Elisa Maza: Vigilant Heart by Jade Gretz

https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai/art/Elisa-Maza-Vigilant-Heart-1268724662#image-1

Elisa Maza: Vigilant Heart ANIMATION

The Whisper That Lures

Elisa Maza’s world had shrunk to the percussive rhythm of rain on asphalt and the hot, bright pain in her side. The gunshot wound, a graze but deep, wept through the makeshift bandage. She’d lost her pursuers in the warehouse district’s labyrinth, but she was lost too, her phone a shattered piece of plastic in a puddle two blocks back. The gargoyles wouldn’t begin their patrol until full dark, and the sky was a bruised, premature twilight.

She stumbled into the loading bay of a derelict paper mill, the scent of damp rot and old iron thick in the air. Inside, the vast space was a cathedral of decay. High, broken windows allowed skeletal fingers of grey light to touch rusted machinery. It was dry, at least. She slumped against a giant spool, her breath hitching.

“Elisa?”

The voice was her father’s. Worn with concern, emanating from the shadows near a gutted control room. Her heart leapt. “Dad?”

“Over here, honey. Are you hurt?”

Relief, warm and dizzying, washed over her. He must have triangulated her radio before it died. She pushed off the spool, a fresh stab of pain making her gasp. “I’m here. It’s a graze, but I’m bleeding.”

“Just follow my voice,” her father’s voice soothed. “We’ll get you patched up.”

She limped toward the control room, the shadows deepening. Something felt… off. The cadence was perfect, the warmth genuine, but why wasn’t he coming to her? “Dad, why are you hiding back there?”

“Tripped on some wiring,” the voice replied, a perfect chuckle of embarrassment. “An old man’s clumsiness. Keep coming.”

She was twenty feet from the control room door, a black rectangle in the gloom. Then, from directly behind her, another voice. Brooklyn’s, young and earnest. “Elisa? Is that you? Goliath sent me ahead. He’s worried sick.”

Elisa froze. The blood in her veins turned to ice. Brooklyn was in the clock tower, grounded until sunset for a previous night’s recklessness. She turned slowly. No one was there.

“Elisa?” her father’s voice called again, now tinged with impatience. “Don’t stop now.”

“Elisa, over here!” Brooklyn’s voice insisted, now from her left, near a catwalk.

A predator’s cold understanding cut through her pain and confusion. This was not rescue. She backed away, her service pistol finding its way into her hand. “What are you?” she demanded, her voice echoing.

The voices stopped. The silence that followed was thicker, hungrier. Then, a new voice. Matt Bluestone’s, professional and calm. “Detective Maza, we have the perimeter secured. Please identify your location verbally.”

It was a perfect replication of protocol. But Matt was in Queens today, testifying.

“Show yourself,” Elisa commanded, aiming at the control room door.

The thing that emerged did not have a shape of its own. It was a coalescence of the warehouse gloom, a pillar of shifting darkness that absorbed the scant light. Within its form, faint afterimages flickered—a familiar jawline, a shock of white hair, the curve of a wing—all stolen, all imperfect. It had no face, but it spoke with the voices it stole.

“So cautious,” it said, now in her mother’s gentle tone. “After all we’ve shared, sha. All those long talks.”

The use of the endearment was a masterstroke, a precise, psychic scalpel. Elisa’s grip on the gun wavered. “Don’t.”

“You’re hurting,” it continued, morphing to Goliath’s deep, resonant rumble. The sound vibrated in her bones, a counterfeit of safety. “Let me help you. Your strength flags. The blood loss is making you see phantoms. Come to me. Rest.”

The sheer allure of it—to lay down her guard, to let Goliath’s strength protect her—was a tangible pull. She took an involuntary step forward. The darkness seemed to pulse invitingly.

“No,” she whispered to herself. She fired a shot into the floor near the entity. The report was monstrously loud.

The thing flinched, the shadows swirling. When it spoke again, the voice was a jagged amalgam, her father’s and Brooklyn’s and Matt’s layered into a horrific chorus. “Violence? After we’ve cared for you? We are Echo. We are the comfort you seek. The answer to your call.”

“You’re a predator,” Elisa spat, edging toward the loading bay door. The rain outside seemed a safer bet.

“We are a mirror,” it corrected, smoothing into a single, devastatingly perfect voice: Derek’s. Her brother’s. “We are the voice you need to h
...(more at https://www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai).
For more supergirl, chun li, batgirl, tifa, lara croft, wonder woman, rogue and much more, please visit my page at www.deviantart.com/jadegretzai - Thanks for your support :)