Free Web NovelChapter 32: Cornered
Cold water runs over my hands, I’ve been standing at the cracked sink in this stinking bathroom much longer than necessary. The place is giving me a headache. Or maybe that’s the stress. It drips from my fingertips into the stained porcelain basin while I study the bruised shadows beneath my eyes.
Nothing can hide the fact that I look like shit. My own mini apocalypse written across my face. I wonder what they’d say if they were here now? The thought of them makes me want to lie on the filthy floor and stay there.
I shut off the tap and dry my hands slowly, buying myself another thirty seconds before I have to go back out there.
Cute guy Greg has been talking at me for almost an hour. He’s drifted between so many topics I lost track, all with little to no input from me. He seems nice. Under normal circumstances, I’d probably be enjoying myself.
These aren’t normal circumstances and when he laughs, my brain compares it to each of them, their smiles projected behind my eyes. They’re emotional parasites with stupid faces, probably comfortable at home.
No. Not home. They’re not home. That house isn’t home. Home doesn’t watch you lose your mind and refuse to explain why.
I push through the bathroom door before I keep arguing with myself and step back into the warmth. The bartender gives me a small nod from behind the counter, the two men nursing drinks haven’t moved. Exactly the same as when I left.
Greg is smiling when I slide back into the booth, another fresh drink waiting beside my half-empty glass. All comfortingly normal, a kind of ordinary I’ve been trying desperately to claw my way back toward for days.
He says something about a movie we’d discussed before I scuttled off, and I try to focus on it. Really try. My mind’s wandering, latching on and dismissing uninvited memories, each one irritates me more than the last.
I drag my attention back to the conversation just as he leans forward slightly, smiling like we’re old friends.
"So, Frankie, where should we hit up next?"
Ambient sound fades to static. It all drifts a little further away and my overwhelmed brain desperately rewinds through the last hour, searching for the mistake.
Did I tell him? Did he overhear it somewhere? Did I leave my card on the table? Did he somehow see my ID? My stomach drops lower with every possibility. No. I didn’t tell him. I know I didn’t.
I’ve been careful to the point of paranoia. Absolutely no traceable breadcrumbs leading back to me. Every conversation filtered. Every answer edited.
Yet somehow, he knows my fucking name.
The smile on his face doesn’t change, the first indication that this is so very bad. He still looks harmless, just some cute stranger who offered to buy me a drink because I looked lonely.
Subtle cues I missed are so fucking obvious now. He watches me with a little too much focus, has edged closer millimetres at a time, has barely blinked, seems entirely unsurprised by my current reaction. My pulse pounds in my throat. The booth is tiny, exits too far away.
Shit shit shit shit shit. I’ve been so unbelievably careful. Something has gone very, very wrong.
An uncomfortable amount of time has passed with my panic obvious. The mask slips, he knows he’s fucked up.
"Shit," he says softly, the word barely more than a mutter. He smiles again. "That wasn’t meant to happen."
Run Frankie. Fucking run.
I don’t want to know what happens next. The only true thing I’m sure of; I’ve spent days convincing myself I wasn’t being hunted by monsters, and now one knows my name.
Trying so hard to appear casual, I start sliding out of the booth. If I don’t panic, this won’t become a situation. There’s a simple explanation, sure I’m overreacting. Thoughts tumble over each other and they barely make sense. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
His hand closes on my wrist and every hopeful possibility dies in that small movement. My skin is clammy beneath his fingers, every tiny hair on the back of my neck erect.
Across the table, the mask has slipped enough for me to see underneath. A predator.
"Let’s not make this difficult, sweetheart," he says quietly. "We just want to talk."
We. Not me. Not I. We.
Faces in the bar are now a threat, every stranger a possibility. This wasn’t a meeting of chance, this person is not safe, the guys would not send this male, would not corner me. It’s not them.
"Let go." My voice comes out thin. I hate that. I yank against his grip so hard the booth rattles.
"I wouldn’t," His smile tightens for the first time.
Nausea returns with a vengeance, I consider using it as an escape tactic. I’ll puke all over this fucker.
"Let. Me. Fucking. Go." I grind the words through gritted teeth, they come out loud enough that the bartender finally looks over.
"Oi," His shout’s a crack of thunder. "There a problem over there?"
Greg glances toward the bar, his transformation terrifying. One moment he’s a monster, the next easy smiles and harmless charm. fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓
"No problem," he calls back.
This is my one opportunity.
Wait.
Wait.
His grip relaxes a fraction, I grab my bag and bolt. The bartender’s already moving around the counter as I stumble toward the exit, concern on his face. He says something, I don’t hear it. The moment I shove through the door, freezing rain slams into me, my hair, clothes, skin all drenched in seconds. I don’t slow. My trainers splash and squelch as I sprint blindly into the night.
Run.
Run faster.
Don’t stop.
Don’t look back.
I have a plan, not a good one. Reach the motel, grab the bag, take the cash, run. I let out a scream.
Four days of hiding in a mouldy room that smells like shit, and this fucker finds me. What does he want from me? A sob bubbles up and breaks, it’s all collapsing around me.
"FRANKKIIEEEEEE" Greg screams my name into the night with a creepy, sing-song tone.
He’s fucking unhinged.
My legs pump harder. Water splashes up my calves as I throw myself over the road and nearly collide with a parked car. I don’t care. The motel is right there, just move. Keep moving. Because deep down I think I’ve known this was coming since the moment I climbed down that balcony.
Lungs burning, eyes blurred with rainwater, I blank out the thudding steps behind me. I leap the last few feet, drag in a desperate breath and as soon as the scent floods my senses, a compass needle snaps north.
Violent sensation redirects my body, tearing me off course. I veer sideways, shoulder clipping the brick wall as I stumble toward the source.
"Please," I beg all the gods that my body knows what it’s doing.
Despite the lies and secrets and anger, relief creeps through the terror. Tears are streaking down my face, another corner, another step, and another and another.
I inhale. Yes, yes, yes, it’s him.
An anchor dropped into storm-tossed seas. Before pride can remind me I’m furious, my frayed nerves reach toward him like a starved dog. I push toward safety, each breath now filling my lungs with the achingly familiar. I skid to a stop, let the now multiple sets of footsteps gain on me.
City noise fades, the universe narrows until only an impossible sense of rightness settles over my soul.
Charging toward me, rain sliding from huge shoulders and disappearing into the darkness below, is him.
My raging River.
