25. Sienna
25
SIENNA
My head feels as though it’s going to explode. My vision keeps blurring, and my footsteps are clunky like I’m on one of those festival fun-house attractions where the floors keep rearranging themselves between footsteps.
But I keep going. One foot in front of the other. There’s no room inside my head for anything else.
At the end of the corridor, I stop. I try to retrace the route Nick took when he dragged me upstairs to show me the cliffs and the roiling sea from the window, but my mind can’t quite grab hold of it. I try to take a deep breath, my hand curled around the doorknob, but my lungs are not cooperating either.
I twist the doorknob and crack open the door, just enough for me to rest my forehead against the frame and view the staircase.
It’s clear.
I’m moving on autopilot.
One step at a time, wincing whenever I put my weight onto my twisted ankle. I almost can’t believe it when I reach the top without getting caught.
Convinced that the universe is smiling down on me, I open the door at the top of the stairs tentatively, my breathing coming in short, painful bursts, my heart playing a new irregular tune. Dizziness causes me to stop and lean against the door. I feel nauseous again, but I can’t be sick—I don’t think my head could take the strain.
I swallow. Inhale. Count to three.
If they catch me here, they won’t give me a second chance.
I hobble through the door and close it behind me with a gentle click. It’s a little warmer here, only a little. There’s floor covering underfoot, and the walls have been plastered and papered, even if the pattern has faded over time.
A few awkward steps, and I can see the window that overlooks the sea.
I jump when rain batters the pane of glass and instinctively back away, turning around to face another long corridor. There are doors on either side. All closed.
But my heart skips when I spot what must be the entrance at the far end.
This corridor is all that stands between me and freedom.
I’ve just got to get there.
Another step. My ankle holds. I can do this.
Then, voices.
Panic batters my ribcage, and my head screams at me to find some Tylenol and sleep until this is all over. Where are they coming from? Which room?
Closer. Laughter. A man speaks in a language that I don’t recognize, and then I hear the click of a door handle being turned.
Shit!
What do I do?
Where do I go?
My heart feels as if it’s trying to escape, but self-preservation kicks in. I open the door closest to me and step into a darkened room. There isn’t time to check out my surroundings. I push the door gently, using it to support me, and study the narrow sliver of a gap between the edge of the door and the frame.
Someone strides past, and my breath hitches in my chest.
I didn’t see his face. Is he going down to the basement to check on my father? He’ll raise the alert, and then it’ll be too late. I have to get out of here now.
I count to three and, when he doesn’t return, I open the door again.
I step out into the corridor.
The voices are still there. Loud. Banter. Jovial almost.
It’s my cue to leave.
I stumble along the corridor, limping on my sore ankle, the front entrance firmly fixed in my sight. Closer. Closer still. The voices fade into the background behind me.
I don’t look behind me when my hand closes around the doorknob. I turn it, and relief floods my chest; I didn’t even consider that it might be locked. But my captors were confident that I wouldn’t escape.
Their failure.
Then, I’m outside in the slanting rain, and my clothes are immediately soaked through, mingling with tears of relief. Sticking close to the wall, I make my way around the building in darkness, my saturated hair clinging to my face and drifting into my eyes. The wind snaps at my skin, raising goosebumps, the building providing little shelter.
I reach the corner and stop.
The trees are my only option, but I have to clear the distance between the house and the edge of the woodland first.
A glance behind me, and I’m not being followed. They must not have discovered my father yet.
“Go, Sienna. Go! ” I mutter to myself.
Then, I’m running towards the trees. Every part of my body jolts and screams with the agony of sore muscles and the concussion I suffered when my head hit the wall.
They won’t find me in the woods. It’s what keeps me going. I can climb a tree and shelter in the branches, or find a hollow and climb inside, or bury myself beneath a mountain of mulch. The possibilities are endless.
At least, that’s how it seems until I hear the first gunshot.
I sprawl face-first on the sodden ground.
Peering behind me, soggy leaves clinging to my face, and hands, I realize that I’m still too close to the house. If the men follow me outside, it won’t take them long to figure out that I’m hiding in the trees, and with my twisted ankle, they’ll catch up with me before I’ve gone anywhere.
I drag myself back onto my feet and keep hobbling through the woodland.
More gunshots ring out behind me.
Angry yells.
They know that I’m missing.
I move erratically, staggering this way and that to confuse them, but certain that they’ll be able to trace my footsteps on the soggy mulchy ground. I trip over an exposed root, and land heavily on the ground again, the oxygen leaving my lungs with a whoosh.
I roll over, half-expecting to find Nick looming over me with a gun aimed directly at my heart, but instead I find that I’ve covered more distance than I realized. The silence surrounding me, and the pitter-patter of the rain dripping from the dense canopy overhead and onto the ground would be peaceful were it not for the gunfire coming from the building.
Another shot cracks the air, making my pulse race.
I’m confused. It didn’t sound as if it came from the property. It sounded more like it came from somewhere amongst the trees.
I remain on the ground, saturated and shivering, listening to the weapons being fired beyond the trees. I don’t know how many men were in the house. Minus my father, I’m aware of Nick and the Russian, but this sounds like a whole load of shots being fired back and forth.
The men aren’t trying to frighten me.
They’re defending themselves. And this can only mean one thing: Kyle has come to save me.
I feel safe here. No bullets have whizzed past my head, which means that the fight must be confined to the open space in front of the building. I scramble backwards and hide behind a wide tree trunk, hauling myself onto my feet and following the sounds of gunfire, back and forth.
With each shot that slices through the miserable night sky, I jump. I pray that Kyle doesn’t get hurt. Or worse. He’s only here because of me.
The silence is sudden. Shocking in its intensity.
All I can hear is the blood gushing through my veins and the thump-thump-thump of my heartbeat.
Just when I think it must all be over and I should head back towards the house to find Kyle, I hear another sound like a twig snapping. The forest is so wet, that I remain motionless, trying to hear above and beyond the rainfall. Perhaps I imagined it. But then, I hear another sound.
Closer.
I retreat deeper into the woods, stopping frequently to listen.
The rainfall seems to get heavier, harder, louder.
I stumble blindly onwards, my imagination turning the shadows amongst the trees into monsters that take the guise of Nick Morris and the dark-haired Russian.
I increase my pace. The rain is blinding. The dense darkness is becoming oppressive. When I trip over an invisible rock and land heavily on my swollen knee, I drag my knees to my chest and huddle my arms around them.
“Who’s there?” My words are swallowed by the trees.
The wind howls through the woods like a feral animal, and my eyes dart back and forth, convinced that every twitch of a branch is one of my captors about to pounce on me.
I stand up. Only, once I’m back on my feet, I’ve no idea which direction I was heading in.
I turn three-sixty, inspecting the ground for the imprint of my footsteps like this is an imaginary childhood adventure through the jungle, but I was wrong. The ground is too wet, and any footprints I might have made are already filled with water. Everywhere looks the same. There are no distinguishing features, no odd-shaped trees, no markings carved by kids who once played here. Only the rain, and the howling wind, and the trees bowing under the weight of the storm.
“Is anyone there?” I hear the tremor in my voice.
A sound behind me.
I whirl around. Stare into the gloom. “Hello?”
Nothing.
Then another sound, but this time it’s coming from the opposite direction.
My head spins with each movement, and I lean against a tree. “Kyle? Is that you?”
Still no answer.
I realize that I want it to be Kyle so desperately, that I’ve convinced myself that he came here to save me and has defeated the men who were keeping me imprisoned. But Kyle wouldn’t scare me this way. Kyle would be yelling my name, telling me to wait for him to find me. Kyle would keep talking so that I could follow his voice until he appeared amongst the trees like an apparition and folded me into his arms.
The silence that follows each sound tells me all I need to know.
I’m not alone in the woods, and whoever is here with me, doesn’t want to be seen.
I spot a glimmer of movement from somewhere nearby on my right. I strain my eyes to bring it into focus, but all I can see are branches swaying in the relentless clutches of the wind. More movement on my left.
I don’t call out.
I move slowly backwards and around a wide, gnarled trunk, until I’m completely hidden, then I start running.
My painful ankle is forgotten. My head jars with every footstep. I keep running until the gusts grow stronger, trying to force me back inside the woods, and I can no longer feel my face with the icy rain.
I run until the trees stop and the ominous black sky starts.
I’m panting. My brain is trying to make sense of what it can see, and then I hear a voice behind me.
“There’s nowhere else for you to run, Sienna.”
I whirl around to find Nick watching me, his face in shadow, his hair like a wet black swimming cap fitting his head snugly. He raises the gun in his hand and points it at my head.