Dark Shadows

Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Lauren's POV.

For a moment I just stood there, prisoner in my own body. Even though my instincts screamed at me to run my brain refused to obey.

I saw in slow motion how the man's finger bended to pull the trigger, and that was when my brain clicked; all the neurons connected. The training from spy school was recollected from the corner it had been stored in my head, and I flung my leg out and kicked the gun out of his hand. It made a dull thud on the carpeted floor. The man immediately dove for it, but I was quicker. I hit him in the crotch, kneeing him in the face when he doubled over in pain. In the same motion, I pushed him hard and picked up the handgun with the free hand. He fell stumbling to the floor, knocking a floor lamp with him on the way down. The glass of the bulb shattered into millions of tiny crystals, and he fell straight onto them. Splatters of red appeared on his skin. 

Afraid that he would get up again I pointed the gun at him, waiting for him to move. He didn't, however, and a new fear struck me. I hadn't killed him, had I?

Relief washed over me when I saw his chest slowly rise and fall; he was still alive and breathing, just unconscious. 

Just as I was about to search him for additional weapons and clues for where he had come from I heard a knock on the door. 

"Lauren? Are you alright?" It was Harry's voice. 

I opened my mouth to answer him but no sound came out. I heard another muffled voice from further away saying something in a questioning tone. 

"No, I just thought I heard something break," Harry answered that person. "Lauren, you're not dead in there, are you?" He asked in a jokey tone. Oh, the irony.

I finally found my voice. "Come in!" It sounded a bit strangled.

The door opened and Harry walked in, taking in the scene in front of him. The astonished look on his face almost made me laugh. Almost. There was no humour whatsoever in this situation. 

"Bloody hell... What happened in here?" He stepped over the lying man. 

The little girl in me wanted to curl into a ball in a corner and forget that criminal people that actually liked to kill other people existed, but the spy in me told me to suck it up and stay strong. I listened to the latter voice.

"He hid in the bathroom. Whoever it is that caused all of this knows who I am and why I'm here." I was surprised at how calm my voice sounded despite the chaotic mess I was on the inside. Harry's gaze dropped to the gun in my hand. My hand was fisting itself due to an unknown force, the index finger inching down on the trigger. I jerked my hand open and the gun clattered to the floor. 

Harry's eyes met mine once more. "Lauren," he said again, his voice no more than a whisper. "Did he try to... kill... you?" He sounded as if he couldn't believe that what he'd just said could possibly be true. 

I nodded. It dawned on me that even though killings and life-or-death serious fights were common in my world, they weren't in his. This had genuinely shaken him a lot, I could see that clearly. 

I made sure the safe lock of the pistol was on and knelt down to confirm that the man wasn't acting to have fainted; he was dead out. I stood back up and went over to Harry, putting my arms around his waist and resting my forehead against his chest in a silent gesture of consolation. I could feel his heart beat at a rapid speed in his ribcage. 

"Yes, he did try to kill me Harry. But Paul didn't hire me without a reason. The man didn't stand a chance against me." I knew that I was exaggerating a little, but I didn't want to worry him more sick than he already was. I looked up at him, my chin jutting out and brushing the buttons on his shirt.

"I'm good at what I do, Harry. Just like what I told you guys before." He still looked a little quivered when I let him go, but Liam was peeking through the door and I wasn't that big of a fan of PDA. 

"Holy shit!" He exclaimed after throwing one look into the room before he turned right back and ran out the door. Well, that was nice. They were handling it better than I thought. Not. 

In just a minute the rest of the boys and their extra safety crew were hustling about in the doorway. Three of them examined the man, and one of them came over to me and bombarded me with questions. It was quite intimidating to be honest, to be asked billions of questions by a tall and buff man that seemed to have no access to emotions at all. 

I answered all the questions he asked, but the moment the words left my mouth I forgot what it was they were answering. I guess that little girl in me decided to make an unappreciated appearance after all. The paradox here, though. I was supposed to be the one asking all the questions and figure stuff out, yet here I was, answering them instead and letting others be the investigators. 

They took the note with the fingerprint I'd told them about out the man's pocket and carried the man himself out of my room. They called in the maid to clean up the mess. They even offered to get me some tea. All of this while my mind was constantly racing, and I felt like I would start crying like a baby anytime. The only thing that stopped the tears from escaping was Harry's thumb that traced patterns on the back of my hand while I talked with the crew.

Just like the other day when I was being chased by a psycho everything began to sink in at a later time. I found myself mechanically shower and eat dinner before the breakdown came.

It was lucky that I was used to being life threatened. Otherwise I would have surely lost my mind. I would never however regret my choice of career. This was what I lived for. What I loved to do and wanted to do. My parents had always told me that my future had been set since the day I was born; when other kids played with Barbies I pretended to be Kim Possible out on dangerous missions. They were both dead now, though. One of the big cons of working for the FBI: Your death could be so sudden you wouldn't even notice it coming. The last words I got from them was that I was a strong and independent women that didn't let anybody stop me from achieving my dream, I kept them in my mind with everything I did. For them, I was being strong and following my dream.

The only thing that bothered me was that I, without noticing, had become much more emotional. Ever since I'd wept that night I first met Harry, I kind of felt more vulnerable. I mean, this wasn't the first time I'd been impended my life with a gun. On the contrary it had happened way to many times to be good for my health. Yet I'd absolutely broken down this time despite the fact that absolutely nothing had actually happened to me. I was as healthy as a horse. 

With a slight shock I realised that it was these new feelings for Harry that made me feel helpless, sensitive and in need for his comfort. For the sake of my career as a detective, who for the record can't be successful as an emotional wreck, I had to be careful and not let the feelings oversteer me. 

Then another thought came into my mind. What if I had been weakened now? What if I was no longer strong enough to find Lux and the new mystery man who so desperately wanted One Direction dead? Then the right thing to do would obviously be to quit, so that a new and more experienced and influence-resistant detective could take over and succeed with solving the case.

When I felt a strong need to decline that suggestion I knew that I was lost. I was already in too deep in this mess. The question here was whether I was strong enough to stay and solve the case myself, or if I was selfless enough to do everything in favour for it, including giving up the job.

A huge sigh heaved its way out of my lungs as I went into my room to think about my options.