Going back

36|| Twenty

A/N: Here's chapter 36. Enjoy, people.

Although she would rather cut out her own tongue than admit it out loud, Iris realised quite quickly that she should have brought back-up. The grounds were far larger than she'd anticipated, and crawling with guards she couldn't take down alone. Not only that, there were many doors with padlocks and she wasn't sure which one would fit the code Mia had given her.

Maybe I should've asked the West-Brown brothers if— no. What am I thinking? Iris shook her head, crouching down behind the corner of a building, her back pressed against the brick. I can't trust them. Not after everything that's happened.

Some small part of her conscience pricked her brain, insisting that the boys hadn't abandoned her as they were also quite young when she was forced out of her home. She forced the thoughts into a tight box. They would have to be dealt with later.

Iris eyed the man standing in front of a padlocked door. He was far taller than her, but lanky, and had a lazy drop to his shoulders reminiscent of a school child on Mondays. Yawning, he stretched and stared at her sky, the corners of his green eyes crinkled. If it wasn't for the gun strapped to his side holster, he could have passed for an ordinary citizen.

Twenty steps. Iris estimated. Twenty steps and I'll reach him. Element of surprise. One hit over the back of the head with a heavy stone. One shot with the gun. Too many possibilities.

She followed the first option. Messy, but a mercy if he survived. Blood splattered against the stone as he dropped to his knees, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Iris panted, dropping the weapon and taking a careful step back. Wasting a few, precious seconds, she couldn't take her eyes off the body. Part of her wondered if this was how her mother had looked when Meredith killed her: fragile, broken, peaceful. Another, more twisted part whispered she was only doing what she needed in order to survive. She wiped her face and flinched at the stickiness of red smeared across her cheekbone.

Turning her back on the body, Iris crouched down in front of the padlock. She pushed back her black hair, which plastered to her forehead due to sweat, and took a shuddering inhale. With impatient fingers, she fumbled in the numbers she remembered. 5...6...4...5.

Locked.

A snarl twisted her lips and she slammed the lock against the door, kicking to release her anger. Holding back a frustrated scream, Iris whirled around. Defeat trickled into her stomach, and she considered leaving and coming back another day when she saw it. Glittering like an oasis in the desert was a key just sticking out in the fallen man's pocket.

No way... Iris pinched the cold metal between her index finger and thumb. This is too good to be true. She hesitated, then clenched her fist until an indent of the jagged edges appeared in her flesh. There was no time for self-doubts.

Swallowing back her apprehension, she slid the key into the lock and twisted it. A soft click sliced through the silence. Iris grabbed the curved, brass handle and pushed down and in. The door swung back noiselessly and she crouched, gun in hand, ready to uppercut anyone in her way.

No one rushed out to attack her. No one raised the alarm. No one was even there.

Darkness shrouded the room, but Iris could make out the faint outline of a staircase with a banister on her left, and a long hallway. Her heart slammed against her chest and a dull pain started to blossom. Blurred memories pushed to the forefront of her mind as if she was wading through murky water. She bit the bottom of her lip until iron stained her mouth.

Stairs first, she thought. With her right foot, she pressed down on the first wooden step, holding a breath as a faint creak pierced through the air. Sweat coalesced in her right palm as she pulled out a knife and held it close to her chest, its weight provided some relief.

After what felt like an eternity, Iris reached the top. By this point, her eyes had adjusted to the dimness. A row of doors-- either black or white-- lined both sides of the hallway. Tarnished handles glimmered in the weak light. Iris licked her lips, her throat suddenly dry, and shoved it open.

Empty.

The next one too. And the one after that. And after that. All the rooms were empty. Stripped bare with a layer of dust over wooden boards, four grey and chipped walls, and some had windows which were blackened out with thick, velvet curtains which trailed against the floor. Returning to the first room, Iris ran a hand over a window sill, which looked out onto a clearing, and pulled away with a layer of dust. She bit her lower lip and rubbed her fingers together.

A loud crash reverberated through the building. Footsteps thundered up the steps, followed by muttered voices.

Shit! Iris' eyes widened and she glanced around the room. She ducked behind the curtain, pressing it against her side and sucking in as much as she could to avoid bulges.

"--and then, those two kids started yammering on about some stupid waterpark! I swear, I have never wanted to shoot kids so badly," a low voice groaned from near the doorway. "We don't get paid enough for this."

"Agreed," another voice sighed. Female, this time. Familiar. "We should quit and-- hey, what's that?"

"What's what?"

"Over there." Slow steps headed towards the window.

Iris pressed against the side, squeezing her eyes shut and not daring to even breathe. A calloused hand grasped the edge of the curtain and started to pull.

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Dedicated to A, who recently turned five. Congratulations for ageing another year successfully with all your body parts intact. You hopefully won't read my works for many many years, and you probably won't understand what I've written to you. I'm sure you'll continue to grow into a fine human who will become Ruler of the World someday, and I watch your progress with great interest. 

I hope you guys liked it! 

Stay safe and thanks for reading :)