Page 44 of Shea's Hero

He stumbles over the doorjamb, almost falling before he catches himself.

With a furious shout, I grab the door and slam it closed, sobbing with fear as I fumble with the locks. Already the contents of the needle are seeping into my body, slowing my movements and making them unsteady.

Once I slide the last bolt home, I sprint for my phone. I snatch it off the coffee table where I left it and?—

OUCH.

Stumbling, I smash my shin into the wooden edge of the table, almost toppling over it.

A heavy weight hits the front door.

No, no, no. He can’t get inside.

I need more doors between us.

Half running, half weaving, I rush to the bedroom, closing and locking the door behind me. Then I careen into the attached bathroom, banging into the doorframe as I go.

Gray creeps into the edges of my vision.

Please.

As soon as the bathroom door is shut and locked, I collapse against it and sink to the floor.

Call for help.

I need to call for help and hope they get here before the man gets inside.

Everything is blurring. Shifting. Spinning.

My phone falls twice before I manage to unlock it.

Consciousness is fading as I call the first person I think of.

Oliver answers on the second ring, his voice cheerful as he says, “Hey, Shea. I’m glad—” But he stops the moment he hears my broken sob. “Shea? Honey? What’s wrong?”

My words are hard to get out.

“Oll. Someone tried to… break in. He drugged me. I’m in the bathroom. I need help.”

The world comes back like a fog slowly lifting.

At first, it’s just sound. A throbbing echo in my head. Blaring sirens. A cacophony of voices.

It hurts.

Then, amid the chaos, welcome familiarity.

“She’s not waking up yet, Ian. Why isn’t she awake? What the fuck did he give her?”

Oliver.

Another voice responds. “It may take some time. Don’t worry. We’ll get her to the hospital, have her checked out. They can set her up with an IV, flush the drugs out of her system.”

“Don’t worry?” His voice sounds close to snapping. “Someone drugged her. Tried to force their way in… Look at her face, Ian. Bruises. From some asshole grabbing her.”

“I know.” A third man, this one soothing as he says, “She’s going to be okay, Oliver. We’ll take good care of her.”

The second voice—Ian, I think—adds, “Alright. I think we’re ready to move out.”

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