Page 44 of Seek Him Like Shelter

Unless he had a gun.

A whimper rising up in my throat, I veered closer to the side of the hallway, hand slapping down on door handles as I went, but finding none that opened.

There was literally nowhere to hide.

I pushed myself faster, chancing a look over my shoulder, seeing my attacker losing a little steam.

He was bigger. Taller. Wider. Slower.

Saying a silent prayer that I wasn’t making a painfully stupid move, I threw my arms out into the stairwell door, then made my way up, thanking myself for the many hours spent on a stair climbing machine at the gym in an attempt to get one of those high, round butts that looked really good in tight workout pants like the influencers I saw all over social media.

Because I flew up those stairs, my heartbeat increasing, but not enough to slow me down.

And in the big, empty space of the enclosed stairwell, all I heard below me was panting as I made it to the top, charged through another door, then down a hall before my attacker could even get up the stairs.

The doors were frustratingly locked up here as well.

All except the one to the library. Since it didn’t have a door, just an open, welcoming doorway.

Figuring it was better than being out in the open, I ran in, rushing through the lines of books, trying to find somewhere, anywhere to hide.

Then, like someone was actually answering my prayers, I saw it.

Behind the circulation desk was an open door.

I didn’t stop to think.

Because it was a room.

One without windows.

And that was as safe as I could hope to be in this situation.

I rushed behind the desk, going into the room, and forcing myself to close it slowly so it didn’t make a sound.

Then, hands shaking, I flicked off the light before turning, looking for somewhere to hide. Because while my attacker might have been slower and less skilled in cardiovascular activities than I was, he was certainly much bigger and stronger. I imagined, if he was determined enough, he could break down a door if he saw me behind it.

It was a cramped, claustrophobic space without windows, the walls painted a prison gray. Given that school wasn’t in session, the space was almost clinically clean, not a stray book to be found anywhere.

But there was a desk with a solid bottom, the side facing outward would hide me from the window in the door.

I ran behind it, squatting low, and folding myself up as tightly as possible to fit underneath it, my knees crushing to my chest, making breathing difficult.

I tried to take slow, short breaths through my nose to keep myself quiet, paranoid that he would even be able to hear me breathing.

Safe, at least for the moment, I reached for my phone, ignoring the endless texts from Michael that had come in just over the past five minutes.

He was pissed off, sending me text after text in all caps.

WHERE ARE YOU?

ARE YOU TRYING TO SABOTAGE ME?

IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME, YOU’RE FIRED.

I ignored those, finding a different number, and drafting up a message.

HELP!

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