by C. S. Won
Just run, damn it. You’ll think of something once you’re out.
She knelt before the window and unlatched the lock, the metal clicking in the most unnerving of decibels. She took a quick look behind, holding in her breath, but saw no sign of Adam. Gripping the handle of the window, she pulled upward and felt the wrath of the storm invade her room. A blood-freezing chill whisked through her, and with it came a smattering of cold rain slapping against her face. Gritted teeth helped her cope, but she knew it would do little once she was outside. She didn’t care, though; she would deal with the ramifications later.
Pulling her body through the opened window, she leaned out into the turbulence headfirst, the tempest pouncing on her like a sledgehammer. She gasped, breathless at the frostiness of the storm. Her body screamed at her to go back inside to the comfort and warmth of her home, but she knew this squall meant freedom—freedom that she would have to fight for. She squeezed the rest of her body through the window.
Something seized her by her ankle—a hand, strong and tight. She looked back, squinting through the relentless rain, and saw Adam poking his head through the window, the light from her room casting his body in darkness. Rage was scribbled across the scars of his ugly face. He shouted something at her, but whatever he said was lost in the storm, drowned out by the howling winds and booming rainfall. She kicked away at him, snapping her legs in his general direction, but it only seemed to strengthen his hold. Fingers squeezed tighter around her leg as he pulled her back into the house. She screamed, clawing away at the soggy grass and mud, desperate to anchor herself to the runny soil. But he was too strong, and the earth began to pull away from her. She screamed louder.
The riot of the storm settled into a harsh whisper, no longer pelting her skin with rain and wind. Warmth enveloped her like an old friend, brushing away the cold that penetrated deep into her bones. With dogged persistence, Adam had forced her back into her room, the prison she thought she had escaped from. But he wasn’t entirely successful, for she fought on with every last reserve of desperate strength she had, clinging onto the windowsill with both hands, growling her effort and fear through squeezed teeth, freedom mere inches away.
I’m so close . . .
Adam roared, and with a quick and sudden pull, flung her body back inside, her head smacking against the windowsill on the way in. The floor met her with a loud thump, driving her breath away. She saw stars, sharp pains exploding in her head, and when she touched the top of her brow she felt something warm and sticky and wet. Her scalp seethed in pain every time she dabbed at it. She brought her fingers in for a closer view and was greeted with red smears on the tips of her fingers.
“I told you to stay put, Madeline! Now look what you’ve done to yourself!”
She squinted up. Adam loomed over her. She struggled to her feet, using the wall as a crutch, the top of her brow hot and itchy, blood slipping down and catching her lips, salty and bitter. She closed her eyes, putting a hand over her wound. Shaking her head, she tried to put the world back into focus, fighting the sickness washing over her.
“Damn it. Let me see how bad you’re hurt.”
She felt a warmth approaching her, heavy and cruel. When she opened her eyes, Adam was making his way toward her, a look of genuine concern on his face. His hand came into view and touched her head, fingers examining the jagged cut on her brow. She reached out to the closest thing she could grab onto—an alarm clock—and bashed it across his face as hard as she could, screaming out in animalistic fury. Adam pulled back with a loud yell. Hand pressed against his face, he flopped down onto the ground in a rolling heap, curses spewing from his lips.
Madeline dropped the clock and turned back to the window, trying to slip back through with wobbly legs, her efforts diluted by the wound crowning her skull. She managed to get a knee up on the windowsill before Adam threw himself back into her, squashing her face against the raised window. He wrapped his arm around her torso and pulled her back in. Body slamming her into the ground, he fell on top of her, knocking her breath away. Pain shot through the entirety of her body. Using his weight to pin her down, Adam loomed close, his rancid breath hot against her face. She could see a large cut on his cheek.
“Why are you doing this, Madeline? Why can’t you just love me?”
She tried to tear at his face, but he slipped away, wriggling free. She slapped at him, striking whatever she could—his chest, shoulders, arms, face—but it only served to anger him even further. He slapped her, yanking her face sideways, and slapped her again backhanded, driving her face the other way. Spit and blood spluttered from her lips. A terrible heat pinched her cheeks. She wanted to cry, desperate for all of this to be over.
“Why can’t you see that I love you, Madeline? Why can’t you see that I would be good for you?”
A mirage of Jae drifted in her mind, and with it, pangs of regret and guilt rising up in her chest. I should have never said the things that I said to him. She wanted to tell him that she was sorry, to cup his face with her hands and tell him that she loved him. She wanted him by her side, to be safe in his strong arms and curled up in the warmth of his presence. She wanted to grow old with him, to start a family, to see their child hoisted up in the air by his father, their laughs intertwined. She wanted—
The child.
She grabbed Adam’s face and dug her fingernails into his mottled flesh, piercing it as deep as she could. Adam pulled back, eyes wide with surprise, and grabbed one of her wrists, trying to yank it away. With the loudest scream she could muster, she pulled downward and tore away much of Adam’s skin, strips of it landing on top of her face. Blood kissed the tips of her fingers, traveling down the length of her hands and down her arms. Adam reeled back screaming terribly, his hand cupped against his face, blood bubbling out and seeping through the cracks of his fingers. Madeline did it again, one hand sinking into the exposed part of his face, the other against the side of his neck. She pulled, slower this time, wanting to make sure she could scrape off as much of him as she could, whatever it took to get him off of her.
A hand bolted around her neck, driving her head back toward the ground. Madeline gasped, throwing her hands around Adam’s wrist, kicking her legs out beneath him. He pressed in harder, deeper. Fingers clamped down on her windpipe, squeezing tight. She tried to scream but only managed a ragged, hoarse squeal. Adam leaned in, pressing his face toward hers. His teeth gritted tight; his eyes twitched; his face was marked with serrated, bloody wounds. Madeline raised her own hands against his neck, trying to choke him out too, but her strength was quickly dissipating, her efforts doing little against his.
Her head went light. Colors began to shimmer and fade, black seeping in from the edges. Drowsiness overwhelmed her. She floated in it, as if drifting aimlessly in a body of water. Warmth kissed her neck. A nice feeling, she thought. It almost made her want to smile. But then it began to grow hot, uncomfortably so, painful even, cutting into her flesh. A burning smell tickled her nose.
Chapter 18
Jae stood outside the entrance of the hospital, hands nestled inside his coat. A cold, wet wind nipped at the back of his neck. Everything appeared fine. There were no gun-wielding officers roaming about, no reporters trying to document a story for the evening news, no widespread panic or fires. The only unsettling thing was the storm howling behind him, grown more ferocious since he’d departed from the station.
The doors slid open, greeting him with a gust of warm air. He shed his coat and walked in, boots clicking against the polished tile floor. Looking around, nothing seemed out of the ordinary here either. Doctors, nurses, and administrators went about their business, carrying supplies, signing papers, or talking to patients. Phones were ringing, one after the other. Announcements carried over the PA system, declaring their need for a doctor for a specific issue. People riddled with varying illnesses and injuries shambled past him, paying no mind to the man who stood in their way.
No fires burned. The smell of burnt flesh di
dn’t hang in the air. No corpses were piled chest high over in a corner. It was business as usual, and Jae was relieved. Perhaps he was getting a little ahead of himself, thinking Adam would actually show up at a hospital. Still, it didn’t hurt to check to see if things were okay.
“Jae?”
Susan Masters, one of the receptionists behind the counter, called out to him. He made his way over to her, leaning over the counter to administer a light kiss on her cheek.
“What are you doing here, handsome?” She asked.
“Just checking up on things. Is Madeline around?” He asked.
She looked at her watch. “I reckon she’s on her lunch break. Did she not tell you?”
He took his phone out and looked at the time: 12:24 p.m. “I guess she forgot to call. Could you check to see if she’s still here?”
“Is she not picking up your calls?”
“Her phone is off.”
“I see. No problem, then. Give me a second, sweetheart.” She picked up a phone and began to dial in a number.
Jae turned around, back against the counter, and watched the TV hooked to the wall behind him. A few people were crowded around it, murmuring amongst themselves and gesturing at the screen. Footage of his fire station was being shown, a swarm of police officers converging just outside the garage. Scrolling at the bottom was the news ticker, informing viewers of the two tragic deaths, a detail Jae didn’t need to read or know about. The mere mention of it, even the mere thought of it, made his blood boil. Adam was going to pay for what he’d done.
“Sounds like she’s already stepped out,” Susan said, hanging up the phone.
He turned around. “Damn, guess I was too late then. Thanks for checking.”
She looked concerned. “Listen, I don’t mean to pry, but . . . is Maddy okay?”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “What do you mean?”
“She was awfully quiet, not her usual chatty self. She didn’t even look up to greet me when she came in this morning. She just walked on by, mute as a rock, staring at the ground. Her cheeks looked a little puffy, too, like she had been crying or something.”
He sighed. “It’s nothing. We . . . she just had a hard time getting up this morning, that’s all. Enjoying her sleep a little too much, you know?”
“Oh, is that all? She could have called in, then. We could have covered for her. Girl could use a break, in my opinion.”
“Just give her some time after lunch. She’ll be better, I’m sure of it.”
Susan smiled, looking relieved. Jae took that as his cue to leave, saying his goodbyes as he headed for the exit, departing before Susan could ask any more invasive questions.
Outside, the storm had grown even more rabid, if such a thing was possible. Dark clouds covered everything in a wide net, erasing much of the landscape. The storm resounded all around him, like artillery going off in a war, a constant barrage of rain and thunder battering the world, its fury echoing across the sky. An enthusiastic wind pushed and pulled at him, tugging at his coat, fussing with his hair, peppering his face with mists of rain water, like a child doing everything it could to get his attention.
He wondered what he should do next. Should he go back home and check to see if Madeline was there or back to the station to lend his support to his grieving friends? He took his phone out, dialing in Madeline’s number, but once again he was directed straight to her voicemail. Just tell me you’re okay, Mad. That’s all I want to know. Sighing, he gripped the phone tight in his hand and stared at the rain, listened to it sizzle against the ground, and watched the wind bend the trees that surrounded the parking lot. With the storm raging as it was, going home seemed pointless. Traffic was slow and visibility was poor. By the time he actually got home, she would be gone, back to work to finish up the rest of her day. It would just be another wasted trip.
He flipped the phone around. Perhaps it was for the best. He saw no harm in letting her settle for a few more hours. Let the sting of the words spoken this morning simmer down before engaging in a heart to heart. He doubted she was in any real danger, anyway. The storm would have chased Adam into hiding, underneath a bridge or inside another abandoned apartment building or wherever derelicts like him stayed when a storm passed.
So, station it was, then. Likely for the best. They needed all hands on deck, and his presence there was an important one. He couldn’t afford not to be there, especially during their time of need.
A jingle sounded in his hand. Looking down, the alert light on his phone was blinking blue. He swiped it and saw a message waiting for him from Madeline. Wasn’t her phone off just a minute ago? He read what she had delivered.
Help. Adam kidnapped me. At our home. Scared. Come quick.
The storm blistered against him as he ran across the parking lot, the urgency of his departure leaving a path of cracked concrete in his wake.
The house was quiet, shrouded from roof to foundation in darkness. The only light from inside came through the living room window, faint but inviting, a block of shimmering yellow against the grey. The trees surrounding the perimeter of the home bowed as if in reverence to the storm’s power, wavering under its influence. Madeline’s car, red exterior turned a dark burgundy by the tempest, was parked in the driveway, slightly askew.
They were here.
Jae made his way slowly up to the house, indifferent to the rain washing over him, mindful of any surprises, and wary of any potential ambushes. There was a line cutting through the front lawn, two of them, in fact. The jagged stripes engraved into the mud started near Madeline’s car and made it almost all the way up to the front steps of the house. Dragged from the car, it seemed. Jae hoped she was alive when it happened.
If Adam did anything to Madeline, I swear . . .
Standing in front of the door, he allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts, to calm his nerves, to dry himself from the rain. Water dripped off of him like a leaky faucet, falling from his hair, his fingers, and his coat. The droplets plopped onto the ground and gathered into a puddle around his feet. He took a chunk of his hair and pulled it back, scrunching it together into a ball, wringing the water loose. Thunder hummed behind him.
He wasn’t sure what to expect. He hoped for the best but knew it was prudent to prepare for the worst. Adam was unhinged, a rabid dog that needed to be put down. He had already killed today, so there was no telling what else he was liable to do, even with Madeline in tow. Whatever greeted him beyond that door, whatever the outcome, Adam had to be punished. As long as Adam continued to roam free, no one would know peace.
Jae gripped the handle but quickly pulled it away, warmth kissing his palm. His hand swelled a light red; a mild pain ran up his arm. He’s close. Jae gripped the handle again, tolerating the discomfort, and pulled it open.
Adam was sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, one leg crossed over the other, his one hand dangling over his knee, an empty look on his face. A bowl of plastic fruit sat next to him, an ornamental decoration Madeline had bought and set up years ago. On his face, Jae could see the marks of a fight, several pink cuts going down the sides of his cheeks, some even as far down as his neck, tearing into the scars of his flesh. Adam looked up at him, not appearing surprised by his arrival.
“You’re getting your floor wet,” Adam said.
Jae wiped his brow dry, flinging the water in a spatter across the carpeted floor. “Where’s Madeline?”
Adam gestured over his shoulder. Jae looked down the hallway and saw the light from the bedroom spilling out into the darkness. He made his way over but stopped when Adam stood up and moved toward over to him.
“She’s not with you anymore; she’s with me,” Adam said.
Jae glared at him. “You took her against her will.”
“I don’t care. She’s mine now.”
“What has gotten into you? How can you stoop so low as to abduct someone?” Jae asked.
Adam looked at him, saying nothing.
J
ae clenched his fists. “Why did you kill the chief?”
The silence stretched onward.
“He was good to you, treated you like you were one of his own—and you just killed him. Why?”
Adam sat back down on the coffee table but continued his silence.
“I tried my best to help you, Adam; I did everything I could to get you out of that apartment fire in one piece. If there was any other way to get you out whole and intact, even at great personal cost, then I would have taken it. But options were limited, and the time I needed just wasn’t there. I know that’s a poor excuse, but there was no way I was going to just abandon you. I couldn’t let you die.” Jae took in a deep breath. “You blame me for everything that’s happened, and that’s fine. I’ll shoulder that blame. My best wasn’t good enough, I know that, but if that was the case then you should be directing your anger at me, and only me. I am, after all, the source of all your pain, right? The chief, Jack, Madeline . . . they had nothing to do with this. There was no reason for you to involve them. None.”
Adam’s hand began to glow a deep auburn hue, the brightness of it bleeding out over the room. He brought the hand close to his face. The crimson light that swept over him gave him a bestial, hellish appearance.
“I’m surprised you’re even trying to apologize, seeing as how you tried to kill me in that fire. Did the guilt finally get to you?” Adam closed his hand into a fist. “Your insincere attempt at an apology is pathetic. Remind me; just what exactly can your apology do to change this?” He gestured at his own body, at the intersection of scars that marked his skin, at the hand that was no longer there. “Your apology is nothing more than a single drop of water for the man stranded in the desert. It does nothing for me. It doesn’t appease me. I reject it. I spit at it.”
Jae furrowed his brow. “I’m tired of you pushing this false narrative that you’re this victim. I’m sick of this shit. If—”