The Absence of Truth | S. Stilinski

XXVII. | psychotic

XXVII. | psychotic 

                  I WAS SITTING there, watching Sarah as she slept, making sure she was breathing every few minutes. From what I could tell, she was stable. Or, as stable as she could be. I was pretty much useless, squatting in the blood with a straight face. I'd gotten used to the coppery scent filling the room, and now only focused on my dying aunt. I wouldn't lie and say that everything was going to be okay. In fact, I knew that if no one came to help us soon, Sarah would die from blood loss on the floor, and I wouldn't be able to stop it.

Very faintly, as I held my fingers to check for Sarah's pulse, I heard the sound of a car door shutting outside in the parking lot. For a second, I thought I was imagining things. No one came to the station unless called in or forced. Then, the lights went out above my head.

The shrill sound of an emergency alarm went off with the yellow tinted back up lights, bringing us out of the pitch black darkness. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to understand what was going on when I heard the first volley of gunshots hit the side of the building, right where Sarah's normal desk was.

I couldn't believe what was happening. The sound was so loud I couldn't even hear myself think. It was like a movie scene, and I hunkered down while I listened to the gunfire of machine weapons destroy the windows and walls on that side of the building.

For a few minutes, I stayed shielded next to Sarah, then the gunfire stopped completely. The regular lights were still out, but there was no movement or sound of attack. I slowly stood from my crouch and looked around for anything to warn me of danger. When I stood, I looked down at my aunt, whose eyes were still closed. The only person in the whole building that could help me was most likely locked in the cell block with Stiles's father. Melissa would know what to do, wouldn't she?

From where I was, the cell block wasn't that far away. If I could remember correctly back to the days when I would play in the station while visiting Sarah on a school holiday, I could sprint and make it there in under fifteen seconds. That was before the floor was slick with glass, bullets, and blood, but it was also before I could run at full speed as well as I could now.

Without thinking too much, I decided to make a run for it, and accept the consequences that came from my stupid, stupid actions. I wasn't as strong as Presley, but Sarah wasn't that big, so even though I struggled, I was able to get her in my arms bridal style. The venom from the kanima was probably already wearing off, but Sarah was far too weak to carry herself.

I stumbled on my first few steps, but quickly got used to the extra weight I was carrying and made it to the wooden doorway. From my vantage point, I still saw Stiles and Derek on the ground, but Jackson was nowhere to be seen. I stepped over the two on the floor, whispering a quick 'sorry', before setting myself up on track. I breathed in deep, hoped I wouldn't fall, then ran like it was the only thing I knew how to do.

Running and I had a complicated relationship. When I was younger, I'd been in track and loved the feeling of flying down a street with the wind in my hair. As I'd gotten older, running and I had a falling out. It wasn't just that it was un-fun, it was that Presley had taken the spotlight as athlete twin, and left me to become the smart bookish one. Now, as I felt glass crunch under my borrowed shoes, and slid on wayward streaks of blood on the floor, I realized that running and I needed to become close again. Not only was this because I was winded in less than five seconds, but because I felt the rhythm come back to me with ease.

Internally, as I sped down halls hiding from both Jackson and Matt, I decided that running would probably be a good pastime for me, especially if I was going to keep running from crazy, psychotic serial killers. I could use the practice.