“He thinks she’s still in the house. Try that way.” It was another male voice and it was closer.
“If you find her, corner her and call me. DON’T touch her.” That was Tristan. He was loud and he sounded frantic, or furious, or both.
Kyla threw herself on the floor and crawled under the desk.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
She heard nothing for a minute so she leaned up and reached for the phone. She lifted the cordless receiver and took it under the desk.
She dialed 9-1-1. The operator answered, “9-1-1, what’s your emergency?” She heard something close by. She didn’t want to be heard. She reached up and put the phone back up on the desk and stayed quiet underneath. The line was open and she could faintly hear something coming out of it, likely the operator asking if anyone was there. Maybe they would dispatch police, thinking someone was unconscious or something.
She was pretty sure they were on the balcony or in the courtyard so she decided to crawl toward the door leading to the hallway. When she reached it she moved beside it, in case it suddenly opened, and listened. She couldn’t hear anything outside the door. She reached up and turned the door handle. The door opened inward, to her relief. She opened it just far enough to peek out. The hallway looked very much like the one on the opposite end, only with more doors.
Right now it was clear. Kyla hoped there would be a staircase at the end and that it wouldn’t be blocked. She got to her feet and started to run. As she rounded the corner she was in another hall but ahead she could see the same Scarlett O’Hara staircase. There was no gate and no sign of anyone. The gate on the other end for the other wing, where Tristan’s bedroom was, was half way open. She listened and could hear an agitated-sounding voice downstairs. Panic rose even higher in her throat.
She ran as silently as she could down the stairs looking around and saw no one. She booked it to the front door, grabbed the lock, twisted it, and got out. Adrenaline pumping through her, she dashed down the front steps in her bare feet and ran past Tristan’s black Lincoln Navigator SUV and two other vehicles. Her feet were killing her, her legs sore, her lungs --- barely functional. She ran as fast as she could, telling herself it was just like the wall during a marathon run, which she’d done twice in the past. She just had to run through the imaginary wall and she’d be okay. Only this time it felt like something, some unseen force, was pulling her back instead of her desire to succeed driving her forward.
The stone path leading from the house wound ahead as far as she could see. She followed it for a minute but as it turned she decided to switch to the grass. It would be easier on the bottoms of her feet and if he came for her in his SUV, she had a better chance if she was not on a clear road. She didn’t dare look back. She was so afraid that if she did she’d see that someone was gaining on her.
The property was expansive but she knew she’d left the door wide open so in a matter of moments he’d know she was out. There was nothing else as far as she could see but trees. Some areas were clear and others had small clusters of trees.
It was still dark outside but she knew she didn’t have much time before the sun rose. What mattered was that she was outside of the house and that she was almost to the finish line --- away from the vampires….and him.
Maybe the police were on their way and would distract him long enough that she’d be able to put a good amount of distance between herself and the house. A cramp spliced up her side. She slowed down. Then her body suddenly started pulsing from deep within. It was an odd sensation.
She stopped and leaned forward, her bottom against a big weeping willow tree and took a few deep breaths, hands on her knees. It felt safe under there, umbrella’d from view. She dared to look back the way she came and squinted, straining her eyes, trying to see. She didn’t see anything other than trees. All she could hear right now was her own heart beating wildly and her heavy breathing and that weird thrumming inside of her; it had become audible, as if it was on a loudspeaker outside. She had zero endurance right now, it was so hard to run. The throbbing halted.
Someone had her wrist! She gasped. Tristan. He was barefoot, in just a pair of jeans and he was holding her wrist and staring directly into her eyes, his jaw was tight and his eyes were filled with rage. Where did he come from? It was as if he’d come from the other direction rather than from the house.