Page 83 of To Have and to Hold

The reverberating boom destabilized the Skull enough for me to shake him off. I had precious seconds to feel for and grab the metal bucket’s handle. It scraped across the ground until I had it in my hand and I swooped it down onto the Skull’s skull as he was rising to his elbows. Lift and repeat. And repeat. And keep going until my strength all but disappeared into my tears and I flopped to the floor, the bucket clanging to a halt beside me.

There was no telling if it was enough to incapacitate him, except for meeting him on the ground, eye to eye, mere inches apart. Sobbing, I attempted to glean if he was still alive by passing my trembling hand underneath his nose, but I was shaking too hard to register the feeling of hot breath on skin.

Tap. Tap, tap.

His eyes were closed and his chest lacked the rise and fall of regular breaths. I wasn’t about to put stock in the fact he was dead—I couldn’t possibly be that lucky. It bought me enough time to crawl away, to lean up against the wall, hold my right arm tenderly, adjust my blown-out knee, and scan this small room in the incredible detail that I’d been lacking for days.

Tap.

What was that? I glanced up, my mouth parting. Noises.

Tap-tap-bang.

There had been a boom before. The very thing that dislodged the Skull’s grip on my throat.

An explosion.

Neighboring construction? A car crash, what? My heart began a pounding of a different kind, not fear or adrenaline, but did I dare to think it possible the explosion was in this house? Were there people in here? Was it the police, finally discovering where I was and readying to rescue me?

My body was broken, but I had one instrument left. If there was any chance of the tiny, muffled sounds being footsteps, there was still a chance.

I stretched my mouth wide and screamed.

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