Page 80 of Closer

Hide.

Shadows flit at the edge of my sight, and the indistinct whirring of a sewing machine appears.

With all my strength, I force the nightmares back. Sebastian. I picture his eyes. The sunset behind the forest.

Vivid. Alive. Safe.

Slowly, the darkness recedes. The bathroom comes back into view. I’m still pressed against the wall, still clutching the marble soap dish in my trembling hand.

The men’s voices filter through the door. “Any sign of her?”

“No.”

I zero in on my phone again. They know I’m in here, so what can possibly go wrong?

My fingers fumble for my phone, trembling so bad I can barely unlock the screen. A warning flashes across, indicating that the battery is low. Fantastic.

I click on the first name I see—Mary’s—and tap the call button.

It rings. Once, twice,…

I end the call and try to type out a message, but my hands are shaking too much. The words come out garbled, not even auto-correct can decipher my desperate pleas for help. Frustrated tears blur my vision, and I exit the chat.

Calling. I need to call.

I open my contacts and press the phone icon next to Gemma’s name, holding the device to my ear. She knows the address. If I can get through to her, if I can whisper what’s happening...

The line rings once, twice. Please, pick up.

The men’s voices grow louder outside the door, their words muffled. I shrink back, pressing the phone tighter to my ear.

“Hey, Lil!” Her bubbly voice fills the speaker.

“Someone’s… someone’s broke in.”

“Lil? What’s happening?”

“I’m hiding in the bathroom.” I can barely choke out the words. “Please call the police.” The connection is full of static. “Gem? Are you still there? I’m scared, please tell me you heard me. There are men in our apart—”

The call dies, and with it, the battery of my phone.

No.

I clamp my hand over my mouth to hold in the sobs.

Help will come. It has to.

Hide. Hide. Hide.

Go away. Take what you want and leave. Please.

The man tries the knob again, harder this time. My pulse is deafening, and I will myself not to sob aloud.

Suddenly, sirens wail in the distance. They’re here. Thank God, they’re here.

The intruders curse, their footsteps retreating in a rush. A door slams. Then silence.

I stay huddled on the floor, shaking even after the last footsteps fade away. Listening.

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