Dancing With The Devil

Chapter 17

A dark figure was approaching the car. I could only make out the daunting silhouette in the moonlight and what little glow there was from the lights on Smith's vehicle.

"No, no, no." I rasped out to myself, attempting to scurry to the opposing door so I could bolt away from the figure. The person that had shot and killed Agent Smith. And I was next. I had not been smarter or stronger or more deadly than a gun when it had been in Smith's hand and I doubted that I would be now.

As I moved the shattered glass pierced my hands, but I hardly noticed. I just kept moving and kept my eyes on the silhouette that was getting closer. My trembling arms and jittery legs were hardly able to drag me across the seat. I felt like I was moving in slow motion. No matter how much energy I exerted I couldn't move quickly enough. He was getting closer and I had barely shuffled to the other side of the car, but I was so close.

Just as my fingers came into contact with the handle I heard the other door unlatch and swing open.

A hand clamped down on my ankle. I gave out a shriek but was yanked towards the haunted man. Towards the man that had murdered Agent Smith just moments ago.

I dug my finger nails into the smooth leather of the backseat as hard as I could. I knew that I left long, jagged nail marks from the struggle. Screams poured out of my mouth so loudly they hurt my own ears. I thrashed hard, kicking my legs in hopes that I would inflict substantial damage. It was just like my apartment. I needed one solid hit. Just one. And I could be running through the forest in the dark, actually able to having a fighting chance against this beast.

"Camila." The man grunted, obviously struggling to control my wriggling body. "Camila, stop screaming, you're going to make someone call the cops."

I just screamed louder. At least the cops wouldn't kill me right away. I would live until tomorrow. I needed someone, anyone, to hear me.

With one hard pull I was removed from the car completely, my body slamming down on the gravel. I let out a cry of pain and attempted to clutch at my head and neck, searching for injuries as my screams died. The thump on the ground had left my winded and stunned.

"It's me." The man breathed, grabbing my jaw and forcing me to look at him through tear-filled eyes.

The man had a youthful face; I could tell that he was younger than Agent Smith, even in the dark. His dark hair was clinging to his forehead. His shirt was wet with sweat and his breathing was heavy from the adrenaline pulsing through his body. His large shoulders blocked me from seeing an escape route- keeping me captive- but his free hand was pressed against one of my wrists. It was almost like he was checking my heart rate.

Unlike Agent Smith he was quite frazzled by the situation that he had gotten himself into. He wasn't as tough and as cold-blooded as the previous agent, but he was much calmer than a normal human being would be. I searched him desperately, trying to figure out who he was. And when my eyes met his striking green ones I had no idea how to respond.

"Alistair." I croaked out.

"Yeah, that's right." I think he was trying to sound soothing, but his voice was shaking and I could feel how wobbly his hand was on my chin, "Come on, you need to get in my car."

"You killed him." I whispered, "You're going to kill me too, aren't you?"

"No, I won't. Please, I need you to get in my car. We need to get moving as soon as possible." He hoisted me to my feet as he was speaking, but when he took my hands and tried to pull me towards the small car with no head lights on I dug my heels in. He tugged me along for a single stride, my runners skidding across the gravel before he made a frustrated noise.