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Connor’s voice in my ear again. Calming me. Guiding me. Keeping me from losing control.
Hastily, I tore a long strip off the bedsheet and bound my hand. The bones grated together and I felt my stomach heave, and I forced myself to take long, slow breaths as another wave of dizziness washed over me. Finally, it was done.
Now I needed a weapon.
Whatever the distraction was, I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Teagan would return, and I had to be ready for him. I looked around the room.
The whiskey bottle. A possibility, but that would mean I would have to get close to him, something that I wanted to avoid at all costs. Then my eyes slid over the ruined chair Teagan had smashed against the wall.
A sturdy chair leg. One with a couple of nails poking out of the top. Sturdy but lightweight enough to swing with one hand, and possibly just enough to do the job. Or so I hoped.
Good girl. Now get behind the door, and when he comes through you hit him as hard as you can. Stay strong for me love, I’m coming.
I could almost feel Connor standing right there next to me, and I drew strength from his imagined presence. Vaguely, I wondered if I was losing my mind.
Long minutes passed. Now that I wasn’t tied to the bed, now that I had a weapon in my hand and the vague outline of a plan, the panic and horror was easier to compartmentalize. My hand throbbed and my body ached, but adrenaline was keeping the pain at bay for the most part.
Suddenly, I heard shouting and the distinct sound of gunfire. Explosions. It was distant, but it was getting closer.
Connor!
Footsteps echoing urgently down the hall, and I heard Teagan's voice as he shouted to someone.
“It ain’t just Connor, it’s all of them! Hold them off. I’ll get rid of the girl.”
The doorknob started to turn. I gripped the chair leg tightly, palms sweaty and heart racing.
Aim for the head. Don’t hesitate. Swing as hard as you can, because you’re not gonna get another shot.
The door opened.
“Change of plans, sweetheart, I’ve—” The words died in Teagan's throat as he stepped into the room and realized the bed was empty.
Without hesitating, I swung the chair leg as hard as I could. It connected with the side of his head with a sickening crack, and he went down like a sack of concrete, gun flying loose.
Run!
I didn’t pause to look back, I just turned and sprinted towards the open door.
I was almost there when a hand closed around my ankle.
It tugged and I fell hard, landing on my broken wrist. Darkness threatened to overtake me and I choked back a scream, kicking blindly at my attacker. My foot connected with something solid, and I felt the hand loosen its grip. I rolled, scrambling for the gun.
But Teagan was bigger than me and faster. He snatched me up by the hair and slammed my head into the floor, and I felt something give.
Red. All I could see was red, running down both his face and mine. Teagan flipped me over, his face murderous as he leaned in close. His eyes were wild. Crazy. And as his hands tightened around my throat, I realized he was going to kill me.
Weakly, I scrabbled at his face, fighting back with the last of my strength as the blood roared in my ears and my chest heaved for air that wouldn’t come. The world started to fade, greying at the edges, and I shut my eyes tightly, not wanting his face to be the last thing I saw.
Suddenly, the pressure let up and I rolled to my side, coughing and gasping. The air burned as it hit my damaged throat, but I’d never tasted anything sweeter and I sucked it down greedily.
I was still conscious enough to see the blurry outline of Teagan laying on the floor several feet away and feebly trying to get up. Then a dark figure descended upon him, hands that I knew so well grasping him by the shirt and hitting him over and over and over until his face was unrecognizable.
A final twitch, and Teagan lay still.
Then those hands were lifting me up, cradling me to Connor's chest as he felt for injury. Whereas Teagan's hands brought only pain, these hands left soothing warmth in their wake, and I sluggishly blinked my eyes open to find two stormy grey eyes frantically looking down at me.
“…C-Co…ner…” It was barely whispered, each syllable a fight.
