Page 24 of Killing Emma

“Oh,” I stop him before he hangs up. “One more thing.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell Henry.”

Chapter Eleven

Emma

I step into the bathroom, and my eyes flicker up to the window. It’s dark outside. I don’t know the exact time, but the darkness tells me I have cover. I don’t like the blackness of night—especially outside. It’s always been a fear of mine…

But whatever is out there is less likely to kill me than the man in here.

I take a deep breath, knowing the more time I waste, the more time I lose. However, breaking the window isn’t going to be easy. It’s about four feet above the very top of the toilet, and there’s nothing to use around here. The cabinets are empty, and I can’t find anything heavy enough that I can use…

Until I realize I’m staring at it.

I rush to the toilet and lift the back lid. Much to my surprise, it pulls away completely. The devil didn’t think about the toilet. However, now that I have it, I’m facing a different predicament… I needed to stand on top of the toilet to reach the window with more ease.

I’ll have to throw it…

I place the lid back on toilet and quietly climb up it, grabbing ahold of the windowsill to steady myself. Part of me expects to see that eerie masked face peering back at me as I look out, but instead, I see nothing. Nothing of concern, that is. I can’t make out exactly what’s on the other side of the glass, but it appears to be some sort of flower bed.

Stepping back down onto the seat, I pick the lid back up. He could have an alarm system or cameras… The thought causes hesitation, but I don’t let it hinder me. He’s only been gone for a short amount of time—and I have to take the opportunity when I have it.

And know that he might kill me if this doesn’t work.

The fear washes through me in waves, but the desperation to get out of this strange hellhole is stronger. If he kills me, he kills me. He said he was going to, anyway. Might as well die trying.

Using all the force that I can, I throw the toilet lid, bracing as the porcelain connects with the glass. I cringe at the noise of glass shattering, and jump into action, placing a bare foot on either side of the upper bowl's rim. No alarm sounds, but that doesn’t bring me any relief. This is only the beginning. I peer through the window, my stomach dropping at the shards still left.

Glancing behind me, I rip my shirt over my head and wrap it around my fist and forearm. I swipe at the glass, clearing the small space as much as I can. As soon as I’m sure I can shimmy through without getting cut, I shake out my shirt and put it back on.

I force deep breaths as I reach through the opening. I’m only five-feet-six inches, and the window is farther off the ground than I thought. But it’s too late now. I have to move. My fingers scrape against the concrete outside, and I bend my knees before launching myself forward.

It’s a tight fit, but I squirm and kick my feet while digging my fingers into the mulch covered ground to drag me forward. The air is much cooler. And drier. I fill my lungs with it, and pause after I make it out, sitting there in the flower bed.

I have no fucking clue how to get out of here—and there are no lights around the house. I stand to my feet, breathing my way through the lightheadedness. It passes, thankfully, and I scan the darkness. The easiest way would be to find the driveway, right? I can just run straight to the road.

With that in mind, I slink around the side, and it’s then that I realize just how luxurious the house is. It’s a stucco ranch style home, and the more I stare at it, the more I realize there’s no way in hell we’re still in Georgia.

Where am I?

I shake my head. I’ll figure that out later. I ease around to the front of the two-story home before catching sight of the asphalt driveway. It leads into the cover of thick trees, and that’s better than standing out in the open.

As I take a step forward, I freeze at the sound of a dog barking. A big dog. My mind instantly fills with images of being chased down by attack dogs, but I only hesitate a few seconds before racing off into the night.

I just have to get out of this place, and I’ll be free.

Ignoring the returning pain in my feet, I push myself, staying under the cover of the trees. I follow the driveway until my lungs are burning so fiercely, I have to stop. My hands drop to my knees as I bend over, gasping for air. I should’ve run more. I should’ve been in better shape—but then again, I never could’ve imagined this.

I wipe the sweat from my forehead and face before looking back at the house. The only noise I hear is of the dog barking, but it sounds distant. My head aches, and I know I’m dehydrated. I needed more than a half bottle of water.

I should’ve gotten a drink from the sink before this adventure.

A soft sigh escapes my lips as I lean against the tree, running my hands over my face. I’m tempted to break down in tears again. I don’t understand how I became a target of such a cruel fate. I don’t go outside. I don’t make waves with anyone. I never leave my house, so why is this guy so damned determined to kill me?

“Suke!” I hear the command ring out in the night, and I nearly vomit. I know what it means. My mother owned protection dogs.

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