Chapter Seven
EMMA
My head and my heart are at odds with what happened on the bonnet of Griffin’s car.
I’m excited, thrilled, and a nervous wreck all at once.
He feels the same way about me as I do about him.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself. But, I’m not delusional.
I’m smart enough to realize it’s probably the liquor doing the talking for him.
I’m an attractive woman, and Griffin’s been alone for so long.
I’m lying on my bed, scanning through various social media on my phone, doing my best to process my feelings. Griffin’s touch changed me from a girl into a woman, but it also terrified me. The heart wants what it wants, but my head is full of deeply terrifying thoughts.
Somehow, I reasoned, it was the stranger at the bar that got in the way. Driven by the darkness he caused, those thoughts swirled in my mind while Griffin and I got busy. It’s not completely absurd.
A sudden bang comes from somewhere in the house and my heart skips a beat.
In the deathly quiet of the night the sound feels deafening.
I jump to my feet and rush to the door. It’s probably Dad, skulking through the dark for a drink of water.
What if he toppled over and hurt himself?
In the state Griffin left him, I wouldn’t be surprised.
“Dad?” I call into the hallway. There’s no immediate response.
I make my way towards his bedroom door, expecting to hear him grumbling from behind it. I jostle his doorknob, only to find him snoring in bed.
Shit, I could’ve sworn the sound came from inside, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it was someone outside, or one of the neighbors shooting off fireworks. It’s not a common occurrence, but it has happened now and then. I close my dad’s door as gently as I can, before tiptoeing back to my room.
Then I see him. He’s standing in the darkness at the end of the hall. A thin, slender figure, brandishing a knife in one hand. I can’t see his face, but if I could, I’d be met by a twisted grin.
“Told you I’d be seeing you very soon,” he speaks softly, but in the silence, it travels to my ears just as well as if he’d shouted.
His voice sends a shiver down my spine. My body seizes at the sight of him. I have no thoughts. No words. No movement. I’m filled with bone-chilling terror. It’s that prick from the bar, and he wants revenge.
“How about you and me have some fun?” he asks, taking a step towards me.
My lungs are the first thing I regain control over, and a horrified scream rips through my lips. I turn around and run through my dad’s door. He’s groggily trying to find his feet. I hear heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor, but I manage to shut the door on him before he can get in.
“Emma? What’s going on?” Dad asks in a panicked slurring. He turns out his bedside lamp.
I press my weight against the door, wrestling the key to lock. I don’t think it’ll save us, but it’s bought some time.
“There’s someone in the house.” I hate how scared I sound. “He’s right outside.”
There’s a heavy bang at the door. I topple over backward, and start crawling on my ass towards Dad’s bed.
“What the fuck?” Dad says, jumping to his feet. The banging at the door has become a constant barrage, as the intruder throws his full weight into it. Dad fumbles for his phone on the side table. “I’m calling the cops.”
Why couldn’t he have said Griffin? He couldn’t have gotten far since our session outside.
“Come out, little piggies, or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow this door down,” the man says and I hear a twisted chortling behind the door. He must be completely insane. And he is in our house. He continues to drive himself into the wood, and it cracks and bends against his weight.
It’s not going to hold for long. I climb onto my dad’s bed.
“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency,” I can hear the faint voice of a woman on the other end of Dad’s phone.
It’s too late. Before Dad can respond, the door takes its final hit and swings open, exposing the predator.
“Put the phone down, old man,” he says, pointing the blade’s tip at my dad.
Dad cuts the call and raises his hands in the air. He can’t take his eyes off the blade. “W… We don’t want any trouble.” He draws himself back against the wall, while the stranger approaches. “Do you want money? I can give you money.”
“I don’t need your money.” The predator’s pale green gaze flicks from Dad to me. “I want her. Get on your feet.”
“You’re the guy from the bar?” Dad asks. He’s stalling for time. What good’s that going to do? He stands up off the bed, but I refuse. I’m not going to play into this sick game.
The intruder nods, stepping towards Dad.
“We’re going to have some fun, me and her,” he says, still holding the knife out. “And guess what, you’re gonna have to watch. Can’t have you sitting here on your own, calling the cops.”
“You’re not going to lay a finger on her,” Dad says. His bravery is ruined by the shake in his voice.
“What are you going to do to stop me?” the intruder asks. He doesn’t wait for a response before driving his forehead forward into the bridge of Dad’s nose. There’s a thud, and a crack, and Dad tumbles to the ground.
As soon as he hits the ground, the intruder drives his boot into anything it’ll hit. He lands blow after blow, until Dad’s a puddle on the floor, barely moving… barely breathing.
Then, the man turns his attention to me. “You think you can threaten me, huh? You think I’m some kind of joke?”
He launches himself onto the bed. One hand grips my throat, while the threat of his weapon lingers nearby. I want to fight, but the same terror that struck me on the hood of Griffin’s car engulfs me again.
“I’m going to show you what happens to people who think I’m a joke,” he says with a gleeful sneer, thrusting his face forward and pressing his lips against mine. He forces his tongue into my mouth. He tastes like an ashtray.
The hand that clutches my throat moves down until it’s grabbing and squeezing my breast. I want to bite his fucking tongue off and spit it out, but the blade terrifies me. He kicked the shit out of my dad, what can I do against him?
“You smell so good, baby,” his words penetrate the fog of my fear. He sits upright, and drags the straight edge of the blade against my shirt. “How about we take this off, huh?”
He clutches my shirt at the collar, dragging the blade’s keen edge through it. The blade slices through the fabric effortlessly, and before I know it, my upper body’s exposed.
“Don’t do this,” words finally leave my lips. If I can’t fight, I’ll plead. Only God can help me now.
“But it’s going to be fun, baby,” he holds the flat side of the knife against my chest. It’s cold against my skin. What twisted fate does this prick have in store for me?
“I’m going to—”
“You’re going to what?”
I hear Griffin’s voice.
Is this a daydream? A fabricated delusion playing out in my head to help me through this horrible time? Hearing Griffin is surreal. It fills me with strength and determination.
The man screams as Griffin’s rough hands wrap around his shoulders. With a single tug, the monster is hurled backward. The knife lies on the bed beside me.
The man gets to his feet and starts running. I grab the blade without even thinking about it, and move to give chase, but Griffin stops me by pulling me against his chest. He’s holding his gun to the door, just watching my assailant escape.
“Let him run,” Griffin whispers. “I’ve got his plates; he won’t get far.”
No.
I don’t want to let him run. Not after what he put me through, and the beating he gave Dad… I think back to that glass bottle I thought of holding to his neck earlier that evening, in the bar. It would have been a disservice. I want to make him scream. I want to watch him suffer and beg.
Dad groans on the floor beside the bed. Griffin lets go of me and drops to one knee.
“You got the word of God kicked into you, old chum,” Griffin says. He’s keeping it light. I don’t understand how or why.
“Son of a bitch kicks like a mule,” Dad says. He’s stable enough to crack a joke, even though he’s wincing with every move he makes.
“You’re not going to do anything about him?” I spit. After the connection Griffin and I shared tonight, he’s going to let this bastard walk free? Fuck that.
“I’m going to do a lot about him,” Griffin turns to face me. He’s digging through his pockets for his phone. “But there’s a process and you two are my main priority. As I said, I’ve got his plates. I am going to get him.”
I can’t find an emotion to settle on, somewhere between blinding rage, incredible panic, and immense gratitude for what Griffin’s done. I crumple back onto the bed, still tasting cigarettes in my mouth.
“Hey, Billy. I need an ambulance at 121 Peach Street. There was a break-in, Mark took quite a beating.” Griffin says.
Dad chuckles at that. “Gonna let the whole department know, huh?” Dad asks. He tries to sit upright, but instantly collapses back to the ground. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. It’s a good thing you came back. We might not have gotten out of it so lucky.”
Good point. Why did Griffin come back? And in the nick of time, too.
“Take it easy, Tiger,” Griffin says. “You might have a couple cracked ribs. No sudden moves, they might make things worse.”
Griffin turns his steely gaze back to me. “Are you okay?”
I don’t answer. I don’t know how.
My inner voice says all I need to hear. No, I’m not okay. We had that piece of shit cornered and we let him get away.
In the distance, sirens blare while they rush to my front door.
Griffin’s too calm about this whole thing. He showed more concern about me when the guy wasn’t a serious threat, and now he’s playing it off like nothing’s happened?
Something is going on, and I will find out what it is.