Dangerous Territory

The British Gun

That circled back around: why did the attacker have a British gun?

Nothing made sense, and that frustrated Levi.

Hours passed simply staring into the rain and ruminating over everything that happened that night, trying to find clues, but in his mind everyone was suspicious: Nicolo, Onyankopon, Yelena, Woermann, the Gestapo, even Floch. Danger was all around. Trust no one!

Levi began to twist his legs together. He had to pee, and being soaked with rain pattering all around him was seriously not helping. As his bladder twinged, he debated about simply letting it all out right there, let the rain wash the piss down the roof; however, knowing his luck, someone would be walking by right at that moment and wonder why the rain smelled of urine.

He estimated that it would be dawn soon. He could not stay up on the roof in the daylight or someone would see him. He debated about using the tree to climb down, but his ankle was far too painful to attempt it.

He had no other choice. He had to risk returning.

He pulled his bag up onto his back and crawled on his hands and knees back to the window. It was dark inside, and glancing around, he saw no movement. He was extra silent as he opened the window. He waited, prepared for an attacker to leap out from the side. He pulled his bag off his back and slowly eased it through the opened window. If anyone was going to shoot, better the bag than his head. However, nothing happened, and the bag landed on the attic floor with a moist slump.

Moving with fluid silence, he slipped inside. As soon as his foot hit the ground, he bit back a cry of pain. His heels were a shredded mess from slipping down the roof tiles, and his ankle had swollen to twice its size. Seriously, the worst injury when you were on the run was anything with your legs, and now both of his legs and feet were hurt. Pushing the pain aside, he fully slid in and closed the window. However, Levi had to immediately sit. Standing was far too excruciating.

The bedding where he had been sleeping was ransacked and the wall of boxes broken down. The small round table had been thrown to the side. Nearly every box, crate, and chest had been opened and searched, leaving contents scattered. He found the blond wig on the floor and the dress tossed into a pile with many other items from crates.

Levi slipped off the soaked jacket and pulled on the blue women's coat instead, since it was warm and dry. He had to crawl across the floor, his feet and ankle completely out of commission. He slowly crept to Eren's attic hatch, leaned down to put his ear to it, and listened cautiously to the room below. All was silent. No voices, not even snoring.

Was Eren okay? Was he even still in the hotel, or had he been moved to a hospital?

Had the attacker returned already to finish the job?

Panicked, Levi pulled open the hatch. Two seconds later, he realized how utterly foolish that had been. A police officer could have been guarding the room.

He froze, fearing the worst, but he heard no shouts of surprise. Slowly, he peeked inside and sighed in relief. Eren was sound asleep in bed, but he barely looked like he was breathing.

"Eren?" he whispered, but there was no response.

Levi looked around. He wanted to check on Eren, and he needed to disinfect his wounds. He saw the rope ladder had been pushed under a spare nightstand, overlooked when police ransacked the place. What sloppy detective work! Levi hooked the ladder on, but then he looked from the rungs to his grotesque ankle.

Maybe he could climb down using only his arms.

He slid over the edge of the attic, and his left foot tested it. He pulled back when the rope hit some of the scrapes on his feet.