Page 11 of Savior

The bat arcs through the air and connects with his shoulder. It’s not enough to seriously injure him, but it’s enough to distract him, if only momentarily. He shouts in pain and jerks backward. I take advantage of it and surge forward, hoping the combination of the hit and the shift in balance are on my side. His hand comes up to grapple for something to counter his weight and his finger snags in my hair. Whole chunks come away with his fingers as he falls backward and tumbles to the ground.

It takes every ounce of strength that I have to open my eyes. I can barely see through the tears and the sting of mascara, but I manage to clamber to my feet. I scoot by the bed as fast as my feet can carry me and inch around the periphery of the room. The man, who I now notice is dressed in black as the dim streetlight filters through the windows, gets back up to his feet. I don’t look down because I can't. I won't. I block that out, too.

My sobs have subsided, and I look around wildly for something, anything, I can use to fucking hurt this guy with so I can escape. I grab the first heavy-looking thing next to me—a metal bookend. As he moves to open the door, I raise the bookend in an arc above me, my wrist screaming in pain. By the force of sheer will, I manage to bring it down as fast and as hard as I possibly can across his head. The resulting, wet-soundingthumpmakes me cringe, but I force myself not to give in to the fear and panic.

He crumples in front of me, landing heavily against the wall with a loud thump.

By now my wrist is throbbing fiercely, but I gather my strength and use both hands to throw the bookend at the assailant who is scrambling to his feet and picking up the discarded bat as he advances. The bookend bounces off his back, and he momentarily loses his footing, bur rights himself before I have a chance to move. The man turns and body checks me. I fall back, back, back and land on the floor in a pool of blood, knocking my head against the corner of Paige’s dresser. Disoriented, I scramble back to my hands and knees, the position made awkward by my injured wrist.

Head throbbing and thoughts muddled, it takes precious seconds for me to regain my footing. In that time, he raises the bat above his head and swings, the bat whistling through the air. I duck on instinct and feel the air ruffle my hair. Unable to connect the hit, he spins and I rush across the room to shove him the rest of the way out of the open door. He lurches to his feet just as I fling the bedroom door shut. He throws his weight against the door once, and I grunt. As he reaches a hand through the door I take the opportunity to slam it shut, closing it on his fingers, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. The sound of someone’s pain has never been so satisfying.

He shouts and pulls the hand back. I throw the door closed and use sweaty, bloody fingers to flip the lock. I fumble and flounder for my phone and manage to pull it from my pocket. It takes me precious moments, and I’m crying in frustration and fear by the time I’m able to activate the touch screen and dial 9-1-1.

An operator answers as the man in the hallway throws himself once again against the door. It groans in response but holds. I frantically yell my location at the operator as I awkwardly block the door with my own weight, my mind dissolving into shock. I almost drop the phone, but manage to hold onto it with my uninjured hand.

“9-1-1 what is your emergency?”

“She’s dead!” I shout. “He killed her!”

“Ma’am, are you saying there was homicide?”

“He’s still here. He’s trying to kill me, too.”

“We’re going to send help. Can you tell me your address?”

I choke on my frantic gulps of air and scream when the door jerks behind me. The ringing in my ears drowns own my voice as I relay my address and phone number in case they need to call me back.

“You’re doing just fine. Can you tell me your name?”

“Piper. My name is Piper. Just please help us.”

“They’re on their way. Can you tell me if you’re hurt, Piper?”

“My hand—I think he broke it. But Paige, my sister. I think,” my voice breaks with a sob, but I force myself to continue, “I think she’s dead.”

“Is the person who attacked you still there?”

Another shove comes at the door and a scream tears from my lips. “Yes,” I say to the operator. “I locked him out of the room, but he’s here. He’s trying to get in.” Tears pour down my cheeks. “Please.” I don’t know if I’m talking to her, to him, or to God Himself, but I say the word so many times it becomes one long chant.

“We’ve got officers and paramedics en route. Stay inside the room until they call for you.”

“I will,” I tell her.

Then, I close my eyes because the adrenaline gives way to shock and it’s the only way I blot out the reality.

There, surrounded by the scent of my sister’s favorite perfume and the blood—herblood—that stains my skin, I finally succumb to mindless panic.

The sound of my name being called in a familiar voice shocks me out of the stupor. “Piper!”

I twist around, realizing I slumped on the floor against the door at some point. It’s still dark out and I have no idea how much time has passed. It can’t be long because the police haven’t arrived. Still clutching the phone in my hand, I get back to my feet, but I’m too scared to open the door and check to see who is outside.

“Piper!” They yell again, this time the voice sounds closer, followed by the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass. I press my ear to the bedroom door and hear the thunder of footsteps coming down the hall. “Piper where are you?”

Recognizing the voice, my hand reaches for the doorknob. “Gavin?”

“Thank God,” he says through the door, his voice muffled. “I heard you screaming. Open the door, baby. Are you okay?”

I almost do it. I almost open the door, then I remember the man and my hand stops mid-air. “What are you doing here, Gavin?”