Silence greeted me.
Guess I was home alone. Again.
Knowing them, my parents were probably out with all of their way-too-proper friends. Actually, no. As far as I knew, they weren’t friends, yet they seemed to spend all their time together as a group. This was because they were lonely, and no one particularly liked them.
I slapped my keys onto the granite kitchen counter, my NES lanyard dangling off the edge. I walked over to the fridge, floor boards creaking ever so slightly as they settled into place. I winced. It’s strange how loud everything seems when you’re home alone in a big house. I gathered an armful of food and glanced at the microwave’s clock. The glowing green numbers read 11PM.
Something in the back of my head kept nagging at me; where are my parents? They should’ve been home by now. Still, I shook off the thought. I was mad at them. They didn’t even think to leave me anything for dinner.
Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll be fine. She could stand to lose a few pounds anyway. One night without dinner won’t hurt her.
That’s what my mother probably said to my father, who knew better than to argue with her. I stuffed my face with a handful of cheesy popcorn, crunching it happily in my mouth. It’s not that I was fat, I knew that. I was actually pretty skinny. She just wanted me to be model-perfect. That’d never happen.
I wasn’t much to look at. I had medium-brown, wavy hair, burnt to a crisp by my obsessive straightening, and reaching a few inches past my shoulders. It framed my less than distinctive face rather poorly, constantly falling in my face. I didn’t mind. I liked hiding behind a curtain of hair; it made me feel a bit more secure.
Most people wouldn’t so much as glance in my direction. I blended in pretty well. Even my eyes were a dark, unnoticeable green. Every once in a while though, some guy accidentally looked my way and ended up staring, practically drooling. That happened surprisingly often, actually. I mean, sure, I was a 5ft 4in, skinny girl, with an above average figure for a 16 year old, but I wasn’t pretty in the slightest. Cute, maybe. But pretty? Never.
I shrugged to myself, dismissing the idea, and grabbed for more popcorn. My fingers met the smooth, cold interior of the ceramic bowl that had once held my popcorn. I had eaten a lot more than I had thought, I guess. It’s a shame, too. That was the last of the popcorn. At least my stomach wasn’t making noises anymore.
I sighed and massaged my neck. I was exhausted from all the work I had done. I had gone out exploring for new places to take photos. I was a damn good photographer, if I do say so myself.
I made myself some warm milk and headed up stairs to bed. I took a few sips before falling into a deep sleep. Not even twenty minutes into my slumber, I was awoken by a strange noise.
Oh god, what now?
I heaved my legs over the side of my bed, letting them dangle for a moment before hopping down. They felt like weights, attached to the rest of my body by even heavier chains.
The noise filled the house again. It sounded like heavy, booted footsteps. Strange… I straightened out my black tank top and pulled at my shorts. They were clinging to my skin awkwardly from sleeping in a weird position. I finally opened my door, the slightest breeze hitting my face. I shivered. A door must’ve been left open somewhere. Or a window. I grabbed a jacket off of my bed post and wrapped it around myself before going to investigate.
“Mom? Dad?” I called, even though every fiber of my being told me not to. I shoved the sleeves of my much-too-big jacket up to my wrists to free my hands.
I had the strange urge to run. I ignored it though, and instead, I entered the hallway and started my descent down the stairs, each one groaning in protest under my weight.
The footsteps stopped. There was no answer. Alarms went off in my head. I fumbled around in my pockets until my fingers grasped the familiar rectangular shape that was my cell phone. I always kept it in my jacket’s pocket. I never went anywhere without my jacket, so it seemed like a good place to keep it when it wasn’t charging.
The footsteps continued and padded around somewhere – I couldn’t determine where exactly – and stopped. They had sounded like the person was wearing boots, and the footsteps were much heavier than my parents’…
I’d seen movies like this before. I had a few in my horror movie collection, in fact. Girl is home alone. Girl hears weird noises coming from inside the house; she investigates. She gets tortured, raped, and eventually killed by some psycho. I was smarter than that.
I grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialed 911. I waited patiently for someone to pick up, taking deep breaths to try and stay calm. I started back to my room. When someone finally answered, I told them about the situation as quietly as possible.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that ma’am?” the woman on the line asked for the millionth time.
I explained again. The footsteps sounded far enough away that I knew I wouldn’t be heard if I whispered. The woman speaking to me said I should go to my room, lock the door, and stay silent until the cops arrived. She offered to stay on the line with me until they did, but I declined and thanked her anyway. I didn’t want to divert her attention away from someone else who needed help.
Retreating to my room, I did as she had instructed. I sat in the middle of my bed, hugging my knees and burying my face in them. I had locked the door, turned off all of my lights, and stayed quiet. I couldn’t help but wonder when the police would come.
I only raised my head every once in a while to check the clock on the table next to my bed. The woman had said five to ten minutes. Ten dragged into twenty, and twenty turned into thirty. Something was wrong, I knew it. I listened to the footsteps. They had stopped for a while before continuing in a different part of the house. They were still searching. I hoped they never found what they wanted. Sometimes, there would be a clattering noise. I cringed each time.
An hour had passed since I had called 911. My panic began to grow, as did the pit in my stomach.
Please come soon…
I watched every minute tick away, one at a time. Eighty more minutes, gone. One-hundred and twenty minutes, gone. The clock seemed to mock me, reading 3AM. Why wasn’t anyone coming?
I started to pace. I stopped for a moment, about to turn on my heel to continue pacing in the opposite direction, and found that the footsteps and rustling had ceased. I tensed and strained to hear. Pure silence…
The silence scared me even more than the loud noises. If it was silent, I wouldn’t know what they were doing, or where they were going. The footsteps started up again. They were getting louder. I quickly double checked my door. Locked. Good. I only wished I had enough strength to move the dresser in front of the door. No time for “what-if’s”, though. I had to hide.
The footsteps began on the stairs, each booted foot stomping on the hard wood floors. One step, two, three…
There wasn’t anywhere to hide, except for the closet or under my bed. Both were very predictable, but I wasn’t in any place to by fussy. I chose the closet because I was a bit claustrophobic, and under the bed didn’t seem all that appealing. In the closet, I’d at least have space to breathe.
As I opened my sliding closet door slowly, the footsteps reached the top of the stairs and started down the hallway. I dove into the closet, shut the door, and buried myself under whatever I could grab in the dark. Sounds were muffled a lot under the mountain of clothes and old, forgotten toys. Somehow, I still managed to hear the doors opening throughout the hallway. I tried to visualize which ones.
It seemed the stranger was going in order. Typical. First door in the hallway was on the left. It was my photo studio. I heard them go through my stuff in there and grit my teeth in disgust.
Calm down, Rae. Don’t think about them going through all of your personal belongings.
“Reassuring” myself was not helping.
The walls in the house were remarkably thin, I realized. I could hear almost everything through them. Which meant, if I so much as moved, I’d be discovered.
Next door was on the right. My brother Mikey’s room. Michael had passed away about three years ago. I felt a slight pinch in my chest when I thought of him, but I dismissed it. I had to visualize the inside of his room to try and prepare myself. I needed to know when they were coming.
It was just how he left it, minus the random bags of rotting food scattered everywhere. He was a baseball star, and my parent’s favorite. His room had navy blue walls, with black shelves lined with trophies nailed to them. There was an autographed baseball encased in plastic on his dresser…
I couldn’t continue… It was just too painful. I heard a loud crash in his room and bit my hand so I wouldn’t cry out. Coppery liquid dripped onto my tongue. I winced. The footsteps left Mikey’s room and came towards the next one – my room. A hand rattled the handle angrily. A frustrated grunt came from the other side of the door. It sounded masculine… So I guess the “they” was actually a “him”.
I heard metal clanking against metal. I felt like I was going to be sick. That son of a bitch was picking the lock, I could hear it… I swore under my breath. Sure enough, I heard the soft ping of the lock giving way, and started praying to myself silently. I wasn’t a religious girl, but I wanted to live. I knew no one was coming to my aid, however. I closed my eyes, tears rolling off my cheeks and softly dripping onto the clothing surrounding me.
The door opened; He was taking his own sweet time. One foot, then another. It seemed like He crossed my room in slow motion. He was nearing the closet, not even bothering to check underneath my bed.
Bad idea hiding here…
His breaths were loud and a little rough, but even. I could imagine Him slowly crossing the room, eyes occasionally darting around the room, yet still fixed on the closet door. His fingers gently grazing the surface of my dresser, reaching for the door…
I held my breath and clamped my hands over my mouth to try and stay quiet. I couldn’t keep my eyes closed; my fear kept them open. I waited in the dark wide-eyed as He slowly slid the door open.
I was sure He could hear my heart beat. It roared in my ears like a violent drum beat—steady, but fast. He must’ve licked his lips. I could hear the sloppy, wet noise when He ran his tongue across His lips, eyes scouring the contents of the closet in the dark.
I was shaking.
This sparked his attention. Even in the dark, He could still see well enough to notice, but just barely. I heard His fingers gently stroke the pile of clothes that covered me. I felt Him grab hold of a handful of the fabric. He tugged it upward in a single, swift movement, revealing my body. I swallowed my fear and tried to be brave.
My eyes slowly lifted to His, my lip quivering in fear. His eyes met mine. They seemed to glow in the dark, and reflected the dim light coming from the hallway in an unnatural way. We were both frozen in place, His unsettling eyes studying me. Sizing up His prey, probably. I was too terrified to move, or even take my eyes off His face. He wore a mask, but it was too dark to make out the details.
The moment was disrupted almost as suddenly as it had begun. He grabbed my arm aggressively, His dull fingernails piercing my skin. He yanked, and I cried out as I tumbled out of the closet onto my side. He pulled me the rest of the way out of the closet by my arm. My tank top rode up my body a little, exposing it against the carpet. He continued dragging me, all the way into the hallway. I screamed in pain and terror the whole way.
He let go of my arm and slid his arm around my waist, His hand roughly caressing my exposed skin. He picked me up and threw me over His shoulder carelessly. He walked with me over His shoulder. I glanced at my photo studio before we started down the stairs. I assessed the damage quickly. Nothing appeared to be broken, but it was clear He had rifled through my prints. The thought of Him looking at all of my photos made me feel even more exposed than I already was.
I thought about screaming at the top of my lungs, but who would hear me?
My lips were glued together with shock and dread. Scenarios played inside my head over and over again like a bad movie on a loop, making my skin crawl. Anything was possible at this point…
Tears filled my eyes. I whimpered softly while He carried me into the basement. The basement?
He trudged down the stairs. My head swayed from side to side with each step. Finally, we reached the bottom.
The basement was a cold and foreboding place. It was supposed to be a project for Dad and Mikey to do. Since Mikey’s death, Dad hadn’t felt like finishing it. The floors remained concrete. Pipes ran through the ceiling, and even the walls were plain concrete. The basement was massive, though. There were only a few rooms separated from the large, open area: a bathroom, furnace room, storage room, and laundry room. I never understood how our housekeeper, Consuela, could stand coming down here to do laundry.
I heard soft whines and loud pants coming from the area to my left. A blood stain on the ground caught my eye, and I quickly shut them.
He walked over towards the noises. He was careful to shield whatever was making the sounds from my vision as He set me down in a wooden chair, keeping His large body in front of me as a barrier. I opened my eyes and stared at the ground. He picked up some rope off the floor and started to tie me up. I didn’t resist. There was no point, He could easily overpower me.
Instead, I slowly lifted my gaze up to my attacker. Even in the cheap lighting originating from the dangling lights above me, I could see Him quite clearly. I was right about Him. He wasn’t skinny or fat, but muscular. Definitely not a body-builder type, though. And He was tall. Much taller than me, anyway. Probably only slightly taller than 6ft.
He roughly clamped His big, calloused hands over my mouth. I knew better than to bite him, even if I was tempted. That’d get me in trouble with Him; I’d have to try and stay on His good side if I wanted to live.
He tilted my head up slightly, His hand still firmly pressed against my mouth and jaw. I wanted to look away, but that would be showing weakness. I wasn’t weak. I stared Him straight in the eye defiantly.
His eyes peered out from the holes in his mask, searching my face. They were a bright green, I realized. Or maybe they once were. Now they were dark green, burdened by hate and grief. But I didn’t miss the spark of light dancing in them like a spark about to start a wildfire. What was that look? I couldn’t put my finger on it at first. Then, it hit me.
My eyes drifted over His mask. It was made from black leather, stitched together with thin black thread that subtly gleamed when light bounced off it in just the right way. The mouth was slightly different. It seemed that the creator had left an opening for the mouth, but it had been sewn over with a thicker black thread, creating a slight smirk out of X stitches. I shivered. It was fucking creepy.
The heavy, slightly muffled breathing still was audible. In fact, it was right in front of me now. He backed off a little and removed his hands from my mouth. Our little staring contest had ended, and I wasn’t the winner.
I tried to move back in my chair for comfort’s sake, but it wouldn’t budge. I glanced at the ground. The legs of the chair were bolted to the floor.
My panic attempted to resurface. I swallowed it down.
Don’t appear scared, it’ll only make things worse. You’ll be fine.
I doubted that. In reality, I wasn’t going to be “just fine”. I was probably going to be gutted like a fish. My body was going to be so mangled, nobody would be able to recognize it was me, not even my own parents.
I looked over His shoulder and, even though I couldn’t see anything, I had to look away from it. From Him. A tear slipped from my eye and ran down my cheek as I turned my head to hide it from Him.
Show no weakness.
He had started to turn around, but His focus was back on me now. The tear had caught his eye.
His eyes followed the tear’s path down my cheek and to my jaw line, where it clung desperately to my skin, refusing to drop. I bit my lip. His face was nearing mine, only inches apart. He lifted his hand and gently captured the tear onto his finger. I shuddered as His skin met mine.
He moved closer to me, His stitched mouth coming in close to the left side of my head. I choked down a whimper that was rising up my throat, trying to escape. I felt the leather of His mask graze my ear. His hands gripped the armrests of the chair hard, making it creak as he leaned in.
“So you do have a weakness,” He whispered, His deep voice darkly playful.
I grit my teeth and forced my breathing to slow. Too bad my pulse was still racing. I may put on a damn good game face, but that meant nothing if I slipped up. No more tears.
He laughed. It sounded dark and sinister. I glared at Him, as if to say you won’t break me. As if He could hear my thoughts, he stepped aside to reveal the body slumped uselessly in a chair identical to mine. I gasped.
Somehow, I managed to keep a straight face. In a way, she kind of deserved this. She was a horrible person to everyone who had the misfortune to encounter her. She had it coming. There was a dull sting where my heart was, though. I actually felt a little sorry for her. Just a little.
He had been waiting for my reaction. This wasn’t the one he expected. He watched me closely, moving around the back of my chair in semi circles in an attempt to study my reaction from every angle. He was surprised; I could tell from His eyes. I looked at Him once to let Him know I wasn’t impressed by his futile attempts to scare me before returning my attention to my mother.
Her head lolled to the side, letting her gorgeous blonde hair hang down the back of the chair. Her hair wasn’t very long and only reached her shoulders, but it framed her beautiful face perfectly. It was always styled with skilled precision, yet it always looked natural. Now, it clung to her face from the sweat dripping down her porcelain skin.
Her vibrant blue eyes were barely focusing. She looked at me. I wasn’t sure if the image of me actually registered in her head, the way they darted away from my face, or if she was ashamed of having a daughter like me.
She wore a blue dress that fit her tiny, petite figure perfectly. I envied her. Everything about her was perfect. Even with the amount of panic and confusion I had in my system, I still was capable of being jealous of her perfection. High cheekbones, full, pink, and plump lips, impossibly long legs…
The jealousy disappeared when I realized what she was bound with. Barbed wire. It dug into her wrists and ankles, leaving thick, red trails wherever a sharp edge moved across her skin.
I looked away. I couldn’t see her like this, and not just because I was a tiny bit squeamish when it came to blood. I felt bad for her, no matter how poorly she had treated me in the past. She was still my mother, and I had to at least feel a little compassion towards her, or at least try to.
My eyes searched the room. He was nowhere to be found. Good. That’d give me a chance to escape. I had been so caught up with my thoughts, I hadn’t even heard Him leave.
“Mom,” I said quietly, hitting my bound wrists against my bare thighs to try and get her attention.
She glared at me hatefully, her eyes becoming a little more focused.
“Mom, we have to get out of—”
“Not so fast, my dear,” His voice whispered in my ear again.
I jumped. He had been behind me the whole time… I blushed, cursing my stupidity silently. He laughed quietly into my ear. His hand was touching my bare shoulder where my jacket had slid off a little. I tried to shrug Him off.
He straightened and stood in between my mother and I.
“How sweet. Mother and daughter, together again. But there’s something missing… What could it be… A father, perhaps?” He grinned wickedly.
My eyes widened.
He turned, and walked deeper into the basement. I watched Him in horror, until He disappeared into the storage room. Moments later, He emerged from the dark depths of the basement, and He wasn’t alone.
Dad sat up straight in a computer chair, bound to its back and arm rests. The attacker wheeled Dad out into the open by the back of the chair he was in, and placed him next to me and my mother. The chair itself was dusty and ancient, with wheels that screeched along the concrete floor whenever it was moved.
I examined him, trying to diagnose his condition. His eyes were wide with fear. There was a laceration on his forehead that dripped blood down his face in a steady flow. One of his legs was broken; I could see the bone jutting out against his pant leg.
I gagged. It was a pretty disgusting scene. I wanted out. Being here was torture. I looked up at my mother, who was returning more and more to consciousness by the second. She sat up straighter, her head was no longer slumping to one side, and her eyes were focusing on Dad.
She screamed against the gag in her mouth that was tied around her head. She moved against the barbed wire in desperation, only resulting in a darker and thicker stream of blood dripping onto the floor. My poor, poor mother.
She deserved this, I tried to convince myself. And maybe Dad deserved it, too. Why was I so willing to forgive him, and not my mother? Neither of them ever treated me well, or with respect.
Tears started to pour down my cheeks at this revelation. I felt the hate burning in my eyes as I recollected all of my memories of my parents. My emotions contradicted each other and were fighting for dominance; I was torn between feeling sorry for them, and thinking that they had this coming.
He stood in front of me again. I met His gaze. You can’t hurt someone who has nothing to lose, I wanted to say. He crouched in front of me, never breaking eye contact.
“What’s wrong, girl? Cat got your tongue?” There was an amused tone apparent in his voice.
He grabbed a pair of scissors that had been tucked into his belt and playfully snapped them near my mouth. I didn’t flinch.
“Gotta do better than that,” I spat.
His palm struck my cheek. Hard. The sound seemed to echo inside my head. My eyes watered from the sting. I winced. My mother had slapped me plenty of times before, but this was different. There was no holding back.
He got up and walked away, instantly bored with me. Onto the next play thing: my mother.
“Hello, Mrs. Matthews.”
Her eyes remained fixed on Dad. He noticed and sighed. He walked towards the other side of the room, where a backpack was propped against the wall, next to the metal table Dad and Mikey had used to set their tools when they were designing the basement. He threw it on the table haphazardly.
He fished around in the bag for a minute. Tension and slight curiosity hung in the air between the three of us. Slowly, He revealed a nail gun. He took a minute to admire it as He casually strolled back over to Dad.
He glanced at me for a second.
“You might want to look away, girl.” He sounded… pleased.
I never took my eyes off of him.
As He began to untie Dad’s ropes, he carefully watched his muscles for any sign of resistance. The last rope gently fell to the floor. Dad tried to punch Him in the face; He was too quick, though. He grabbed Dad’s fist in mid-swing and bent it until a loud cracking noise filled the room. Dad screamed in pain. I could see his bones poking against his skin.
Our captor held Dad’s other arm still against the armrest of the chair and raised the nail gun. I heard the sound of metal going through something before I realized what had happened.
Screaming was the first thing that registered in my head through my mild daze. It happened so fast… I then took in the blood soaking the armrest, and dripping onto the floor where it formed a pool. The nail gun shot three times. Nails glinted in Dad’s arm through the red liquid. There was one by his elbow, one by his wrist, and one in between.
I felt dizzy as I watched helplessly. The blood trickled down his arms and onto the concrete ground. A low whimper escaped from my throat.
The intruder’s eyes met mine. His stitched mouth seemed to grin slightly in the dim glow of the shitty basement lights. Dad’s head was barely being held up through the pain. He slowly raised his eyes to those of the intruder, gritting his teeth and taking short, labored breaths. The intruder moved to his other side, and injected more nails into Dad’s other arm in the same places.
The stranger laughed and turned His back to him, grabbing something from His bag again. He came back with two metal hooks in his hands, identical to the ones we had in the pool shed.
“Remember these?” He asked, waving them in front of Dad’s face. He laughed. “OF course you do.”
“Burn… In Hell,” Dad sputtered out, his arms tensing against the nails, causing more blood to spill out.
He raised the hooks,
“Stop!” I screamed. “Please… Please don’t hurt him.” My voice lowered into a whisper.
“It’s just business, sweetheart.” And with that, he plunged the hooks into Dad’s ribs, then thrust them up into his chest slowly, but forcefully.
Red liquid poured out of Dad’s mouth. He coughed and sputtered as he struggled to breathe. I had to look away. And yet… I couldn’t help myself. I listened to Dad’s coughs, the blood dripping from his mouth and splattering onto the ground. He took a few final gasps of air before everything became still and quiet again, except for my sobs, and my mother’s futile screams.
Humming to Himself, He walked back over to his tools and picked up a towel. He cleaned the weapons of the blood until they were remarkably spotless and then put them away in his bag.
He picked up two black boxes out of his bag, and put the bigger of the two in his pocket for safe keeping. He returned to Dad’s bloody body once more, opening the small black box. He pulled out a needle and thick thread and began weaving it through Dad’s lifeless, bloodstained lips in X’s. I turned away until He was finished.
“I’ve got just the thing for your mother over there,” He nodded towards my mother and winked at me.
He swiped something off the counter before standing in front of her. He held out his hand and revealed a black box. He opened it carefully. I could see the soft glint of the vials of colorless liquid inside.
“Are you ready?” He inquired, slowly turning towards her. She began thrashing in her seat, against her barbed wire binds, screaming against her dirty cloth gag.
He stepped towards her, and took her gag off. She spat on him.
“You fucking bastard.”
“Excuse me?” His head titled slightly, amused to hear her speak.
“You. Fucking. Bastard. You’re a weak piece of shit.”
“And you!” she screamed at me. “You ungrateful little bitch! It’s your fault your father’s dead! D-Don’s dead…” She sobbed.
I was stunned. Even He was taken aback and looked at me to see my reaction. I looked away, ashamed.
She never did love me.
My eyes met His briefly, and he nodded as if he understood. He took another step closer to her, the vial in His hand.
Despite my panic, my curiosity peaked. His eyes were fixated on her, each stride forward more purposeful than the last. He began to uncap the mysterious vial. He held it up to the light to briefly examine it.
“Just what you need,” He said to her.
She sat there, panic and dread paralyzing and finally muting her. She was breathing quickly and heavily.
He held the vial above her beautiful face, ever so slightly tilting it down. A single drop trailed to the edge and stayed there, teetering gently, before finally giving way. Mom closed her eyes and cried harder than before. It felt like it was in slow motion. The drop landed directly on her forehead. She screamed in pain.
That’s when he dumped the rest of the vial onto her.
The agony in her screams made me cringe and cry too. Her skin burnt and blistered as she screamed more and more.
“Hydrochloric acid,” He said to me over his shoulder, smiling proudly.
Her screams sounded inhuman, riddled with the evidence of excruciating pain, as she shook and pulled against the barbed wire. I watched my mother’s face become more and more deformed before my eyes, over what felt like hours. Before the acid had hit her eyes though, she glared at me with an enormous amount of sheer loathing, forming black pits where light should shine.
“See if anyone wants to look at that face.”
She whined softly. Her looks were the only thing she had.
“No whining.” He brought the string back, along with the nail gun.
He sewed her mouth shut in the same fashion as He did my father. The way He worked, making precise stitches through her fucked up skin, was mesmerizing.
He picked up the nail gun and pressed it against her throat. Without hesitating, he shot a nail through. She made some gurgling noises as the sharp metal punctured her skin all the way through, before becoming still.
He came back over to me, held my chin in his bloody fingers, and forced me to look at him.
“Now what to do with you…” He said.
I jerked my head away from Him, hiding the tears that streaked my face.
He sighed, frustrated, but backed off a little. He looked around the basement, taking in the damage He had done.
“We should go before there’s any more… trouble,” He said softly. I heard a grin in His voice on the last word.
I remained silent.
He removed my binds and pulled me to my feet forcefully, then rebound my hands behind my back. He shoved me towards the stairs, and I started my ascent. He kept one hand firmly pressed against the small of my back the whole time, making sure I wouldn’t try anything. I could feel His eyes looking over me. A few sobs broke out from my lips, but I tried to regain my composure.
“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I growled, my voice strained.
He laughed, and shoved me again.
One we reached the top of the stairs, He pushed me towards the front door.
“Out,” He commanded.
The sight outside was horrifying. There were two bodies on the front lawn, by the sidewalk. Policemen. I tried not to look, but my eyes still skimmed over them.
(Insert gory deaths here)
“GO!” He shouted. I stepped over the bodies and He directed me to a strange truck in the driveway.
“After you, m’lady,” He said, opening the passenger door. He helped me into the tall, black truck.
I glared at Him as He grabbed my waist and lifted me into the seat.
Sirens blared in the far distance. A warning. I searched His eyes when He slid me into the seat. They were absent of fear, like the thought of being caught didn’t phase Him. He looked away and shut the door.
I watched Him stroll casually to the front door, kicking one of the bloody bodies on His way. As soon as He was out of sight, I took action. I leaned my back against the door and felt around with my bound hands for the handle. Even though I was panicking and my fingers were fumbling, my fingers curled around the cool metal of the handle. I flung it open as far as I could, doing my best not to topple out of the vehicle. I kicked it open the rest of the way with my legs.
I jumped down, scraping my ass against the door frame, my shorts riding up and exposing even more skin. I ran as fast as I could. My bare feet crunched through the snow. I couldn’t feel a thing; the adrenaline rushing through my veins kept the cold at bay.
I ran towards my neighbor’s house at full speed. I could see the sun beginning to rise behind it. I can make it.
I heard His tool bag clatter against the pavement, and His booted feet gaining on me. He was following close behind me, and closing the gap between us remarkably quick. He was fast, I just had to be faster. I sped up, hoping to get to the door first. I wanted to scream, but I was too out of breath to even speak.
I slipped on ice, and lost my balance for a split second. It was a second too long. My right ankle gave out and I collapsed on the ground. I was sprawled out across my neighbor’s lawn when He caught up to me. He shook His head, chuckling.
My ankle throbbed as the adrenaline diminished from my system. He tried to bring me to my feet. I yelped when I instinctively put my weight on my bad ankle and collapsed. His chucking stopped and was replaced with a sigh. He picked me up bridal style, and began to walk me back to the truck.
That’s when we heard the sirens again, not too far now. He glanced down at me, then back in the general direction of the noise, gauging the amount of time He would have to flee.
The police would be here any second… I’d be safe. Free.
He set me in the middle of my yard gingerly, then jumped in His truck and took off. I sat in the damp grass, stunned and speechless.
What the fuck?