Grinded

chapter XXVII.

The door to Lily's bedroom slowly opened. August's hand trembled on the handle with laboured breathing, his face slick with tears and sweat. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip, not caring that he drew blood as his teeth clamped down on the already swollen skin. Every single fibre of his being was instilled with dread. Crushing down on his chest and filling him with a flood of hopelessness.

August was trying his hardest to keep his head above the sea of despair, but the current was only growing stronger, ripping and pulling him under.

He poked his head out from the room and took a slow glance around; from what he could see, there wasn't a sign of anyone upstairs. If August was going to have an opportunity to call the police, it was now.

The teen pulled himself back into the bedroom and quietly shut the door behind him with a breath of relief. He backed away from the door as he pulled the phone from his pocket, dialling 9-1-1 within the blink of an eye.

Holding the phone to his ear, August impatiently waited for someone to pick up. He crept over to the window, his wide eyes darting around, desperate to find any sign of where the fuck the pyschopath had disappeared to.

After August heard Lily's bloodcurdling cries downstairs come to a sudden end, the house had fallen silent once again. And each time that sinister silence returned, it was just a matter of seconds before someone else was seemingly found.

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?" came the sudden voice of the operator on the other line.

August almost choked on his own breath with gratitude, a glassy-eyed smile breaking out on his face as he heard the soothing voice of the authorities.

"You have to send help to 424 Hilltop Road, please," August begged in a hushed, but desperate, whisper. "The killer is here and I think he's already killed my friends and the fucking Sheriff, please!"

"Okay, sir, please remain calm," the operator replied and August wished there was a sense of urgency in their voice, not wanting to be mistaken for a dumb kid trying to get their kicks. "A unit has been dispatched to the address."

August cried silently as the words danced against his ears. He slid down against the wall, his spare hand clutching his stomach as a whirlwind of emotion thundered within him.

"Are you safe, sir?"

August nodded. "I think so, I don't think they know where I am. Please, how long?"

"Listen to me; I'm going to need you to stay hidden and stay quiet," the operator instructed calmly, "the dispatched unit is going to take about twenty minutes to reach you."

"What?" August choked out. Any of the reassurance he felt just moments ago disappeared. "Twenty minutes? Did you not hear what I said, the killer is fucking here!"

"Sir, please remain calm. You're located up in Blackwater Mountain so it's going to take a little while for us to get to you."

August sobbed to himself, the phone sliding out of his palm and into his lap. His head dropped into his hands as he cradled himself, barely paying attention to whatever the operator was telling him. He was fucking terrified and alone.

"Can you do that for me, sir?" asked the operator after a prolonged beat of silence.

Grabbing the phone, he held it back up to his ear. "Yes. Yes, I can try. But I need you to fucking hurry. Please."

"Officers are en route to you as we speak. Would you like to stay on the phone with me, sir?"

August sniffled. As much as he wanted to, he knew that if he did, there was a bigger chance of him being discovered. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Okay," the operator said softly. "Is there a possibility you can get to Sheriff Abbott's car?"

August pulled himself up from where he'd slid down and took another look out of the window. Still and picturesque. Just as it had been before.

"You want me to go out there?" August asked in disbelief.

"If you--"

The line went cold. August held the phone up to his face and at this point, it felt like there had to be some higher force at work.

The phone's battery had died.

He gripped it and was tempted to throw it against the wall, holding back the frustrated cry that was begging to be released from his throat. August instead shoved it into the back of his pocket, before his eyes landed on the bedroom door.

August didn't know what the fuck to do. If he stayed here, it was only a matter of time before the killer found him. If he attempted to get to the car, there was a chance he'd run into the killer along the way.

But there was no point in weighing his options. He didn't have the fucking time for that. He made to make a decision, right now - to hide or make a run for it.