.Natalia.
I didn't look back.
Feeling like I could finally think straight for the very first time—I stood up and stretched, moving around the room as quietly as I could, the gun in my hand, the shaking still controlling my limbs and taking it all at once—I should have been exhausted, but for some reason I felt more awake than I had in days.
The small door opened to the sound of rain subtly dripping through the windows, not a storm, but a slight rattle that concealed the sounds of my knees and sneakers crawling away from that closet, trying to move out of that fucking trap.
Wincing as I got up from the ache in my body and sticking the sidearm inside the front pocket of the hoodie, I shuffled to the door; smelling the fresh, damp air and the distinctive verbena scent from Anne's furniture, legs bustling down the foyer and straight to the front door, which was perfectly locked from the inside.
Fuck! There was no sign that the door had been forced, I noticed, as my frozen fingers touched the lock, trying to move it around. But without a key, it was useless.
I thought for a spare minute about Harry's driver, and my hand stopped.
He'd probably been here only to find the door locked and everything quiet.
Possibly left after not getting a response.
Cold air rushed in to embrace me in its wintry grip as my hand wiped the fog on the glass panel. I looked hard enough across the paved yard, where I was able to make out the bulky shape of the Land-Rover and Anne's car just as I pictured them in my head.
The driver left us in here.
A sudden weight settled in my stomach, while I walked away from the entrance, my mind a clouded mess of confusion. Tension radiated off me in waves at the unlooked-for sound of a creaking floorboard, moving down the hall and looking upstairs to notice that Harry's door was open, and out of every single dark spot in the house, the only source of light was coming from that door.
The pounding of my heart a persistent roar that slowly leaped as I tried the phone line by the mismatched couches, gripping the phone like it was my entire universe only to find out that the line was dead. There was no use, as I had not even one helpful number in mind.
I felt something strange inside me, my skin prickling with fresh goosebumps and every hair rising up on end. It was like I'd stepped into a force field, and my every basic instinct was telling me to run, but I wasn't running.
I couldn't. Not with the possibility of him being up there with her.
I held my position for another minute, my mind wandering slowly.
Strange nightmares, threats in the night, the tracking device.
She knew all along where to find us...
I was close to the end, too damn close, and yet it felt like I was right at the beginning.
The same fear, the same confusion.
Heard the noise again.
It was definitely something noticeable, but it wasn't a floorboard, it now sounded like a thud. I walked to the bottom of the steps and silently moved up the stairs, pressing myself up against the stairwell wall and began slowly moving up towards the second floor, the gun now held out in my left hand, safety locks off and ready. I heard something up there, possibly someone, but I wasn't positive.
Squaring my shoulders, I roamed purposefully across the hallway, moving silently across the floor, stopping right before the door leading into Harry's bedroom and stood, just barely listening for any sound or movement from within.
Hearing nothing, but my own shaky breaths, I moved forward, my head peeking inside without showing my body.
I returned back to the hallway fast, staying low and pressed against the wall, the first glance into the room not showing a thing. I listened, but there was no one, it seemed, and not a single sound.
Come on, don't be such a wimp.
Just do it.
Go inside!
"Fucking hell," I said to myself, matching my own thoughts as I disengaged myself from the shadows and headed in, heart pounding madly and rounding the first piece of furniture, where dread poured out of me at the sight I walked in on.
As I'd hoped, the room was really dim and seemed practically empty, a hefty rush of wind and rain coming from the opened balcony door as it waved the curtains around, creating the only sound and movement coming within Harry's space.
Everything felt wrong to me as I paced around the room, the feeling galloping through my chest, as I noticed that the source of light was coming directly from the bathroom, setting a heightened glow across the floor and over to the bed, right where Harry was.
Harry!
He was on his back, face turned pale and still, hair swirling carelessly across the pillow where his bandana was missing. There was no pearly pink glow on his cheeks, and his eyelids were closed against them, shiny with perspiration and the only light in the house.
I couldn't help but make a painful contrast in my head as the image of him laying by the tire, just this morning, assaulted me. There was no mischief in his bright eyes, or his dimple making an appearance, he was sloppily thrown in that bed, one of his sneakers gone and his body seemed to blend in with the comforter; hiding him and tricking me into the vague illusion that he was just peacefully asleep—except he never slept in that position, or that he was motionless, not even a pattern of breathing on his chest.
"Jesus, no," I moaned with strain, running to the bed and stopping short, scared to death to touch him or to even look straight ahead of me. "No, please, no." My heart twisted and throbbed with hurry, not wanting to delay a moment longer as I made my way, not caring if there was someone in the bathroom. Swallowing hard, reaching out to him, I left the sidearm there in the bed, the barrel pointed to the balcony.
Just in case. Only if we need it.
My whole palm rested over his collarbone as I checked for the pulse on his neck.
Nothing.
I licked my lips and focused, trying to avoid my own blood thundering as I tried to find it. Fingertips pressing harder, his pure skin feeling cold to the touch, as I sensed how his pulse hiccupped, and the smallest, barely-there flutter made me found it.
He was alive, but he needed help.
We needed help.
My hand rubbed his bare arm, creating a little warmth as I noticed he'd been laying there with nothing but his cotton shirt and the rush of wind from outside. I moved closer, taking my time as I peeled the hoodie away from my body, the cold rush of air making my arms waver as I carefully unthreaded the fabric out of my injured hand.
I placed the hoodie on top of his chest, carefully splaying it across his body as much as it was possible, wondering if the heat of it was making a difference. It probably didn't.
My mouth touched his cheek with a light kiss, moving against it to deliver a tiny whisper, "Harry, please wake up." My hand joined in, touching his hair and the other side of his face murmuring again while unshed tears formed, vision going blurry.
"Please baby, you have to wake up."—I buried my face against his shirt, choking out the words, and forcing the rest out—"We need to get out of here... now."
My voice spiraled in anguish, the anguish I'd never shown anyone, letting rip me to shreds. "I need you with me." I squeezed my eyes shut. Forced the hot moisture back where it belonged. "Please..."
It was hopeless. He was knocked out cold, the distress of the situation filling me completely as I realized that; a) I couldn't just leave him there for me to find help, and b) I couldn't just lift him from that bed and carry him out of there like he weighed nothing. It was just physically impossible for me.
Was he drugged too?
Did she use the same stuff on me?
A thousand thoughts went through me as I turned around, indignation prickling my skin as I found everything I was afraid to find. My body was wrung tight with mistrust—used needles, syringes and a crystal unlabeled bottle that was completely empty, a clear residue resting on the bottom of it—took it for a quick whiff, not recognizing the intense blow of components in it, the lack of label setting my alarm bells on; whatever anesthetic she used on us was probably illegal.
My face flushed and simmered with fury, dropping the bottle on the ground while it made a treacherous sound against the wood. Fuck!
I felt my stupidity as I watched the glass item rolling on the floor and marking a trajectory until it disappeared under the bed.
I thought about retrieving it, in an automatic motion, but, before I could even squat, two hands shot out from under the bed and grabbed me by my ankles.
I bolted up with a jump scare, fisting the duvet on my hand while a ripping scream went through me, staring intently into the shadows underneath.
This wasn't a fucking nightmare or dream, I wasn't rubbing my eyes with sleep or running to Harry for comfort.
A forceful grasp made me lose balance and collapse on my back, the weight of my own body knocking the wind out of me as my lungs stopped short of breath, my spine stiff as the full blow of the unwanted surprise made me open my mouth in perplexity, yelling with whatever force was still in me.
Before I could see it, I felt it.
The presence of someone's limbs crawling on top of my body, starting to press my feet and calves into the wooden floor and moving up, just as fright tightened my extremities; tearing hope inch by inch as the body moved up to me like a night fictional creature creeping the fuck out of me.
Another scream erupted from the deepness of my throat, desperate, haunting, and I could feel hard hands gripping my hips with power and freakish strength, pinning my skin harder to the floor. I shrieked for help over and over until something broke in my throat and no sound came out of me—the horror was no less loud and overpowering—making me rattle in the spot, not really understanding what the hell was happening.
I finally peered down, maybe out of brain stimuli, shock rising at the look of long hair and conquering arms, leaving me on the verge of a panic attack at the thought of being helpless and no matter how much I tried to convince myself that everything was going to be okay, now it didn't seem probable. Her figure appeared out of fucking nowhere with the spectral-looking light reflecting on her dead-like silence.
Fear started gurgling up my throat in the form of vomit; a filthy hand pushing me back down while another clapped over my mouth, stifling the last scream that tore through me.
She panted with rage, the brim of her wrath converging with her backbone as she backhanded me across the face and yelled a curse into the unresponsive room. I was startled not only by the impact of her legs on mine or the blow to my face but more at the proximity of her body to mine, absolute terror and madness evolving in the recurrent thought that there was not a way out for any of us.
My hand was already missing the safety that Sean's gun had provided.
"Are you enjoying the little scenario I set up for us?" She snarled, her face inches from mine as she kept battering my body... I was still refusing to fully see her face, feeling the anxiety rising with the sharp stab of pain where her knee was digging into my stomach.
I tightened my muscles, ready for another attack, both of her hands now setting my face straight into hers, the pain changing into hate as I held her empty glare, where black irises were filled with nothing but psychosis and violation.
"Whisper or scream, no one will hear you..."