Dreamer's Ball [ENOLA HOLMES]

eighteen; never leave me

chapter eighteen; never leave me

Amélie's heart pounded ridiculous loud as she crept into the Tewkesbury manor with a tight grasp on Enola's hand and the boys behind them. She didn't want to go in first, but Enola insisted. They needed to protect the boys—which was fine to Amélie, she wished to keep them safe too, but to put herself in danger first? Maybe that was a little bit of a stretch for protection.

The floors and even the large door to the manor creaked as the group entered, practically shouting their arrival to the empty halls... empty... empty? Why was the place so empty?

"Where are all the servants?" Tewkesbury questioned aloud, glancing around with a confused look. What an odd sight. For him, there was at least a guard or two on post at night in the manor when he was growing up... and even before he left, that's how it was.

"Welcome to the future." Enola responded, closing the door behind them.

The Tewkesbury manor was a beautiful sight to see in the morning. The same couldn't be said for the late night. There wasn't anything to admire. Much of the lights were out, besides a few candles littered here and there and natural light from the moon spilling in from the windows, which kept sight of the surroundings at a minimum.

"Mother?" Tewkesbury called out, releasing Pierre's hand to walk forward slightly ahead of the group to scout out if his family was somehow awaiting his presence. The group still following behind him to make sure he remained safe.

Something felt wrong to Amélie. She couldn't quite pinpoint the source of this sudden off-putting bubbling feeling in her stomach. She didn't like it. The eeriness to the place. Something had to be wrong.

"What's happening?" Tewkesbury questioned, stopping at a small round table in the middle of the room with a vase atop it.

Amélie shook her head lightly, "Not a clue." She wished she knew. She wished she knew something. All she had was a gut feeling.

"They know we're here." Enola stated. The four stood beside each other right before the vase. There was no one else in the room besides them. It was dead quiet except for their heavy breaths.

Pierre's head tilted to the side, confused, as he looked at Enola for an answer, "How can you tell?"

As if on some sort of cue, the noise of a rifle cocking echoed behind them. All breathing stopped, hitching in their throats. Was this even real? "DOWN!" Enola shouted, grabbing the coats of the boys and Amélie's wrist to thrust them down and out of the way. The vase on the table shattered completely as the bullet zoomed through it. No. This was real. Tewkesbury and Pierre whimpered and gripped onto each other tight as another shot was fired just above them. They all held close, needing an escape.

"Run!"

As fast as their legs could take them, the four got up and started to run. Run where? Amélie didn't know. No one knew. They just had to get away. It was instinct: survival. Fight or flight. There was no winning fight to a rifle and their only option was to run.