𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫.
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On the most ruthless night of the year, Madelyn Beckham must quickly learn to survive and save those who need her the most. When faced with death itself, she...
My eyes stare at the door, my focus faltering and a trance washing over my head. I can't take my eyes off the door, too scared that a mask will appear and break down the door. The store is silent, the only noise occasionally breaking it is the calm breathing of the injured man beside me. He groans in his sleep, knocking my concentration on the door. I grab the first aid kit from behind me, open it and see that it is almost empty. I roll my eyes, realising that I didn't check it before we made our escape. Even still, I take out a cloth, scrunching it up. I do exactly what I did with my cheek and throat wound, but it is still scary.
I take off the jacket and lift his shirt, seeing that the blood amount has decreased in the last 20 minutes. At the movements, the man begins to wake up, opening his bloodshot eyes. However, the longer I look, the deeper the cut looks. Hurridly, I take out a needle and thread from the kit, push the thread through the loop and tie a knot at the end. Seeing this, the man begins to panic. I look over at his eyes before pushing the needle through the skin, beginning to close the wound. He groans loudly, throwing his head back in agony. I take my jacket with a free hand, pulling the sleeve over his face and shoving the material into his mouth, silencing his screams.
I do a few more stitches and close the wound fully, stopping the blood flow completely. I bite the end of the thread and pull the needle away from his stomach, placing it on the floor. I take the sleeve out of his mouth and place it beside the needle. Wiping the excess blood off his skin, he watches my every movement.
"How do you know how to do this?" He asks.
"I've had to deal with a lot of bar fights," I answer, concentrating on not pressing down too hard on his stomach.
I pull the cloth away, grab the needle, extra thread, and my jacket, throwing them all away in the trash can beside the cashier's desk. As I move around the store, his head and eyes follow me. He looks dazed and curious at the same time.
"What's your name?" He speaks up.
"Madelyn," I answer after pondering if I can trust him or not.
To be honest, I still don't know if I can or not. But with the wound keeping him down on the floor, If he tried anything, I could knock him down again. He doesn't look like he would hurt me, but a look can be deceiving. He did save me, after all.
"What's yours?" I ask.
"James,"
"Well, James. You need to get some more rest. You're tiring yourself out the longer you stay awake, and that isn't good for your wound." I order.
He lies back down, resting his head on a book. Closing his eyes, his breath slows down and his chest rises and falls slowly. I sit beside his body, watching him fall into a needed slumber.
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The door shuts behind me, entering the dark hallways once again. My feet crunch against the broken glass, the sound not loud enough to alert anyone, but still enough to bring anxiety into my cells. The lights on the ceiling flicker as I make it further into the building, keeping my eyes out for her ginger hair. The hospital walls are riddled with grime, blood, and mouldy water from the broken pipes on the ceilings.
"Daisy!" I call out.
Knife marks scratched into the walls guide me further into the halls, following the scattered leaves on the floor. The wind howls through the building, interrupting the creepy silence. Equipment paints the floors, making traps to warn others of my whereabouts.
"Daisy!"
But there is no answer. Nothing moves, nothing happens. The atmosphere quickly turns thick, clogging my airwaves. With the silence making the hairs on my skin glued upwards, I halt my movements. A footstep echoes through the halls, forcing me to bite back the tears from falling down my face. I begin to run, but before I can, an arm is wrapped around my neck, holding me against a hard chest.
"You killed him, you fucker." He whispers in my ear. "And now, I'm going to kill you."
His arm presses on my neck wound, making me wince in pain. I elbow his chest, forcing his body to hunch over and his grip on my neck loosens. I turn around, pushing his body further away from me. The man holds his stomach, his other hand occupied with a scalpel knife. His mask covers his expression, but just like the other man, his body is enough to read to tell that he is pissed. He swings the knife at me, walking closer to me. I step backwards, watching his actions closely and waiting for a moment to attack him. But he doesn't give me one.
His swings get closer and harsher, almost cutting my skin. His footsteps are harder against the floor, crunching and breaking the glass underneath his weight. His swinging falters slightly, giving me a window to kick his leg. I do, and he stumbles backwards, halting his movements. I jolt forwards, grabbing his wrist and stealing the knife. I hold it in my hands, unable if I can use it or not. But, when he jumps over to me, I am forced to.
I swing it just like he did, slicing it all across his neck. He holds the wound, gurgling on the blood flooding his windpipe. I stand there, eyes wide as I watch his body sink to the floor, his life slowly slipping out of his eyes. My mouth is wide open, unable to speak of what I did.
With his body laying dead on the floor, I make a run for it back to the entrance. I sprint through the frame and back over to the other side of the street, opening the bookstore door and leaning against the closed door. The floor is empty, James' body no longer laying on it. Suddenly, a hand covers my mouth, and my hands hit the body behind me.
"Shh. It's me." He whispers into my ear. "It's James. They followed you onto the streets."
He holds my body close to his, us both leaning against the door. I lean my head on his chest, being weary of not touching his wound. He looks through the cracks in the papers on the window, watching the group searching the streets. His breath creeps into my ear, forcing mine to soften. His calm stance stops the anxiety pouring out of me.
His head looks down at me, him taking his hand off my mouth. I turn my body towards him, watching his eyes borrow into mine. He looks angry yet curious. I can't quite tell which one is more prominent.
"They're gone." He states.
"Thank you."
"What were you doing out there? You could have been killed." He whispers although it is evident in his tone that he wants to scream.
"I had to try."
"Try what?"
"I had to try and save my friend, she is injured and I have no idea where she is." I cover my eyes, blowing out a frustrated breath. "That's why I'm out here, I need to find her."
Suddenly, all my emotions wash over me. Fear. Anger. Sorrow. Tears storm out of my eyes, falling down my chin and mixing with the sweat on my neck. James stands there, watching me cry, and unable to do anything about it. My cries turn into bawls, forcing me to cover my mouth with my hand to cover the noise. James steps forward, looking down at me.
"What happened?"
"I killed him," I whisper. "I had to."
He pulls me into a hug, my head leaning against his chest. He strokes my hair with his hand, cooing me. I sob into his shirt, my tears adding to the grime and blood stained into it. The room filles with my wailing, the sound muffled by his shirt.
"You did what you had to, okay? You did what you had to survive."
