Present Day
Ella Forsythe stands on the edge of the top of a building in the middle of the city. Behind her, the London Eye, St Paul’s Cathedral, and Big Ben can be seen on the horizon, hazy with the orange light of sunset. On a glass skyscraper nearby, the reflection of ‘The Gerkin’ casts a shadow on the glass. Wind billows her blue trenchcoat and red hair about her, and carries a flock of birds behind her in the distance.
She stands on the ledge with her back to all of it, and wonders what difference, if any, it would make to turn around. Facing the pavement below won’t change how far down it is, or how hard. Which is why she decides again’t it. It was her choice to be there, as it had to be. This was where importance lived, on the brink, an inch from chaos. No matter what waited for her below, it couldn’t worse than standing still. Which is she lifts her head, and leans back into the void.
It takes mere seconds to reach the pavement below, but in that time, she manages to twist herself around, reach her arm out in front of her as she falls, and with hand spread, elegantly stops herself from making impact. For a moment, she hovers, upside down, like a gymnast balancing on a beam, her outstretched hand mere centimetres from the pavement, completely unaware that someone is watching her.
The sound of a pair of hands clapping reaches her just as she dismounts from the unseen force holding her off the ground. It’s a young man, casually dressed, sitting cross-legged on top of red double decker bus on the other side of the street. She peers over at him in surprise, moving her tossled hair aside as she does. The young man leaps from the bus to street below, so that they’re eye level, a wide road between them.
”Ella,” he says.
”Damon,” she answers.
“Looking good there,” he says, grinning.
“How long have you been watching me?” She asks.
”Long enough to know what I see.”
She takes a single step towards him, but in that moment he covers the entire distance of the street, snatching her around the waist and kissing her passionately. She finds her hands reaching up behind his head to weave her fingers through his hair. Behind them, a car blares it’s horn loudly, but the two don’t seem to notice.
”And what do you see?” she asks him.
”Are you kidding me?” He laughs, idly moving a strand of hair from her face. “You’ve been at this less than six months. No one learns this fast.”
”I must have a good teacher,” she replies.
”Don’t even start,” he scoffs. “This is all you. It’s… its-“
He breaks off, as though noticing for the first time the growing ruckas circling their embrace. A small crowd of people had gathered around them, no doubt in reaction to the death-defying feat Ella had just performed. One even had his phone out, filming. Standing in the middle of the street blocking traffic had also attracted the attention of a pair of Bobbies, who walked briskly towards them with unimpressed expressions on their faces.
”It’s… getting a little crowded here,” said Damon, looking about.
The moment the police get close enough, he shoves them back with enough force to put them on their behinds.
”Race to the park?” He says, smiling at Ella.
”Damon!” She gasps, one hand grasping his arm, the other covering her mough.
”Yes, just–“
But before she could finish her sentence, he leaps up, faster than her eyes could follow him. She twists around to find him perched on top of a street light, high above her head.
”Great!” He yells down to her. “I hope you can keep up.”
”Wait”! She yells back, her hand reaching up towards him reflexively.
It’s too late. He’s already off, leaping away even higher above them towards the next street light. She turns back to look at the police laying bewildered on the ground in front of her.
”Crap,” she says, before crouching down and leaping after Damon.
Already well ahead of her, Damon runs across the rooftop of one of the lower buildings to her right, so Ella swings off the light post in front of her, using the additional momentum, to bounce from light to light, fast enough that she almost catches up with him at an intersection. But where she comes in from the left, he veers up from the right, bouncing off a traffic light and leaping high and long up onto the roof of a nearby university. Meanwhile, she cut behind him, landing on a rooftop closer to the path he was taking before he diverted.
Like acrobats the two of them bounce and tumble along either side of the university courtyard, soaring and flipping in the air high above the rooftops as they go. Ella doesn’t notice as the light of the sunset turns from bright orange to a warm pink, and as they jump from building to building, neither does she notice that slowly the architecture under her feet begins to change too. Now the rooftops she’s running over are larger, more sloped, and the facades Damon hops in front of more ornate. Even the street lights he’s bouncing off are different. More art nouveau. The unobtrusive surface of the rooftops allows Ella more space to sprint, and she glances to her left to see that she’s almost caught up with him.
Suddenly, he leaps towards her, landing on the roof of a passing car and shooting in front of her towards what looks like a park. She follows close behind, diving off the roof towards a dense crop of tree tops. She can’t see it, but behind her, the the top Eiffel tower pokes out above the roof of building she just leapt from. She lands softly on the grass of a secluded city park. Damon is nowhere in sight.
”I win,” she hears from behind a nearby tree.
As she turns towards the voice, Damon clasps onto her hand and pulls her in against the tree, kissing her neck.
”I swear you’ll be the end of me,” he whispers into her ear. “I’ve never been closer to destruction than when I’m with you.”
”I wasn’t aware I had that kind of power,” she replies.
He pressed his forehead to hers. ”That’s what makes you so dangerous.”
Nearby, two young men walking by stop to remark on them.
”Oh putain, c’est quoi ce délire?” One of them says, pointing at the couple.
“Holy shit, this bitch is about to get boned,” chuckles the other in French.
“Whaddya say, pretty boy?” Says the taller one, turning towards them, “You gonna share, or will we have to play rough with you too?
Damon rolls his eyes.
”Really, Ella? Again?”
“Wait,” she says, stopping him from stepping forward with a hand on his chest. “I think can understand them.”
She turns to face the young men.
”Hey dipshits!” She bellows in perfect French, “Didn’t your mothers ever warn you not to talk to strangers, especially ones who can kick your arse six ways to Sunday?”
”Since when do you speak French?” Asks Damon.
”I don’t,” she replies, shrugging her shoulders.
Enraged, the men charge at the couple.
”You’re dead!” The taller one yells.
But Ella is ready for him, and leaps right over his head, grabbing him by the hood on his sweater as she goes. In one swift moment, she front flips herself down onto the grass, swinging him like a catapult behind her, then over the top, letting go at just the right time to send him careening into his smaller friend. The pair slam into a bolster behind them with a thump. The smaller one glares at her.
”That’s it,” he snarls, “You freak-eyed bitch.”
He pulls a pocket knife from his jacket, unfolds it, and charges. He doesn’t get far. In front of him, Ella stands with her left arm outstretched, her fingers open, as though she were commanding him to stop. It’s not the gesture, however, that slows him, but rather and invisible force literally pushing back against him.
“Hey morons,” says Damon behind her. “Allow me to introduce Ella Forsythe. This is her world. Her time. You just stepped into the a whole new age here.”
The fingers on Ella’s outstretched hand contort awkwardly, and both the young men brace their bodies, struggling to stay on their feet, as though they were fighting a gale force wind directly in front of them.
“So no,” continues Damon, “You don’t get to have her.”
Ella now moved her right hand in tandom with the left, her palms facing forward with her fingers curled inwards. She thrusts her arms out in front of her, and the men begin to lift off the ground. The pair scream and squirm as they slowly float upwards in front of her, following the path of rising arms.
”You truly are one of a kind,” say Damon, “I cannot wait to see you show them who you are for real.”
Ella breaks concentration, and turns around to face him. The two young men fall to the ground in a heap.
”It means I wish I could stick around,” he says, putting his arm around her shoulder, “but that’s not a call I get to make.
He taps her gently on the forehead, right between the eyes.
”Looks like it’s time to wake up, Ella,” he says.