Page 15 of In Death's Hands
I’m almost shocked at him knowing it was an accident but then rationalise that it makes sense for him to call it that. He can’t know that it was acaraccident specifically. “Well…”
“Liv.”
I shiver slightly, and I’m sure it’s from the sudden cold rather than the velvet feeling of his voice in the dark. “That’s about the amount of times I’ve ended up in hospitals over the years, yes. Usually around the anniversary of the… accident. My therapists and social worker used to think I attempted suicide every year and have tried to have me committed. I don’t blame them per se, but if you could stop looking at me like I’m crazy I would appreciate it.”
“You hate hospitals.”
“I do.” Why am I so pleased he remembers that?
“How many of these… ‘close calls’ have you had exactly?” I roll my eyes, ready to repeat myself, when he cuts me off. “When you didn’t go to the hospital.”
Ah. That sort of changes things.
“I honestly don’t know, I’m rather clumsy.” I attempt a smile, but his frown deepens. He doesn’t seem to think it’s funny.
“That’s not normal.” He shakes his head and starts pacing again, mumbling to himself.
“Well, it’s my normal.”
He ignores me. “And you say it’s more frequent around the anniversary of your parents’ death?”
I start nodding but freeze. “What did you say?”
“Are these close calls more frequent around the date of your—” He stops abruptly, as if realising his mistake. Eyes wide, he turns to me. “Liv.”
I’m already up off the couch, backing away. “Who are you? How did you know?”
“Please, let me explain.”
“How did you know? Have you been stalking me?”
He winces and I choke on my rising panic. My palms are clammy and my heart is following an incoherent rhythm. I should never have trusted him; maybe the concussion messed with my instincts, telling me I was safe with him. I’m such an idiot for not considering it. Without wasting another second, I rush through the front door and down the emergency stairwell. My harsh breath drowns out his calls for me as I hurry down the stairs barefoot, careful not to trip.
Suddenly I’m in the street, people and cars rushing by in a cacophony of noises. The drastic change from the cosy apartment gives me whiplash. I start walking randomly, replaying the events that brought me here. I have no shoes, no phone, no safe place to go back to. There is one place, but I’m pretty sure stepping back into it would finish me off at this point. I’m so focused on the spiral of emotions bringing me down, down, down that I don’t realise I’m fucked until it’s too late.
I’ve somehow walked into a darkened impasse, and the instincts that have thoroughly misled me regarding Nathan start yelling danger at me.
In front of me is a tall, shadowy figure fast approaching. My heart skips a bit and starts up again with a vengeance, blood rushing through my ears. I back away a few steps, getting ready to run, but my escape is interrupted by another body. For a second I’m sure it’s Nathan and relief hits me despite everything. But it’s not him. My friend-slash-stalker-slash-saviour is probably cursing my name right as we speak because I overreacted. Because I didn’t let him explain how he knew what had happened to me. To my wannabe parents. Maybe my colleagues told him. Maybe he guessed. Hell, maybe I talked in my sleep.
I could be warm right now, enjoying the soothing presence of a kind man and the peaceful reassurance of a fire. But no. No, I had to run out of there like the Reaper himself was chasing me, saying he had changed his mind. I had to run and find myself in a death trap. Three times in two days is definitely too much, even for me.
I try moving away from the second figure, but his arms engulf me too quickly. Could they be the same guys from my apartment? How did they find me? I foolishly thought they would never bother me again. I don’t know what led me tobelieve I was safe, but in all my worries, I hadn’t thought of those men coming after me again. A cry bubbles up my throat but is stopped from bursting to life by a giant hand slamming down on my mouth and forcing it shut.
This is it. Death is finally catching up to me. Is it normal to feel a lick a relief among the horror? I’m tired of running. If he truly is coming back for me then so be it.
At least, that’s what a tired piece of my mind seems to think, but my body doesn’t necessarily agree with that plan. I find myself kicking and screaming through the hand, trying to bite it, but his hold is so tight I only succeed in biting my own flesh. When I stomp my heel down on the man’s foot,Miss Congenialitystyle, I hear his groan of pain.
“Enough! This should not be that hard!” says the man in front of me, not close enough for me to see his face under his dark cloak. His voice, however, sends cold spikes through my body, heightening my fear instantly.
Behind me, the man finally takes his hand off my mouth, but before I can call for help, he wraps it around my throat and I have to fight the déjà vu. How am I here again?
As I was taught, I twist and bend backwards to force his hold to loosen, but he catches on quick and slams my back against his body, effectively blocking any chance of escape. I start kicking again while trying to get ahold of his thumbs to break them away, literally, but he is too strong.
I feel my arms weakening, my brain becoming sluggish, exacting its revenge for being denied air for too long.
“Liv!”
Nathan!I want to cry. I want to call after him but no sound comes out. Not even a whimper.
