Unnatural Instinct: Free

8.

In ideal circumstances you would have shot him and it would have felt so good. But these are not ideal circumstances. To shoot him would mean waking up the whole village and being caught. It would mean the end of your life. And despite what you blustered to Derrick, you're just not willing to do that.

Not yet, at least.

You take a moment to look down on him, trying to absorb what you've done, not to mention the things you plan to do. Your heart is thundering and the blood is rushing through your veins. You feel a pounding at the back of your head and your mouth is so dry it hurts to swallow.

You can't believe you're doing this.

The gun slips from your grasp and clatters to the ground. Derrick doesn't stir, blood trickling down behind his ear. He's lying on his stomach, one arm bent awkwardly by his head, his pants twisted around his legs, his arse gleaming white in the moonlight. He looks dead and you can't help but wonder if you really have killed him.

You stare and you stare, suddenly feeling cold. Then you shiver and it rouses you from your shocked stupor. Time to move!

Quickly you crouch beside him and search his pockets. You find his keys almost immediately. They clink in your hand. There are four on his ring. One is obviously for the door and one should hopefully be for the monster's chains.

You race around to the door, checking over your shoulder as you fumble with the lock. The village is dark and quiet. Nobody seems to have heard the commotion. The light from Derrick's torch flickers against your face. You should put it out—someone might see you!—but you need to use it to see in the darkness of the cell.

You don't have to worry for too long; after your second attempt, you find the right key. It turns in the lock. A heavy latch pulls back, and it seems so loud in the quiet that you look over your shoulder again, certain someone must have heard you. But the nearest huts remain dark, their windows shuttered.

You take a moment to brace yourself, then push the door open. It moans loudly. Once it's open enough you can slip through, you take up the torch and enter, quietly closing the door behind you.

You blink as your eyes adjust to the gloom. Again, you shiver. You'll never feel comfortable in this place. Hearing something scuff against the floor, you flash your torch around. Your heart thuds at the sight of the monster curled up in the corner.

You open your mouth, then shut it again. What do you say? What can you say? Does he even speak? Will he understand you? You clear your throat. 'I'm here to set you free.' Your breath makes the torchlight flicker. Hastily, you fit it in the bracket on the wall.

No movement. No response.

'I've got the keys. I'm-I'm going to unlock your chains.' You take a hesitant step towards him, then pause. 'Please don't hurt me.'

Again, no response. And you start to worry that the monster might be grievously injured. Or worse still—dead. What are you going to do if that's the case? You're so shaky that your legs almost collapse beneath you as you crouch beside him. Your hands are trembling so much that you keep dropping the keys.

You're so close you can hear him breathing. He's alive at least. You can feel his breath against your hands. His fingers are long, his hands big. He could easily grab your neck and snap it and then attempt to unlock the chain himself.

But he doesn't move. All he does is open his eyes. The firelight gleams against them and for a moment you forget what you're doing. You can see the intelligence. You can see his uncertainty. But more than that—you can see his rage.

You've gone too far now. All you can do is fit the first key into the lock. It fails and you try to fit another one. That fails too. Finally, your tongue between your teeth, your heart pounding madly, you fit the third. It slides in, and with a click you loosen his chain.

You leap back, biting back a cry as the monster moves. First he sits up with his back against the wall, taking deep breaths that make the big muscles in his chest expand. Then he slowly stands, the chain clattering to the floor. Your eyes widen as you watch him. Up and up he goes until his head brushes the ceiling. He's leaning his shoulder against the wall, his face lowered. The gunshot wound has barely healed and the bruising and swelling on his face looks more pronounced than ever. But he's standing.

He's standing!

'You need to ... you need to help me,' you say. 'I've freed you; now you can free me. Get me out of this horrible place.'

His dark eyes are gleaming behind his hair. You swallow down your dread as he bares his teeth. All you can do is back away until your back presses against the wall. And then he's moving, hunched over, grabbing at his side, as he heads for the door.

'Wait! Take me with you! Please. They'll ... they'll kill me for what I've done.'

He grips the handle. The snarl hasn't left his face and you suddenly feel a stab of dread. How could you be such a fool? With a twist of the handle, he opens the door and steps through it.

Numb, dazed, you follow him. What else can you do? Your life flashes before your eyes. Your body doesn't feel like your own. The village, the unconscious Derrick, the dark forest—it all seems so far away against your pounding heart and swirling thoughts. You've never felt so cold.

This isn't going to plan. Desperately, you seize his wrist as he prepares to run. Not fly—run, through the trees. Perhaps he doesn't have the strength to fly. It makes you sick. You had hoped otherwise.

He tries to wrench his arm away but you clutch at him like a dying woman. You are a dying woman. Or already dead. 'I'm coming with you.'

He glares at you. You both turn at the sound of a groan.

Derrick is waking up.