Frantically, I rounded the house, trying to find a way to break in. I tilted my head and looked up to see if the windows on the second floor were open or maybe not triple glazed. No such luck.
After a quick inspection, I realized the only way in was through the ventilation. There was only one problem: confined places and I weren’t exactly good friends.
Staring at the exhaust hole on the side of the house, I reminded myself that I didn’t have a choice. That it was either me dying in a space smaller than the dumbwaiter or Belle … Fuck, I couldn’t even begin to think about what could happen to her.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I called 911 and explained the situation, giving them the address, then crouched into the hole and crawled right in.
It wasn’t the type of air duct you saw in the movies. The square, never-ending metal labyrinth you could crawl comfortably in. It was a round, flimsy one that could only carry my weight because it was bellied between bricks, the surface uneven from every direction. It felt like skulking into someone’s arsehole. I had to army-crawl on my elbows and knees, collecting dust, mold, dirt, and mites on my Cucinelli suit, which turned from navy blue to gray.
My throat was thick with dirt, and every one of my muscles felt strained and shaky. Putting myself in this position was something I never thought I’d do. But I had to. I had to save her. To help ease the pain, I squeezed my eyes shut and kept pushing. I sometimes knocked into a dead end, and maneuvered myself left, right, up, and down until I found the next curve to take what would lead me to the other side.
You’re not going to die.
You’re not going to die.
You’re not going to die.
I pushed harder, faster, my legs cramping and my biceps hurting. After a few feet, I heard voices again. It was only then that I dared open my eyes. They stung with sweat and dust. The air-con fan looked back at me. I was only a few feet away.
The voice rose from underneath it.
“If you’d have told me—” Emmabelle tried, her voice brave and strong and everything she was that I loved so much.
“You’d have done nothing,” he roared.
I pushed myself farther, wriggling like a worm toward the opening of the air duct.
“Well, I’m here to tell you if my baby is not going to have a future—and I certainly can’t give him a future, then yours is not going to have one either …”
Just as he said it, I punched the air duct open, and fell right through it, bringing half the wall down with me.
I lifted myself up, even though a sharp, tear-jerking pain in my left leg told me I’d almost certainly broke it.
Frank turned around, and I used the element of surprise to pounce on him, throwing all my weight against him and reaching for his knife. Unfortunately, he had the upper hand of not needing to crawl his way into this place seconds ago. He stuck the knife in my shoulder, twisting it about. I let out a growl, pushing my fingers into his eye sockets. I had no idea what I was doing. I just knew I wasn’t going to die before knowing Emmabelle was safe.
From my periphery, I could see Belle hopping her way from the couch to the kitchen awkwardly, still bound at the ankles and wrists. A line of blood ran down from under her belly button, disappearing into her panties. My mind kicked into overdrive. If something happened to that baby … my baby …
“Ahhh!” Frank was screaming, letting go of the knife—which was still, by the fucking way, in my shoulder—waving his arms in the air helplessly. “My eyes! My eyes!”
There was a warm pool of blood underneath us, and I knew it belonged to me. I couldn’t keep it up any longer. Concentrating, I tried to scoop out one of his eyeballs, which wasn’t as easy as he made it sound, since his eye sockets were pure, dense bone and I had to crack through them.
“Stop!” Frank roared. “Stop!”
But then he was the one who stopped.
In fact, he fell right on top of me, driving the knife even deeper into my shoulder as he collapsed.
There was a steak knife stuck in his back. And above him, stood Emmabelle, breathing hard.
Now, I decided, was a perfect time to succumb to unconsciousness.
So that was what I did.
I woke up in a hospital bed.
Everything hurt.
Everything, other than my shoulder, which I couldn’t feel at all. I snuck a peek down at it, frowning, and saw that it was bandaged and in a sling.
My eyes wandered around the room, which seemed to be never-ending, wall-to-wall light oak cabinets and medical equipment.
Cillian stood in front of a window overlooking the parking lot, talking quietly on the phone. Hunter sat on a recliner beside him, typing on his laptop, and I could hear Sam’s voice carrying in from the hallway.