// three days before the incident //
I woke up early only because I felt like I was going to throw up; which I did, rushing to the bathroom.
I brushed my teeth then sat in the metal chair outside on the balcony for some fresh air. I wasn't hungry.
"They call themselves the Faulty Rescuers, 'cleansing the world of criminals'," Zayn said with a roll of his eyes.
"By killing them?" I asked. "They're ridding killers...by killing them?"
"That's why we call them hypocrites," he said. "See, they're like a huge gang, scattered all over the world. And somehow, the ones in this state knew we were here."
"And one of the members stabbed Harry," I said.
"Yeah."
"Oh." I pursed my lips and thought for a moment. "Isn't a person in a gang who kills people supposed to own a gun?"
Zayn raised his eyebrow.
"Just wondering," I continued slowly, "if this gang was targeted by police...why would the attacker carry a gun. I mean, a knife?-"
"No offense, Evelyn, but I didn't think you'd catch onto that," he answered with a hint of a smile.
I held my breath. "So..." I furrowed my brows. "Whoever stabbed Harry...isn't from here."
Zayn tilted his head.
"If they were from here, they'll own a gun. But if they're from, I don't know, where I was or something and they followed us here, they wouldn't be able to bring guns and crap here."
"Yeah." Zayn nodded.
"But neither could they sneak a blade."
"Nah, they can. We've done it once." He nodded to himself. "But even if he didn't bring it from wherever he was from, he could have bought it here. Could've also been a damn kitchen knife for all we knew."
"So the attacker...could be someone we know?" I asked disbelievingly.
He nodded gravely. "But the chance is as big as any other." After a moment of thinking, he stepped out of the car.
"This is our little safe place," he said and gestured to a warehouse-looking building.
I grabbed my phone and tried to call Harry's number. He didn't answer, I thought it might have been because he was asleep, as it was still nine o'clock and Harry doesn't wake up that early.
"Do you own this building?" I asked, closing the car door behind me.
"No." Zayn opened the trunk of his car and pulled out a pair of chain-cutters. "It just looks safe."
Zayn cut off a thick chain with a red tool. It dropped to the ground with a clatter louder than I thought it would sound and he kicked it aside. He led me inside. The walls were stone and dirty, and inside had a stale smell that burned my throat when I breathed. The floor was literally coated with an inch of dust, and there was an eerie silence--like the place being so quiet wasn't how it usually is; basically, it seemed like a place someone would commit a homicide in.
Zayn pressed to notice my discomfort and attempted to make a joke. "And this is where Harry skins little girls like you."
It was a terrible joke at a time like this but that's what made me laugh; his lack of comfort.
"Wait, was that a joke?" I deadpanned.
"Nah, it's where he tests out his guns." Pause. "On other people, you know, see how much kick the weapon's got-"
"Stop, you're creeping me out." Another long and awkward pause as we sized up the building. "What are we doing here?"
"Nothing." He shrugged.
"Nothing?"
"Hiding." He shook a wooden board pinned to the window sill. "From the Faulty Rescuers." He snickered.
"That's so cheesy, it sounds like a superh--wait, what?"
"What?"
"We're hiding?" I pursed my lips.
"What? You want me to get run down and killed? Please don't, Harry said he'll kill me after."
I leaned against the wall. "I dunno, must be expected to be barricading doors or something, if we're hiding. What now? Are they after us?" I asked, trying to sound neutral.
"Well, now they don't know where we are."
After a moment, my phone buzzed. It was a message from Zayn, saying Harry was leaving the hospital tonight. I'm pretty sure he would have needed to stay a little longer so he must've said something to let him go.
I felt my heart flutter but that was all, which made me feel guilty. It must've been my lack of energy without food, even though it hasn't been long since I ate. Or the feeling of him a little too far from me. I wasn't usually like this, besides the self-harm without him, so I guessed it was that strange connection between soulmates or whatever.
I grabbed the spare brown blanket from the closet in the bedroom and lay down on the couch. I turned the television on, knowing at the back of my head I probably wouldn't be paying attention to it.
I've gotten several hours of sleep, which was enough to keep me wide awake and energized for the day, but today I just had the urge to sleep.
So I did.
-
Every time I thought about the knife being rammed into my torso, the wound would throb under the bandage. It still hurt, when I touched it, and I knew I needed to heal properly before the hospital could let me go.
But I've had enough of this shit hole, their tasteless food and the cries of people in agony and pain and strife. I can't sleep. I can't eat.
It was wrong, in the midst of the crap I'm going through--being a fugitive to the cops and a gang who want me dead--but all I could think about was Evelyn, all alone in a hotel room. And they were in the city. She could be in trouble right now and I'm here doing nothing.
They could be here. They could be ten minutes away. They're so close to finding me; they've already fucking found me. I need to leave, now. Something's wrong with her, I've only had this feeling once when she was harming her self.
I grabbed my shirt of whoever it was sitting next to me, whoever's turn it was to stay with me in the hospital, not even bothering to squint my eyes under the dark to even try to see who it was, and pulled them close.
"Get me out of here," I said, my voice so rough it didn't seem to belong to me. "Get me out of here." It wasn't even me talking, now I was just angry, and blabbing whatever came into my mind. I remember the sedative or whatever the fuck it was they gave me, remembered the nurse saying it will take several moment to kick in and knock me out; I needed rest and I couldn't sleep. "It will help," she said.
I heard someone tell me I couldn't leave just yet. Not too familiar. Not an accent like mine, but it wasn't Niall, either. I couldn't hear exactly what they said after over my own voice. I didn't know why I kept repeating these words, but they were burned into my brain as my voice softened and my eyes closed. I didn't want to sleep.
"Get me out of here. Get me out of here. Get them out of my head."
-
This time I woke up to voices. At first I panicked that either somebody somehow broke into the room or the "lack" of Harry drove me so far up the wall I had hit insanity. Paranoia was one thing, but I was certain I heard a familiar voice.
I pushed myself into a sitting position, my neck aching from lying at an off angle for God knows how long--the thought made me look at the clock; it was 12 in the morning; I slept too long--and sat still, listening.
I heard a muffled voice quieten, like the person possessing the voice was moving further away from me, growing fainter. Then the twinkle of keys, and then the scraping of the hotel room's keycard through the opening device, and, finally, silence. The television was on, but it's volume was muted.
The door didn't even open. I stood up, still holding the blanket around my shoulders but didn't move towards the door.
The light in the lobby bloomed from beneath the door in a thin line, but two thin shadows darkened the middle. Someone was standing there.
The door clicked open-
"Harry?" I murmured.
A tall figure, silhouetted against the light, stood very still. I knew it was him, but I didn't want to move. I mean, I did, but he wasn't making a move and it worried me slightly. He just stood there.
I swallowed and dropped the blanket. That caught his attention, and he slowly turned to look at me.
Harry's jaw clenched and he blinked a few times, before whispering my name. "Is that you?"
There was an edge to his voice, a slur, like he was still drugged or something. But he was coherent.
I bit my lip and thought over about how this isn't how we were supposed to see each other again. It was stupid but we should be hugging. It's only been almost three days but we both knew the physical ache the separation between our bond was.
But then he blinked, hard, sighed, and took two strides toward me. He pulled me into his chest, one hand on at the back of my head and the other on my back. I hugged his waist, hearing the sounds of his heart thumping a little too quickly in his chest.
"You're okay," he whispered. "You're okay, right?"
"I'm fine. What about you?" I took a step back to try and locate a bandage or anything that will show where his wound was.
-:-:-:-