him intent on me and not what my hands are doing. My fingers brush along various bits of broken junk, nothing that could really serve as a weapon.
Fear grips me, trying to freeze me up, but I keep searching. There has to be something! I scoot over a fraction, just to see if there’s more stuff to sift through. Just as his lips tilt up in a victorious smile, my fingers happen upon a large, rough object. Wood, maybe? My fingers curl around the broken beam, the rough splinters digging into my palm. The discomfort sharpens my brain, primes me to action.
“Didn’t I tell you I’d take care of the blood?” he whispers, sliding his fingers across my cheek, trailing them down my neck, before encircling them about my throat.
Revulsion fills me, but I try to keep my cool. I can’t fail now. As he leans in, I spring into action, shoving against him hard enough to send him sprawling backwards onto the floor.
“You stupid cunt,” he snarls, grabbing at my leg, trying to take me down with him.
Grunting, I tug my leg, but he’s holding fast. Using my free leg, I kick him hard in the ribs and whirl around, making for the stairs before he can get up. Unfortunately, I miscalculated just how fast he is. Before I can go one step, his hand curls around my waist.
A startled scream rips from my throat, but it’s quickly silenced by his hand enveloping my mouth. The wood drops from my hand with the sudden jerk of his arms. Adrenaline kicks through my body, sending me into motion. I squirm and writhe in his grasp, keeping my body moving as much as possible. If I go still, I’ll die.
In a brief moment of clarity, I remember Miss Congeniality. Singing can’t hurt right now. Gathering all my strength, I slam my elbow into what I hope is his solar plexus. His grip weakens, but he’s still holding on. Next, I bring my foot down on the top of his left arch. That move allows me to ease out from his arms. From there, I go straight for the groin. Not wasting any time, I grab the wood and whirl around with it.
Laughing, he puts his hands on his hips, staring me down. “You don’t think you’ll actually use that, do you? You don’t have the guts to attack me.” His head tilts back and he laughs even harder.
Do I actually have the guts? Strengthening my resolve, I take my beam and smack it against his head. The wood erupts into a spray of splinters as it breaks off against him. He staggers a bit, but stays upright. Damn. His adrenaline must be strong. My own is in overdrive, at least. John lumbers back towards me, his large frame blocking out a lot of the light from the candles. Apprehension skitters along my spine and fires up my brain.
His movements are slow, that’s a positive, at least. He’s just a few steps away, his eyes peering into mine. As he opens his mouth to speak, my body jolts into action, as though I have no control over it. With a loud yell, I charge at him with what’s left of the rotted wood. Before I can even stop myself, a sickening squelch fills the room.
Bile rises up my throat. He freezes, his mouth stuck in a ‘o’ of surprise. Though not super long, the rotted wood seems to have done the trick. It juts out from his chest, perilously close to his heart. The thud as his body hits the floor sets my insides quivering with fear and nausea. I bite down on my lower lip to keep from throwing up.
I stand there watching him, my breaths coming in soft pants. I have to leave. I have to get out of here. But, I have to find my phone. If he is indeed dead, I don’t need anything tying him back to me. Skirting around him, I go back over to where the wine bottles are and start pulling at any object that either looks like a phone or could hide one. My fingers tremble. I can’t seem to stop shaking.
A soft groan startles me, making me bump into his half-drunk glass of wine. As it tumbles down, it covers me in the fragrant, dark-red liquid. The hell with this. I can always get a new phone. I turn back towards the stairs, and race up and out of the crypt. I