Page 22 of To Have and to Hold

He held a hammer.

My gasp held a mixture of my voice and saliva as I crawled onto, over the mattress, putting as much feeble distance between me and him as I could.

The hammer was raised high, arced for damage, but I couldn’t see if it was intended for me because everything went black.

His shoes scuffed the floor—coming closer?—but the steps were receding. The swoosh of the door opening, then shutting, followed.

I wasn’t afraid that he’d stay, not anymore.

In my blindness, I understood what the Skull had done.

He’d taken away everything.

Including my light.

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