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I let my eyes get adjust to the dark, determined not to let anything happen to the smiling girl who always has a kind word for everyone who comes through that door.
The carpet under my feet swallows the sound of my shoes but a few steps in, I hear a squelching sou
nd and a metallic scent reaches my nose.
Thunder crashes in my ears, the pounding of my heart so loud.
I know that smell.
I was covered in my own blood so many times that I can’t ever mistake or forget it.
But if I scream or make a noise, whoever is in the building with me will come after me.
I have to find Lorraine.
I curse myself silently for not calling the police, or Zayn, somebody.
Straining my senses to catch even the slightest movement, I try not to think of whose blood it is on the ground and why it soaked that spot in the thin carpet.
A draft of air from one of the open rooms tells me that with so many openings and hiding places, I don’t have a chance of survival.
Maybe that is why the movement behind me has me growling and smashing my elbow into my attacker’s windpipe. I manage to pin him to the wall, rough, large hands fighting back before I am overpowered and slammed face-first into the wall.
I hiss and fight back viciously, tears in my eyes, as I jab and try to kick out, but he is stronger than me. Just as he pins me to the wall with his body, he starts hissing, “Where’s…Eve?”
The confusion in the voice as the body presses against mine and the familiarity of the voice nearly makes me whimper.
A torch shines in my eyes and I blink rapidly as I am released and turned around.
Zayn grabs my arm, his tone urgent. “Are you okay? Why is the studio dark?”
“Keep your voice down,” I slap my hand over his mouth. “There’s someone here, and I can’t find Lorraine.” My voice hitches. “I stepped in blood.”
Zayn gently grabs my wrist and lowers it. “Okay, list—”
A shrill scream sounds, filled with mind-breaking pain from outside, and abandoning Zayn, I rush towards where I know the front door to be.
I know that voice.
Oh God, I know that voice.
“Lorraine!” I scream, running outside into the parking lot.
I heard Zayn’s heavy footsteps behind me, but my mind can’t comprehend anything as horror takes hold and blooms inside me.
Lorraine lays in the parking lot, spread eagle, her shirt missing, her upper body covered with small cuts, the largest one on her throat.
She stares at me, blood filling her mouth, spilling over.
For a heartbeat, I freeze.
I can’t understand what I am seeing.
Maybe seeing her delicate hand reach for me snaps me out of it and suddenly I become myself. Closing myself off to the fear, to the panic, I embrace practicality, and leaped towards her, ripping off my t-shirt and pressing it against her wound.
I hear Zayn’s sharp intake of breath, and then I hear him on the phone, barking orders.
Lorraine’s body spasms under me as she gives me a pleading look, unshed tears in her eyes.
