"Jesus Christ . . ." Chris said, fighting down a wave of nausea as he watched the scene below. It was unbelievable, like something out of a horror movie. He stepped back from the window, glad he had a relatively empty stomach - otherwise he may have vomited because of what he had seen. The sounds carrying up were almost too much.<br/><br/>And then the scream.<br/><br/>Part of Chris wanted to do nothing. He was not a good man. He was not a hero. Another part told him that he should do something, stupid as it was. A small voice said that he should not just leave someone to . . . to . . . to have what happened below happen to them. Chris's mouth was dry and he wished he had time for some alcohol or something to calm himself down . . . but there would be no amount of alcohol that would be enough to drown this mess out.<br/><br/>Wiping a hand down his face, Chris cursed himself for being an idiot. He moved over to the door, opened the deadbolt, and went out into the hallway. He looked around for the woman in distress, and upon spotting her, called out: "over here, quick!"