The Hollows Of Hiraeth (✔️) | 'Hollows' Book I

Chapter Ninety-Two

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T h e H o l l o w s   O f
H I R A E    T    H
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I tried to shift around but my aching body protested. Adding to the problem, the handrail on the stairs had also followed me downwards and was laying across my legs; it was heavier than it looked when it was still attached to the staircase. After choking on the dust I had just inhaled, I pushed myself up, despite the searing pain that shot through my limbs as I did so. Leaning over, I tried not to yelp as my legs stretched out, the sprain—or break—in my left leg not helping me at all. I pushed the metal rod off and it hit the cold stone floor with a loud clank.

I peered out into the darkness, frowning as I squinted, concentrating hard on seeing just a glimmer of light—a glimmer of hope. But there was none. I then proceeded to look up, I couldn't make out much, but upwards was definitely lighter than down here in the everlasting shadows of broken lights. Jameson. Where's Jameson?

"JAMESON?" I yelled, not shying away from screaming, the need to find him too big to overcome. The only response I got was my own voice bouncing off the breaking walls as it travelled up the stairs.

"JAMESON!" Despair and anguish scarred my voice and I refrained from wincing. Move, Sky. I need a plan. Why has Jameson never taught me any of this stuff? I yell out Jameson's name again, hoping that he is somewhere near. The fact that there was no reply tells me he's either not near—or in very deep trouble. At that clarification, a conversation we had a few days back came to me.

"Though," I had told him.

"I think part of me feared that if I was about to face an attack, and you weren't there to protect me, that something had happened to you."

Something has happened to Jameson. I knew that much. He could be dead. That conclusion itself wounds my heart. Or he could be brutally injured—fatally injured.

Now I could remember what he had said moments before my confession. He told me that he would've taken the bullet that had shot down Angela—for me. He protects me because he cares about me. And I care about him. So I won't let that be in vain.

I pushed myself off the ground, using both my arms and my only available leg, since the other had been crushed by the metal of the stairs. My limbs were cramped but I managed to get myself upright, and once stood up, I stretched out as I took a look around me. Well, I tried to look around me; it was too dark to see practically anything.

Even if there is an exit around here, I can't see it. The only reliable exit I have is the stairwell—the blown-up stairwell. It wouldn't be sturdy. And the courtroom is as good as on fire.

Fire.
Light.

With only my hands out in front of me to guide me, I made my way over to what I believed was the courtroom. Taking a deep breath, I asked myself that, if I died right now, would I be okay with that? I didn't answer it, and instead twisted the door handle.

The handle scalded me but I refrained from jumping away, I pushed the door open and was almost thrown back by roaring flames. The temperature was scorching high as I coughed on the fumes. Dangerous as it may seem, I hesitantly moved towards to door, plucking a piece of discarded wood from the floor.

I found a small, kindling fire, and set the top of the wood alight, like one of those medieval torches. Though, soon it would burn up, and burn me.

I quickly rushed away from the room, not letting my light go to waste. The stairs were even less accessible in the light, if at all possible, and so I turned away from them with regret. I checked for Jameson—for a corpse. Nothing.