Bonnie and Clyde

Chapter Two: Malevolence

A twist of fate, or, perhaps, a total coincidence. Maybe I'd lingered too long, maybe it was slow traffic. What did it matter?

It didn't.

Whatever the reason, whether it be fate, coincidence, or sheer luck, good or bad, I'd survived.

But I couldn't begin to guess why.

I made it inside, shivering from the cold, stripping off my rain soaked jacket. Maybe it was the forlorn storm crackling overhead, or, maybe it was my current... predicament, but, I was feeling paranoid, sure someone had followed me here. I peeked through the window, searching through the darkness, but I didn't see any shadowy figure hiding in the rain. All I saw was black. Even so, I turned the key in the lock, preventing anyone from coming inside after me.

I tossed my soaking jacket into a pile by the door, along with the black, long- sleeved shirt I was wearing under it, hoping I wouldn't forget them when I made my way home tomorrow from my parent's house. The sleeveless shirt I was left with offered no protection against the cold, and, shivering again, I went inside, hoping for the warmth of the old fashioned woodfire that almost always burned through the wintry nights.

There was no fire, so, I made my way into the kitchen, wondering if my mother was there. The room was shrouded in darkness, and I switched on the light, not wanting to be alone in the dark.

Too much can hide in the shadows. Too many monsters, and I don't mean the kind that hide under your bed. Some monsters are real, as much as we want to deny their existence, and sometimes, when you close your eyes and wait for them to go away, they're still there when you open them again.

Mum wasn't in the kitchen, and I checked the time on the clock hanging on the wall. It was late, early hours of the morning, and, I knew that everyone would be in bed. I lent against the kitchen sink and started singing softly, the first song that came to my mind, the silence beginning to scream far too loudly.

Mum used to sing when I was young, scared from the storm, and, even though I was too old to be frightened, it was a habit I'd developed over the years, singing over the thunder claps.

For once, there was no comfort in the melody.

I strained my eyes to see outside, peering through the rain again at the garden. but saw nothing. The morning sun was nowhere near the horizon, but, even if it was, it wouldn't break through the lingering storm clouds for hours.

It was then that I heard a creak as someone stepped onto the loose floorboard right in the kitchen doorway. I glanced behind me, praying that it was my brother in the process of sneaking up behind to try and scare the shit out of me, like he always did.

What I saw scared me more than anything my brother could have pulled.

There was a man standing in the doorway, blocking my only way to escape. I felt my heart skip a beat, and a rush of adrenaline began coursing through my veins as my heart hammered in my chest.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded of him, and I saw him blink, as if taken aback from the ferocity in my voice.

I inched slowly toward the knife block to my right, and I saw his eyes tracking my movements beneath his long, dark hair.

I stopped dead, pressing my back into the side of the sink. If it came to it, I knew I couldn't take him. He towered over me, his solid form closing off the doorway, keeping me trapped in the kitchen. He wasn't exactly muscular, like some sort of gym junkie, but he looked strong. He was well toned, I could tell, tall and lean, built like an athlete, and I knew that he'd easily overpower me. I'd barely last a second against him.

His face was unlined, his skin smooth and unmarked, apart from a jagged, white scar over the side of his sharp jaw, marring an otherwise perfect face. It was obscured under the stubble along his jaw, and I might not have even noticed it if I hadn't been staring so hard.

Anyone else might have been ruined by it, but it was like the devastating finish of his devastating good looks. He was undeniably beautiful, undeniably terrifying. I noticed both of these things in an instant, and they were the details that stayed with me. If I believed in the devil, this was exactly how I'd imagine he would look; beautiful, in a dark, sinister kind of way. His shaggy, unkempt hair almost brushed his powerful shoulders, as dark as his clothes and his formidable expression.

That wasn't what I found so threatening though. It was the determined look in his intense, icy grey eyes that had the hairs on the back of my neck standing on edge. I was praying, to any higher power who might listen and protect me. But it was only the evil ones who were listening tonight, and I was sure that they had sent him to claim me.

Swallowing the lump that had begun to rise in my throat, I took a deep breath, hoping that it might help to steady my racing heart. I decided to change tactics, in the hope that I might be able to diffuse the situation, regain some sort of control, though, deep down, I knew it was far too late for that.

"What do you want?" I asked him, my voice coming out even, sounding a whole lot more in control than I felt. "Are you here for money?"

Was he robbing the place? I could just give him a bunch of money or jewellery and hope he'd disappear. Where the hell was everyone? Maybe he'd tied them up somewhere in the house?

I saw his eyes flick to the wall above my head, where the clock was mounted and I saw him grimace. I wondered if I could use his distraction to make some sort of move to get passed him and run.

But, then his eyes locked back on me, and I realised with a sinking feeling that my hesitation had cost me what was more than likely my only chance at escape.

He advanced on me, and I thought about screaming, hoping that I might be able to alert one of the neighbours.

But I didn't scream. Instead, I raised my chin, showing him that I wasn't afraid, wondering if he was the sort of sick guy who got off on terrifying his victims, like you hear about, sometimes. I suppressed a shudder and grit my teeth as he held out a hand that was criss- crossed with scars.

"I want to keep you alive," he told me, the intense, aggravated scowl on his face contradicting his gentle tone.

Somewhere in my mind, among my scattered thoughts, I knew he'd kept his voice deliberately calm so that he didn't frighten me, and it might have worked, but, when I glanced down at the hand he offered, and I saw that it was stained with blood, I felt my stomach lurch. If my survival instincts hadn't kicked in right at that moment, I probably would have thrown up on the small section of the floor that was left between us.

Instead, the adrenaline spurred me into action, and I aimed a kick at his groin, but it was as though he'd expected it, and he deflected my knee with his own. I barrelled into him, hoping to knock him aside and race passed him, but he caught me, pinning my arms to my sides, my back against his chest, and lifted me off my feet as though I weighed nothing. I thrashed and struggled against him, trying to find purchase on the ground, but he was even stronger than I'd expected, and I didn't even come close to breaking his grip on me.

His hand clamped over my mouth just as I was about to scream, and he held me trapped against his body. He wrestled me out of the kitchen, kicking open the front door and dragged me with him into the rain.