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Out here, the sounds are louder. Every shout, every cry of pain, every shot feels like nails clawing along my skin, setting my teeth on edge, threatening to throw me back into a moment in time when I had no control over what was happening, when I was trapped, victimized, and held hostage.
But I haven’t been taken yet, this time. For right now, I still have control.
I still have a chance.
I slip along the wall, towards the staircase. The sounds downstairs are growing louder, but it doesn’t sound like they’ve made it to the upper floors yet. I crouch down, flinching with every sound, shaking so hard that I feel like, at any second, I might slip and fall. I stay very still for a moment, listening, and I clap my hand over my mouth at the sound of a window shattering, another gunshot, the crash of what sounds like another piece of furniture falling over.
“Where the fuck is everyone?” someone with a Russian-accented voice shouts from downstairs, and I feel a flood of relief as I realize that they must not have found any of the family yet. I was afraid for Agnes, but she must have run as soon as she heard the commotion—maybe out to the stables where Aldo and the children should be.
I need to get to them.
There’s another shot, and I hear Gio’s voice letting out what sounds like a string of curses in Italian. I pause as I reach the landing for the second floor, and start to move towards the steps again.
I step down onto the second stair, look up—and there’s a man coming up towards me, gun held in one hand. He looks up, too, meeting my eyes, and there’s a split second of shock for both of us as he opens his mouth to shout down to the others.
There’s no time to think about what to do. I strike without thinking, reacting as Gabriel taught me during all those boxing lessons in the basement gym, aiming for the man’s nose. My fist connects with his face, hard, driving upwards, and he lets out a stunned groan of shock as he tips backward, clutching at his face.
He scrambles, trying to keep from falling, and for a brief moment, it feels like everything slows down as I watch him topple backward down the stairs, falling heavily as his gun slides across the wooden floor.
The sound is muffled by the chaos on the first floor, but someone will see me any second. I don’t have time to wonder how badly he’s hurt, to do anything except run. Barefoot, I bolt down the stairs, grabbing for the gun that the man dropped as I hit the floor. I don’t know how to shoot, but trying to aim and pulling the trigger is better than nothing at all.
“There’s the woman!” Someone shouts from behind me as I bolt for the first room on my left. I shove my shoulder into the door as I fumble with the knob, and just as it opens, I feel someone grab my arm.
Once again, I act entirely on instinct. I whip around, pointing the gun at the man who tried to grab me, and pull the trigger.
The impact of it knocks me back into the door, stunning me for a brief second. My head is spinning, my fingers clenched around the gun so tightly that they’re starting to go numb, and I can’t look at the body in front of me. I can’t look at what’s left of his face.
Another rattle of gunfire startles me out of my shock.
Run!
The word echoes through my head as I bolt into the room, kicking the door closed behind me as I rush for the window at the far end. There’s no one outside that I can see, and I grab the sash, shoving the window up as I start to crawl out.
I can feel the edge of the windowsill scrape my leg, but the pain barely registers. I tumble out onto the grass and spring up to my feet, running across the yard towards where I know the cars are parked at the back. No one has come out of the back door yet, but through the large windows that look into the kitchen, I see one of our security fire his weapon, a splash of blood streaking across the glass.
My stomach roils, threatening to revolt, but I don’t have time to be sick. I don’t have time to be afraid. I have to get to the stables, to find out where Agnes and Aldo and the children are. We need a plan to escape. To get ahold of Gabriel. To?—
One of the newer Land Rovers is unlocked. I snatch the glove compartment open, shoving the papers inside out onto the floor as I search for the spare key. My fingers are shaking so badly that I almost drop it, my every nerve on edge waiting for someone to yank open the door, to grab me and haul me out. I’m so close to getting away, but if someone sees me, I’m as good as dead.
I’d rather be dead than go back to Igor.
I manage to get the key into the ignition, desperately trying to remember everything Gabriel managed to teach me about driving in those few short lessons. The car rumbles to life, and I slam it into gear, grateful that it’s automatic, at least. I don’t have the slightest idea how to drive the vintage, manual version of this car that Gabriel prefers.
Behind me, I hear the slam of the back door, and I shove my foot onto the gas, panic lurching through me. The car jolts forward across the uneven path, nearly throwing me forward into the steering wheel, but I don’t let up. I can hear gunshots behind me, and I vaguely realize that tears are starting to stream down my face, fear threatening to swallow me up.
My phone is in my pocket. I fumble for it as I yank the steering wheel, turning onto the long path that leads back to the stables, my hand shaking so hard that it almost falls between the seats. “Call Gabriel,” I shout at the phone as I press the button down, and the robotic voice answers back, the ringing sound sending a shock of relief through me.
There’s no answer. The car jolts over a particularly rough patch of ground, and the phone falls out of my hand as I grab for the steering wheel, hitting the brake hard. I can feel that I’m losing control of the vehicle, and I fumble for the gas again, trying to get off of this part of the path before the car slides.
Somewhere behind me, echoing from the house, I hear another rattle of gunfire. It startles me, and I jump, my foot sliding and hitting the brake again, hard enough to make the car slide.
I can’t correct it in time. I feel myself veering off the path, the car seemingly about to tip, and I yank the wheel again, trying to correct it.
I don’t see the tree until it’s too late, until I swerve and can’t stop in time. I see it rushing up in front of me, brace for the impact, and my last thought before my forehead slams against the steering wheel is of Gabriel.
Of his voice, whispering quietly next to me, that I don’t have to leave.
And then everything goes dark.
