Darkness

28. Bye Bye Baby

28. Bye Bye Baby

// Spencer//

♦♦♦

I should have called Nolan, when I left the hospital, but I was too wound up and I just wanted to walk it off for a bit.

I had put two blocks between the hospital and myself before I called Justin. I wanted to warn him. My dad might not have shown any hints as to knowing who the rat might be, but in any case, we needed to be on high alert.

That's when he had swooped in on me.

I hadn't even seen the van parked on the side of the road.

I had been too preoccupied with my anger. Angry at myself, for bringing this mess down on me, on all of us, in the first place. Angry at Justin for bending over backwards at a single glance from Ari. Angry at Nolan for being so concerned and understanding. Angry at myself for, despite all of what has happened, still not wanting to take it all back.

He had stalked up behind me, his pace must have been fast in order to match mine, but even then, I hadn't noticed him. And I didn't, until he was tugging the cotton bag over my head and pulling it tightly.

I had tried to scream when I realized what was happening, but he moved too fast, and before I could make any real noise his hand had clasped down over my mouth, muffling my attempts at crying out.

I must have dropped my phone on the pavement, still connected to my call with Justin, because it's not with me now. I know, because he's been running his hands up and down every inch of my body, padding me down for weapons or wires. He's come up empty.

Over my rugged breath I can hear him rummaging around. I listen to light footsteps against creaky floorboards and the soft ticking of a grandpa watch somewhere in the near distance.

The footsteps near, the creaking only inches away now.

Then, in one swift tug, the cotton hood is ripped from my head. I squint my eyes, as to adjust to the lighting. It's not much brighter without the hood, but the sharp glare from the corner lamp aimed at me is enough to make me wince.

Once my eyes have adjusted I realize that I'm in a living room. It's smaller than the many rooms at the Brownstone but stocked full of furniture. From a comfortable couch and matching chair set, to the dozens of framed art pieces on the walls, this room looks like it's been lived in, and recently. I imagine this would be how my father would have decorated his house, had he been born twenty years earlier.

The floorboards creak and I'm made acutely aware of his presence.

I freeze, every fiber in my body refusing to move, as he rounds the chair I'm propped up in and comes to a stand before me. He crouches down, until he's at my eye height.

The grin on his face has chills running down my spine. Pleasure is spelled out in his features; anticipation is bubbling right under the surface, of something good to come. Although I'm not at all sure that it's good. In fact, the way he's eyeing me up and down has every instinct of mine standing at attention.

"Well, well, well," he says, his grin stretching further on his face, "Would you look at that?" His voice matches the sound of metal screeching against metal. I swallow the rising urge to scream.

"Pretty little thing, aren't you?" he mumbles, more to himself than to me I'm sure, as he regards me with curious interest. "No wonder they keep you around."

Then he rises to his full height and starts back around me, heading somewhere behind me.

"Who are you?" I croak out, just as his denim clad hip brushes against my shoulder. I shudder at the contact.