“Alyssa? What’s wrong?”
“Theo’s here. He’s in the bedroom. I shot him,” I say, my pitch rising so high I’m not even sure he understands what I said.
“What?” he practically screams. “Holy fucking—fuck!”
“Yeah.” I turn and look warily at the bathroom door. “I don’t know what to do. I locked myself in the bathroom, but I don’t know if he—I shot him and I—I—I—ran, I didn’t see…”
“Oh my God. Alyssa. Okay. Fuck. I’m on my way home, all right? I’ll be there… fuck, I don’t know, I’m still ten minutes away, but I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”
“Hurry.”
“I will,” he assures me. “Stay on the phone with me.”
“I will. Brant, I don’t know if he’s still out there and I’m too afraid to look.”
“No, don’t look,” he says forcefully. “Don’t open that door until I get there, not for anything. Do you have the gun with you?”
I look over at it. “Yes. I brought it in the bathroom with me.”
“Okay, good. Is it my gun or yours?” he asks, his voice much calmer than mine.
I respond to his calm, managing a steadier tone as I answer, “Yours. I grabbed it out of the nightstand drawer.”
“Okay, that’s even better,” he says, sounding a little relieved. “Theo doesn’t carry, and your handgun’s still locked up in the chest, so you have a gun and he doesn’t. Even if he gets up, even if he tries to get into that bathroom, you have the upper hand, all right? Be confident knowing that. He can’t hurt you, because if he tries, you’re gonna shoot him again.”
I nod, forgetting he can’t see me. My legs are so shaky, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stand much longer, so I back myself up and lean against the wall. My head falls back and I close my eyes, drawing a shaky breath.
“Are you okay?” Brant asks me.
“This is a lot.”
“I know it is. The worst of it is over, all right? I’m so sorry I’m not there to protect you right now.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Do you hear anything on the other side of the door? Does it sound like he’s getting up or… groaning in pain? Anything?”
I’m too far away from the door to hear any soft noises, so I force myself closer and lean my face close to the wood. “I can’t hear anything,” I whisper into the phone.
“Okay. I’m almost home. I’ll be there before you know it.”
He keeps me on the phone the whole time, but after a few minutes pass and my nerves begin to settle, the silence on the other side of the door gets more and more frightening.
Does it mean I killed him? If I didn’t kill him and he didn’t come in here after me, does that mean he’s still in the house somewhere and he’ll attack Brant when he comes flying upstairs to make sure I’m okay?
If Theo remained conscious and he had even a lick of sense, he would have gone straight out to his vehicle, climbed in, and fled this property as fast as humanly possible.
I walk over to the window to check outside. His car is still parked in the driveway.
He’s still here, I just don’t know in what state.
A lifetime passes while I’m locked inside the bathroom.
I hear Brant’s truck fly up the drive and we end our call, but he doesn’t come straight upstairs to get me like I expect him to. I wait, barely breathing, but he doesn’t come.
After a while, when he’s still not here, I start to get scared. I want to call him again to make sure he’s okay and able to answer, but I don’t want to distract him, either. What if he’s searching the house for Theo, and the moment he looks down to answer his phone, Theo flies out of his hiding spot with a knife? He might not have a gun, but we have a block of very sharp knives downstairs. For that matter, if he made it outside and went into Brant’s shop, there’s a fucking armory of makeshift weapons you could use to really hurt someone.
The terror is so bad it makes me sick for a second time since I locked myself in this bathroom, and I have to run to the toilet.
Afterward, I sink down against the wall beside it and draw my knees up. I wrap my arms around my legs as best I can with my belly in the way and lay my head down, closing my eyes.
Something slams against the bathroom door and I nearly jump out of my skin. I scramble to my feet and go to the counter to grab Brant’s gun, just in case.
“Who is it?” I shout wildly.
“It’s Brant,” he answers, sounding tired. “It’s me, baby. Open up.”