A Twisted Fantasy (Leon Kennedy X OC) [BOOK 2]

Chapter 5: Down with what sickness?

The engine hummed a sickly tune as I guided us across the lake, the rain picking up a more vigorous onslaught that turned the lake surface frantic. I aimed for the dock, praying the beast beneath us had given up, or better yet would never surface again.

Leon slowly rose to a sit on the bench opposite me, his finger pressing to his temple. The adrenaline draining out of him must be taking its toll.

I cut the engine, coasting the last few feet until the dock was close enough for me to reach.

My fingers dug into the cracking wood as I slowed us to a stop and grabbed one of the stray ropes tied to the post to stop our boat from drifting away. Crossing this lake again would be the last thing I'd want to do, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

The water poured down my soaked legs as I stepped up onto the dock, turning to survey the area and the small home nearby.

The windows were dark and cracked. The structure leaned just a little too far to the left, and the wood was being devoured by a slew of Ivy and moss. The trail leading to the home from the boat didn't look heavily used, meaning it was likely abandoned.

The wooden dock groaned as Leon slowly started to exit the boat. His steps seemed clipped, his eyes looking slightly glassy. A ragged breath leaked from his mouth as he stepped to his full height beside me.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

Is he injured? My eyes went to his leg, trying to determine if that rope had done more damage than I'd initially thought. No blood stained his pants.

Leon dipped his chin in a shallow nod as he sucked in a breath and looked toward the cabin through a heavy brow.

His first step toward the house quickly turned into a stagger, threatening to topple him over.

I grabbed his arm, steadying him, "Wow, wow. You are not okay?" I looked up to his face, finding his pupils heavily blown out, leaving just a fraction of blue to be seen. He didn't respond.

Whiplash? Concussion? I need to get him inside and give him a moment to catch his breath.

"Come on," I ducked under his arm, letting him lean weight on me as I began dragging us toward the small shack.

With every step, his head dipped more and more. As we crossed the threshold onto solid land, his weight bore down on me as his breathing became more labored.

"Hold on," I muttered, "Just a little further."

He coughed, jerking forward so viciously I thought he might throw up. What the hell? He brought his hand to his mouth as the coughs raked through him, threatening to bring us both to the ground.

Only when his coughs died did he slowly pulling his hand back, revealing a smear of crimson in his gloved palm.

Jesus--blood? Why the hell is he choking up blood? This doesn't look like any concussion I've ever seen. I didn't let the sight of his blood hold my gaze for longer than a second before I was hauling him forward.

As we neared the cabin, the dark windows revealing nothing of what lay inside, I adjusted my hold on Leon. Once I was able to, I pulled out my pistol and stepped to the front door. He coughed again, his chest jerking heavily as he did.

"Almost there," I promised. My heart was a beast in my chest, rattling the throngs of my ribcage as I turned the door knob.

The door let out a crackling noise as I pushed it open and moved in with my weapon raised. A thick cloud of dust and stale air greeted us, a welcome sign that this place hadn't had any visitors in a long while.