Page 33 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
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I smile as, on hands and knees, I begin to rub the wax into the newly polished attic floor, admiring it as it turns from dusty grey to amber, as Lars sits nearby, watching, sipping his G&T.
It’s been four days since I’ve seen Ryan, four long days since he was released from hospital and allowed back into his home. But I haven’t talked to him, not even spied on him. It’s hard, but I’m trying to wean myself off him, lose my obsession. Work on the house is EXACTLY what I need right now.
“You’re very quiet,” I remark, not looking up at Lars as I work.
“You know I love you, don’t you,” he murmurs.
“Of course,” I laugh, “and I you.”
“I didn’t want it to be this way,” he whispers, shaking his head and staring down into his drink. “I was supposed to lead them to you, and they would do the deed. I left you flowers to say sorry.”
I chuckle and keep working, “what are you talking about? Have you had one too many drinks?”
“No, not enough,” he murmurs. “But they took Anna, you see, and they sent me back. I thought I wouldn’t need to do anything, that it wouldn’t come to this.”
“Lars?” I sit back on my haunches as his words begin to sink it, “what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that my being here is no accident. They couldn’t trace you, you never used any fucking Berrington credit card, so in the end, they used me to find you. I’m a message, a message to Serena and Christopher that they can’t trust anyone, that they will always be hunted, that everyone they know, and love, will be destroyed. Tess, I’m so sorry, but it’s the only way I can get Anna back.”
“Lars.” I rise to my feet, hands on hips, one hand still encased in my polish mitten. “You’re frightening me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says with finality, launching to his feet with lightning speed and taking two quick steps towards me, gripping my wrists firmly.”
“What are you..? augh!” I scream as he leans in and tries to bite my throat, and I manage to twist and raise a knee to his groin, connecting hard, and pushing him away. “Lars! Stop!” I screech, scrambling to fight him off. I’m no fighter though, I do best running and hiding – which is exactly what I will do if I can just escape down the rickety attic ladder. No one knows these woods like I do now – I have a million and one little places I can hide.
But he is blocking my way, and he is fast.
Bending down I pick up the tin of floor polish and hurl it at supernatural speed at his head, hitting him square in the forehead. I hadn’t realised I could throw something with that much force, and I’m surprised at my own strength.
Grunting, he falls to the floor.
I know he will rise any minute, but that is the minute I need as, sobbing, I throw myself down the ladder. I land heavily on my mittened hand, the wrist snapping with a crunch, and roll to the top of the stairs where I vault down the two flights in two long jumps.
Reaching the front door, I hear a loud thump overhead as Lars recovers and makes to follow. My heart in my mouth, my hand killing me, I pound onto the porch and jump over the rail, running as fast as I have ever run, down the driveway towards town. I know a perfect hiding spot if I can just get there. But the best-laid plans… I haven’t gone five hundred metres when I run into Ryan pushing a wheelbarrow full of tools, Toto trotting along beside.
“No,” I scream, as I reach him and kick the barrow aside. Grabbing him by the shoulders, I spin him forcibly around to face the way he came, “run, god, Ryan, you have to run!”
I make to push him, bodily, down the road, but jerking around with a speed I hadn’t reckoned with for a human, he knocks my hands off his shoulders and holds my arms with an iron grip.
“Tess, what is it?” he demands as I sob.
I turn frantically to look behind me, before flicking my head back to meet his eyes.
“Lars, Lars is going to kill me,” I babble. “He’ll kill you too. Run, you have to run, get away from here, away from me – hide!”
“No one is going to kill you, Snow,” Ryan growls, his eyes turning deadly.
“I’m afraid you are wrong about that,” Lars grunts appearing out of nowhere behind Ryan and hauling him into the air.
I watch as my prince lands heavily, some thirty metres away against a large hemlock, and remarkably, makes to rise.
Toto, barking crazily, rushes at Lars, attempting to bite his leg, and I throw myself between her and Lars’ heavy boot, taking his kick in the stomach and almost blacking out at the pain. Gasping, I see him look in surprise to where Ryan is stumbling towards us.
I make to grab Lars’ foot, to trip him, but miss, and watch, horrified, as he reaches down to pick up one of the tools lying on the ground. Gripping a painter’s pole, he throws it, javelin-like, hitting Ryan directly in the stomach, piercing him like a shish kebab.
I scream as Ryan’s wide eyes meet mine and he falls to the ground, clutching his stomach as Toto reaches him and licks his face, whining.
