He didn’t know what else to tell her that would ease her worries. Before any of this insanity had entered their lives, he had considered himself Mr. Fix-It, always ready to dispense sage wisdom to solve everyone’s problems.

He realized he had been an arrogant fool. Sometimes, there simply were no answers, and you learned to live one day at a time in spite of life’s uncertainties.

The passenger cabin descended along the cables at a painfully slow pace. He heard a thumping sound above them, and felt the car rock.

“What is that?” Monica asked, gaze traveling to the ceiling.

He heard another thump on the roof. It came from the area behind Monica. Troy tensed. He put his hand on his gun.

Another knocking sound, near the edge of the cabin.

Heart hammering, Troy stepped forward, putting himself in front of Monica.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Monica said. “God, I knew she wouldn’t quit.”

Grace’s face slid into view. Upside down as she hung from the roof, she stared at them through the glass, teeth bared in fury.

“Give me my child!” she shrieked.

Monica screamed. Troy raised the gun.

Grace’s face vanished as she ducked back onto the roof. Troy heard her scrambling about above them. He looked to the set of doors on his left, and realized what Grace had in mind.

“Give me something,” Monica said, sounding short of breath. “A gun, a knife, something to defend myself.”

Troy dug into his pocket and drew out his Swiss army knife. He handed it over to Monica, his hand shaking so badly he almost dropped it. Trembling as badly as he was, Monica accepted it and unfolded one of the longest blades, a cutting edge less than two inches long.

With the sinuous grace of a serpent, Grace slid down from the roof, positioning herself directly in front of the closed double doors. Her hair blew in the wind, the ends of her coat rippling like wings.

She began to pry the doors apart. Troy looked for a way to bar the entrance, but there was nothing; they were secured from the outside with some sort of locking mechanism. Grace was strong enough to force them open with her bare hands.

“Stay behind me,” Troy said.

He and Monica backed up, putting as much distance as possible between themselves and the doorway. He aimed the pistol.

Cold air gusted into the cabin as Grace slammed the doors open. Scraps of paper, stirred by the wind, whirled around them.

Remembering to aim for center mass, Troy lined her up in his sights and squeezed the trigger.

But Grace’s tongue was lightning-quick. It darted forward and popped against the gun’s barrel, throwing off his aim and knocking the pistol out of his hands. The fired round blew a hole into a pane of glass, and the gun’s report in the small, enclosed space made his ears hurt.