Page 79 of To Have and to Hold

There was better light in the next room, a small cone of illumination gliding across the wooden stairs ahead as if it were a call to heaven. That sight had new energy coursing into my veins and I used my good elbow and knee to inchworm closer.

The Skull figured out after his tirade I was no longer in the room with him and was heading toward me. I grabbed whatever was available on the floor or within arm’s reach on the worker’s desk nearby and threw it in his path, hoping to derail him while I slugged forward on two good limbs, keeping my body curved so I could see both him and the staircase.

He was weakened, hurt severely, but he could use his legs better than I. The Skull was up and lurching and would be on top of me in seconds if I didn’t curb him in some way.

The taste of outside was on my tongue and I sat up and lunged a hammer at him, then a piece of wood, then a boot. He thwacked each item to the side, except for the hammer, which got him in the shoulder. He hollered at the contact but still descended, and I gritted my teeth and refused to cry as I slid closer to the staircase.

Most of me knew my continued escape was futile. The alternative was to freeze like a doe and let him do what he intended, and I couldn’t have that. I’d carry my last breath to the staircase and look upon that crack of light instead of the dregs of this hellhole. Where there was still a chance, I would always move.

He got me on the third stair, pulling at my ankle and bashing my body against the wood as he dragged me down. My broken arm screamed at the contact, but the pain was so stunning I couldn’t give it sound. Dark stars sparkled into vision before his terrible face came into clarity. He dragged, tugged me across the floor. I clung to the wooden rail with my left hand, but it added nothing to the friction. He pulled me into the dungeon, slamming the door behind him, but it was different this time, because there was light, the kind that was almost too clear, adding pixels and refractors I didn’t need. Bloodstains everywhere—my blood, his—charred walls, a dented metal bucket, soiled mattress. He’d had back-up bulbs hidden in the ceiling that were a mere flick away on a switch right outside the door. The Skull had this up his sleeve, was maybe saving it for a day like today when he wanted to observe every torn part of me.

“I want you to see this when I kill you,” he spat, smacking the good side of his face as he hovered. “Let this be your last nightmare. I win.”

Pressure compacted my throat, my tongue bulging, my throat crushed so brutally I couldn’t draw in air.

His bleeding lips moved, said something, the harsh brightness showcasing the mess of his profile, the melting muscle and skin, the white viscous of what used to be an eyeball. The other side of his face was marred with the splashes of minor contact with fire but otherwise recognizable. I tore into his injured skin, using that weakness to force him to release me, but instead of recoiling the Skull used the agony in the reverse and applied more intense pressure, his marred lips peeling back. My wavering vision had his teeth blurring into fangs.

I think I knew him, but while scrabbling for oxygen and clawing for freedom, my mind was unwilling to release the name. Instead, another came into view, one that could submerge the violence and better send me into the unknown.

Spence.

What a mistake it was to walk away. Almost three years of living without him, and I thought I had it down. Forced myself to find someone new and to live a great life, determined to believe I never needed to see Spence again, when the truth was I could never forget. Spencer was in every action, my motivation stemming from the fire of leaving him and thinking he was not my better half.

All it took was hearing his voice again, that one sound holding my name, and I was desperate to tangle my fingers into his shirt and pull him near again. To burrow my nose into his neck, soap and mint enveloping, the warm pressure of his arms encircling, and I would be home.

My hands cupped his face, my tears of struggle were for him, and my last breath claimed his name.

Spence…

I’m sorry.

Then came the BOOM.

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