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Without thinking, he pulled out the carved piece on the string. Dominique had said it should protect him. Somehow it did, but maybe Noelle should’ve carried one with her. Twirling the charm with his fingers, he tied it around his neck, praying it would appease the pain, even if he didn’t believe it.
Like a robot, he went to his apartment and punched in the new code to open the door. No doubt he would exchange it for a lock and key. He had nothing against technology, but when his brain was disintegrating, he preferred something simpler.
Once inside, he didn’t turn on the lights, guiding himself with the glow coming from the windows. Out of habit, he went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard. There was a bottle of rum he received from the commander as a welcome gift.
It was only after the fourth swig that he started to feel warmth blossoming in his belly. The bottle was big, but Brandon was game if it meant shutting down for a few blissful hours.
Determined to keep a good pace, Brandon tilted the bottle, and that’s when something metallic caught his eye, followed by the familiar pop of a silencer.
As something exploded on his left, Brandon lurched forward and rolled behind the small kitchen island. He cursed when he fumbled to reach his gun. The rum had already gone to his head, working fast on his empty stomach. To top it off, his phone was on the counter and out of reach.
Who the hell was trying to take him out? Trying to take a peek, another bullet almost kissed the top of his head. Brandon was either lucky, or the intruder wasn’t used to using a silencer. He decided it was probably both.
In the silence of his apartment, it wasn’t difficult to hear movement. Whoever was shooting at him didn’t approach. Not a bad tactic as his apartment didn’t offer any place to hide or escape for either of them.
The outcome would be determined by who was the quickest and most accurate shooter. Flexing his muscles to get his blood pumping, Brandon prepared to attack as soon as he identified the intruder’s location.
It was a soft noise, like someone walking barefoot on a carpet, but it was enough for him to spring into action.
In attack mode, it only took a split second to see a silhouette aiming at him. Through the overflow of adrenaline and the haze of alcohol, something didn’t feel right.
Brandon fired first but diverted his aim for the shoulder and missed. His opponent didn’t give him the same treatment, and only his quick reflexes prevented the bullet from hitting his head, grazing his shoulder muscle instead.
The burn finished clearing the remnant of rum, enough for Brandon to use his body’s momentum to evade the second shot and tackle his attacker.
Unfortunately, it only destabilized the shooter instead of bringing him down.
In his tumble, his body hitting the floor robbed him of breath but it also revealed Noelle’s face.
It was like having an out-of-body experience, where he couldn’t believe what was right in front of his eyes, almost blaming the light. He would have remained stunned on the floor if not from the woman he’d thought he’d lost forever, aiming her gun at him, about to shoot.
“Noelle!” But even shouting her name didn’t make her stop, and two bullets flew, narrowly missing his hip.
Still trying to wrap his mind around what was going on, he took cover behind the bathroom door but knew he had to move. Otherwise, he was a sitting duck.
“Noelle! It’s me, Brandon! Stop shooting, dammit!”
Only another bullet answered him. What was happening to her? Why had she shot at him? So many questions he needed answered, but first, he had to survive for both their sakes.
He wasn’t sure how many bullets were left, but he couldn’t remain there and wait it out. Noelle moved again, walking around the couch, and Brandon crawled as fast as he could. He couldn’t shoot her, wouldn’t even dare. He had to find another way to distract her so he could take advantage without hurting her.
It was as if she was deaf and unseeing, and he realized it was probably the same method Erin had used to control the minds of her victims.
It was unnerving how slowly she moved, like a zombie in a movie, slowly, each gesture economical. When she stepped into a beam of moonlight, her dark eyes appeared hallow, soulless. Her dress’s skirt was torn, one piece missing, obviously the one they had recovered by the bayou. Barefoot, with patches of dried mud on her legs and arms, it looked as if she’d fought the best she could but had still lost.
Reaching the entrance, still crawling on the floor, Brandon decided it was time to attempt something to tilt the situation in his favor.
As the sound of padding feet came closer, he threw one of his running shoes at the light switch, glad that the bullet didn’t nick his right arm.
Bright light flooded the room, blinding Noelle just enough so he could take advantage of that split second to slap the gun out of her hand. As the weapon flew into the corner of the room, Noelle’s calm demeanor transformed into a demented fury, and she threw punches and kicks with such force, he knew she would suffer an injury if he didn’t restrain her.
Ignoring her knuckles slamming into his jaw, Brandon twisted and brought her back against his front, his arms securing her. She still tried to kick and scream, but with minimal impact.
“Noelle, stop. You have to listen to me. I’m not your enemy! Whatever you think or see, or feel, it’s in your head. This isn’t real. You’re not in danger. I’m never going to harm you.”
Noelle didn’t respond, but he felt her shaking in his arms, tiring out. Her skin was clammy, and her hair smelled like gasoline and wet grass instead of the shampoo he associated with her.
The relief he felt knowing she was alive was dampened because she was under the influence of something that didn’t seem to let go of her. Even worse, she wasn’t communicating with him.
