COPYRIGHT © SARAH MARTIN 2015
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THIS BOOK OR ANY PORTION OF THIS BOOK THEREOF MAY NOT BE REPRODUCED OR USED IN ANY MANNER WHATSOEVER WITHOUT THE WRITTEN PERMISSION OF THE AUTHOR. ANY UNAUTHORIZED COPYING, BROADCASTING, MANIPULATION OR INFRINGEMENT OF THIS COPYRIGHT IS PUNISHABLE BY LAW.
Part Twenty-One
Saturday, February 13, 2010
Lilah
The door opened and Steve stepped into the room, unaware of what was to come. He glanced around for one moment, gaping when he saw Lilah standing beside him looking angry and determined. Oh, and I just so happen to have something to bash you over the head with, Lilah thought. He didn't notice Trace, who was trying to appear inconspicuous.
Holding the container above her head, Lilah used all the strength in her arms to lower the detergent. It collided with the side of Steve's head with a force so powerful that it knocked Lilah off balance and she stumbled.
But Steve wasn't dissuaded by this bombardment. He merely winced, stepping to the right. When the container hit him, the cap was unexpectedly knocked off, and a small amount of detergent splashed around the room.
Steve grabbed Lilah's left arm and in her right hand she held the detergent by the handle, trying not to drop it. Struggling, instead of attempting to raise the detergent again, she got an idea and swung it as hard as she could, and it collided with the back of his leg.
This manoeuvre was successful, as his leg buckled under him and he fell to the floor. Though unfortunately, he still held onto her arm tightly, so when he fell, she fell with him.
Lilah landed on her side, dropping the detergent as it continued to splash everywhere. Steve had let go of her arm and she sat up, crawling away from him, trying to snag the container again. He hooked his hand around her ankle, just before she managed to get a hold of it. She yanked hard on her leg and twisted her body as both of them writhed on the floor. Lilah again hit Steve over the head with the detergent, making his head collide with the hardwood floor.
He was momentarily stunned, and Lilah took the chance to crawl as far away from him as she could, so that he wouldn't be able to grab her again. She stood up, the container still in tow, and was about to run from the room when she had a sudden urge to mess with him further.
He was about to sit up, when she stepped toward him, turning the container of Tide laundry detergent upside town. Grinning, she dumped it over his head. "You bitch!" He roared, as the blue liquid cascaded down his horrid face like a fountain.
Her eyes widened at his outburst, and she quickly dropped the detergent and it fell on the floor with thud. Lilah swivelled on the ball of her foot, facing the door. Without a moment to lose, she ran from the room and into the hallway.
She would have to move fast, because Steve would soon be barrelling after her. What's my next move? She asked herself.
A voice in the back of her mind, ordered, Get downstairs!
She wouldn't object. Her sneakers squeaked on the hard floor as she bounded down the hall at full speed. Quicker than she anticipated, he was suddenly almost right behind her and she screamed. "Come here you little bitch!" He roared, planting his palm firmly on the wall, trying to catch his balance.
Her legs moving quicker than she ever imagined possible, Lilah ran down the stairs, looking behind her briefly as she shouted, "Get away!" He was so close to her now. She was halfway down the stairs when he reached for her from behind.
She screeched, dodging his clutch. This action obviously wasn't thought out, on his part, because as he grabbed for her, it caused him to stumble. Lilah jumped to the end of the staircase, three stairs from bottom. She then turned and watched as Steve tumbled, rolling down the stairs heavily, grunting and groaning as he fell. What a stroke of luck, Lilah thought.
His large body reached the bottom, and Lilah stepped out of the way as he thundered to a stop. Lilah panted, her hand to her chest. She tried to catch her breath, feeling her heart pound within her.
He wasn't moving, and his eyes were closed. She took a step closer to the body, examining him curiously. Do I dare? She asked herself. She took another step closer, seeing no movement.
Taking caution, she quickly kicked his leg with her foot. Nothing.
Steve was unconscious.
-
William Finley
He tossed and turned in his bed as he laid beside his wife, nightmares of that night coursing through his mind. It happened a year ago. A young girl was being held by her psychotic, alcoholic father. Detective William Finley was the first man on the scene, but he wasn't there soon enough. The father doused the room in gasoline and lit a match. William remembered the heat and the flames scorching everything in sight. But most of all, he remembered the little girl, trapped in the closet, unable to get out.
He couldn't get to her. He could hear her screaming. William was ordered to evacuate. By the time the firemen burst in, it was too late. He blamed himself. Every second of every day, that little girls life was on his conscience.
The nightmare was cut short by a shrill ringing, that of which caused Will to wake up with a start. His wife, Beth, stirred beside him, sighing. Her bright blonde hair was tousled across her white pillow.
The ringing was the phone. Will swiped his sweaty forehead, running his hand over his short black hair, and he turned on his bedside light. He checked the caller ID before answering. It read Malick, C. His boss. He leaned over to look at the clock. 3:15am.
Goddamn, he thought, what could this be about?
His wife moaned, turning over to look at him, "Who is it, babe?" She questioned, exhaustion in her voice.
"It's just work," he answered, picking up the phone, "Go back to sleep." He pressed "talk" and brought the phone to his ear, "Hello?"
"Good morning, Detective Finley," he heard his boss greet.
He responded, "Morning, Chief."
"Sorry to disturb you so early in the morning," he started, "but a job has come up and I want you on the case."
"What is it, sir?" Will questioned.
"Hostage situation," William's breath caught in his throat. "A group of teen girls at 94567 Westwood St." The image of the little girl swarmed by fire flashed in his mind. "Can you head over there?"
"I'll be there in 10 minutes," The image of the girl in the closet flashed in his mind and he blocked it out, unable to let the past affect him.
"Good. I'll see you there," Charles Malick answered.
William nodded, though his boss could not see the action. He pushed the image of the fire out of his mind. This time will be different, he assured himself. This time he would save those girls. This time he wouldn't fail.
--
Lilah
Lilah surveyed Steve's body for a few moments longer. She couldn't believe he was actually knocked out. It was like the best thing that could happen.
She turned and stared at the door, Now, she thought, I need to run over to my house and call the cops.
She slowly walked towards the front door, looking to her right, where she saw Steve's laptop and camera equipment in the living room. "Damn," she swore to herself, "I wonder what he's doing with those." Then she remembered Katie tied to the bed in her parents room and she shuddered. Poor girl.
Lilah stood in front of the door, quickly removing the dead bolt. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the doorknob, turning it slowly, anticipating her freedom.
The door swung open, revealing the early morning darkness. She stepped forward onto the porch and took a deep breath, sucking the fresh hair into her lungs. She stretched her arms to sky, looking up and seeing the stars.
She looked over her shoulder and gazed down the hallway at the still unconscious Steve before closing the door and crossing the driveway. The was a van on a street, and she assumed that it was Steve's.
Her heart pounded with exhilaration. She was running, she was almost there. That much closer to the phone. To help. Lilah could see her front door. She envisioned the comforting scent of her home. She could almost taste it.
Until she was stopped short when she collided with the unexpected form of a man, who suddenly appeared from around the corner of her house.
"It is necessary only for the good man to do nothing for evil to triumph."-Edmond Burke