Page 67 of Shadowed With Fear

I look around the room before stomping to his bed, grabbing a few pillows, and the bat.

I drop the pillows out the window, watching the fall beside the bush, before leaning out, using the bat to rustle the barren branches.

And then I stopped.

I stopped breathing. Stop moving. And I listen.

Grayson always said you could learn the most about people if you didn’t talk, if you just watched, listened. I could faintly hear the guy breathing, his shadow beneath the door wavering. I’m sure he was straining to listen to me too. He curses under his breath, hitting the wall harshly. I hold my breath.

Then he moves. Inch by inch the dark shadow he cast on the floor goes away.

My steps are quiet. No noise is made as I quickly traipse the room toward his closet. I have the door open and I’m stuffing myself behind a bunch of old clothes and baseball gear, when I see through the slim crack of the door, the man’s head passing the window.

With my phone out, I type:

Hurry, please.

And I wait.

* * *

Sitting in a closet, silence is the only thing keeping you from something terrible is a seriously shitty way to spend an evening.

I don’t know if I sat there for five minutes, or five hours, but the darkness, and the silence around me ricocheting off the walls of the closet was excruciating.

And hearing footsteps in the hall again.

That was much worse.

I felt hopeless. Like I was doomed and there was no more time.

The doorknob of Brahm’s room rattles. I take a deep breath and wait.

The slow screech of the hinge is all I hear before the closet door is ripped wide open. A shriek tears its way out of my throat. I throw my arms over my head, blinded by the sudden light filtering inside.

“Sweet girl.” And a sob escapes me. A warm hand circles my wrist. I look up and stare right into the bluest eyes I have ever seen.

Another sob of relief floats in the space between us as I jump to my feet, grabbing onto Grayson like my life depends on it.

“I’m here, Dahlia. I’m here. I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.” His words are said into my hair, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist as if his life depended on it as well.

“Where is he?”

“Brahm’s right— “

“NO! Where the fuck is that asshole in the goddamn mask?” I push him back rushing to the window, looking around the backyard.

He sighs. “I don’t know. He wasn’t in the yard or in the house when I got here.”

“Brahm? How did you get here before Brahm?” I asked him, anxiety shaking my words.

“I had my bike. I rode faster,” he mutters, coming close. Grayson’s hand comes up slowly, hesitantly, before pausing, and dropping back to his side. And I’m…almost disappointed. A little hopeful.

“D.” A voice breathes from the doorway. I ran instantly into the arms of my brother standing there.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He murmurs over and over, rocking us gently.

“I’m okay. I hid.”