyse inside.
The baby stirred, cooed softly.
"I'm so sorry, my princess," he whispered, wrapping her in his bloodstained blazer. "This'll keep you warm, okay? Daddy's just going to scout the area... he'll be back in a few minutes. Just... hang on for me."
He left the lid slightly ajar for air, kissing her forehead one last time before easing it closed. He looked around - no eyes on him. No sound except the wind rustling trash.
Then he limped away, heartbeat hammering guilt.
Several blocks later, he collapsed behind an abandoned car. He ripped off his shirt, tearing it into strips with trembling hands. Gritting his teeth, he tied the fabric tightly around his bleeding knee.
"This should do," he growled, sweat dripping down his face.
From behind the shadows, he watched Daemon's men spread through the streets like a plague.
But they didn't know the terrain like he did.
He lived in this terrain. They didn't. This was his advantage over them.
Lucifer vanished into the web of the dark alleys, killing anyone who got too close. Silent and fast, he moved like a ghost, his silenced pistol whispering death into the night and anyone who crossed it.
Still, the pain gnawed at him, and his thoughts circled back to the bin.
Is she crying? Cold? Is she still there?
He could barely breathe at the thought.
Back in the distance, Deamon was screaming.
"DAMN IT! You're all USELESS! One man! ONE WOUNDED MAN!" he bellowed, kicking over a crate.
His soldiers looked down in shame. "Sorry, Boss."
"Shut that goddamn trap! If we don't find him, both you and I will pay dearly," Daemon snapped. "Richard, gather the rest of the men. Search the entire neighborhood - every hospital, every clinic, known and unknown. He's bleeding. He'll want treatment. He couldn't have gone far."
Lucifer, hidden behind a broken fence post, heard every word.
They were right - he couldn't stay out here for long. He's lost much blood.
But first...
He limped as fast as he could back toward the bin.
His hands were shaking as he yanked the lid open.
"Elyse? Elyse!!"
Nothing.
His voice cracked. Panic surged through his chest.
He tossed the blazer aside, rummaging through the contents as if searching for a needle in a burning haystack.
She was gone.
Gone.
His breath caught. His chest heaved. He felt weak. "Where's my daughter...?"
His knees buckled. The world narrowed into a tunnel of silence, and for a moment, all he could hear was the phantom sound of her heartbeat against his chest as he stared at the empty space, disbelief painted across his blood-smeared face.
If Daemon's men had found her, they would have gloated, taunted him - Daemon wouldn't have been so furious about losing him.
No. Someone else took her.
But who?
Lucifer's fists clenched. Rage curled in his stomach, but despair was the weight on his spine.
The first light of dawn broke over the horizon, spilling a dull gold across the rooftops. He had to move. Betty was waiting - with their other daughter.
He'd built a secret underground bunker for this day, warning Betty years ago that the world might one day turn on them. He'd taught her the signal: blinking thrice in succession, a code only she would recognize.
The organization thought they owned him.
Both dead and alive.
Lucifer took one last look at the empty bin. "I'll come back for you, Elyse," he bowed, his voice hoarse. "I swear on my life - I'll find you."
And then, dragging his wounded leg and leaning on walls for balance, he limped towards the sunrise.
*******************
Underground Bunker - Moments Later
Betty rushed to him the moment he stepped inside. Her face pale, eyes wide. The second twin cooed softly in her arms.
"Lucifer! Oh my God... where's the baby?" she asked, scanning behind him.
Lucifer ignored the question at first, checking over both mother and child. "Are you safe? Is she safe?"
The second twin now awake, in her mother's arms, reached up, gripping a lock of Betty's hair with a tiny fist - unaware her sister had just vanished into the shadows.
"Yes, we're fine," she said breathlessly. "Where's Elyse? Where's my baby?"
His silence told her everything.
Betty staggered back, clutching the infant tighter. "Lucifer... what did you do? Where is she?"
Lucifer looked away, jaw clenched. "She was taken," he said quietly. "But not by Daemon. Someone else. I don't know who."
Betty sank to the ground, sobbing.
Lucifer lowered himself beside her, the weight of the blood, the betrayal, the loss - crashing down at once.
But even as Betty wept, Lucifer's eyes turned steel.
This wasn't over.
Not yet.
Not until he found his daughter.
- Writer
