Every Missing Piece

Chapter Twenty-Seven

For a moment, I stare in shock at the blade sticking out of Daniel's hand. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I stabbed him—normally, I'd argue that I hadn't been thinking, but when I imagined the events unfolding, I pictured a quick cut, a knife that jutted straight out in a wound that was both clean and debilitating. That wasn't the case. There was resistance every millimeter the knife pushed, grating against bone, slicing through muscles and veins. The blade is at an angle, the skin around it mangled and blood already pouring out of the wound. I did this. I did this without a second thought as to whether I had another choice.

Yet it still wasn't enough.

Daniel grunts as he pulls the knife from his hand, eyes closed with pain. Then, he slowly lifts his head until his eyes meet mine, and whispers, "I'm going to kill you for that, you little piece of shit."

That's the only urging I need to get the hell away from there. I cast a final glance at my pack leaning against the wall but I know I will have to do without it. Daniel could collect his wits at any moment, and I can't waste the precious seconds it would take to grab my things. Still, I don't like it. I'll be racing away from a madman without a weapon to my name.

There's a crash behind me, like Daniel knocked over a chair in his haste, but I don't look back to check. For the first time since I can remember, my plan is stunningly simple: no rescues, no escapes, just put as much distance between me and Daniel as I can.

He was cocky. Daniel must have sent all of his supporters downstairs, confident that he could handle me on his own. Maybe he was right. There's only one thing that matters: as I race down the hallway, fluorescent bulbs flickering into life above, there's no one stepping out of the shadows to stop me. Only Daniel pursues me, and his roar of rage drowns out the sound of my footsteps thundering across the chipped linoleum. I know without needing to look that he is close.

Too close, perhaps.

I chance a look back when I reach a stairwell at the end of the hallway, opposite from where Mason and I had first entered. Daniel holds his injured hand awkwardly against his chest, blood staining the front of his shirt. He lifts his other hand then, and I only have time to notice the glint of metal.

BANG!

The bullet finds its mark a few feet to my left, and tiny pieces of plaster flutter down from the spot where it hit the wall. Daniel is shaking with fury, and I realize that he's forced to shoot with his non-dominant hand after I stabbed him in the right. That may be the one good decision I made all night. If given enough opportunities, though, anyone can get a lucky shot, and I don't want to give Daniel that chance. The only direction I can go is down.

I take a deep breath as I look at the stairs descending before me. Even if I go as quickly as I can, Daniel will still have enough time to get in a few well-aimed shots, and I refuse to die from a bullet wound to my back. I'm weighing all of my options, but the few I have left range from bad to horrible.

Then, I hear more footsteps, not from Daniel who still comes closer and closer, but from the staircase in front of me. I can't see who's coming yet, but all of my terrible options are disappearing until I have no options left at all.

Three people round the final corner on the flight of stairs and stare up at me. For a moment, I hold onto my last crumb of hope that they're not from the Keeping but sent by Mercy to help me out of this impossible situation. It doesn't take long for even this last trace of hope to flicker out when three identical, feral grins appear on their faces. Daniel wasn't as cocky as I'd thought.

Something hard presses against the back of my head and I hear heavy breathing behind me. "If you want your brains to stay inside your skull," Daniel says, "I'd recommend you keep very, very still."