21 Murders | Harry Styles AU (discontinued)

LII. Malevolent

malevolent (adjective): having or showing a wish to do evil to others

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Noelle's POV

"It's nice to see you again, Noelle. I've been waiting for you."

Dry, heavy air upchucks from my stomach in consuming bits, literally knocking the breath out of me with the simplicity of my attempted killer's words. I can feel months of paranoia seep into my veins and overtake my actions, but my feet still remain glued to the floor in mind-blowing shock.

"Y-You," I stutter, breathlessly. "You killed them."

"Yes," he smirks. "And now I am going to kill you."

In a sudden jolt of movement, I see his body come forward and I trip over my own feet, stumbling backward but regaining enough movement to run down the hall. His boots clamber on the floor behind me as I endlessly wander into the old room I ran from previously, using all my might to throw the door shut.

The door almost closes, my eyes catching a dirty boot at the base and roaming up to find one black eye looking through the crack. I start to scream and push against the door harder, afraid of what will happen next now knowing that I am all alone with this vile killer. But my strength is nothing compared to his, and the door pushes open, bashing my head against the wall with a hard thud. My head immediately starts to pound, my vision blurry as I push off and try to dart back out of the door.

To my dismay, his large palm grips my forearm and tosses be back, my foot catching on the carpet and making me fall down. Not wanting to be underneath him, I grip his wrist and he stumbles forward, my body rolling sideways so he is on his chest next to me and I am on my back.

My chest is still pounding up and down as I push my palms to the floor and try to sort out my thoughts. I could run down the hall and try to exit through the door that he probably tampered with, or I could try and lock him down in his basement until someone finally shows up to help me.

The latter option seems to be far-fetched but more effective, causing my body to twist and throw the rug over his struggling torso. He seems surprised that I am fighting back and confused as to what I am doing when dust flies from the mat and swarms the air. He coughs and waves his hand while kicking the rug away, but I have managed to open the basement door and toss the other corner of carpet over his head.

I kick as hard as I can to his ribs, a crack sounding but not from his bones, my foot. I cry out in pain, the brutal sound echoing down the stairway and seeming to endlessly stream in my mind as all my thoughts have jumbled together and become one big blur of complete nothing.

His body flops over, though, taking the rug with him like a human burrito and starting to tumble down the steps. As I look down, I see myself standing on the carpet and realize that if I don't move, I, too, will be going with him. I am too slow, though; my feet are brought forward and my butt backward as the rug slithers like silk down the cement steps.

I land in front of him on my chest with only the support of my palms to keep me from smashing my forehead onto the cement floor. I am surprised when I turn my head and see his body struggling to overcome the thick carpet, so using his shoulders as a stepping-stool, I leap toward the steps and start pulling myself up.

Everything is silent for a moment besides the buzzing in my ears. I don't hear the sound of my heart and its heavy beating or the deep caving in and out of my chest from all this physical exertion. But in the dead of air, a click shocks my senses.

My body immediately freezes, tensing on the step from what I recognize as a gun.

"Get. Down," his breathy voice commands, on his last nerve. "Now!"