45
The weight of the gun felt heavier than it ever had, trembling slightly in my grip as I faced her. Analia, the woman I had once trusted, stood across from me, her gun raised with deadly intent. For a fleeting moment, the rage on her face faltered, replaced by something unrecognizable—pain, regret, or maybe just exhaustion. Whatever it was, it vanished just as quickly, consumed by the fury that burned in her wild eyes.
“What did he do to you?” My voice wavered, barely above a whisper, but it cut through the tension like a blade. “Analia... how... what happened to you?”
Her lips parted as though she might answer, but no coherent words came. Instead, she emitted a low, guttural sound that turned my blood cold. Her fingers flexed against the trigger, a silent promise of violence yet to come.
I didn’t wait. The moment stretched too long, and my instincts screamed at me to move. In one fluid motion, I spun toward Clarice, grabbing her arm so tightly I felt her bones shift under my grip.
“Run!” I screamed, my voice raw, urging her forward as we sprinted toward the door. Clarice stumbled behind me, her feet tripping over themselves in her panic, but I didn’t let go. The air was thick with dread, each second stretching unbearably as we approached the exit.
And then it came—the deafening crack of a gunshot.
I didn’t feel the bullet hit, but I felt Clarice’s body jerk violently against mine. She let out a strangled gasp, more air than sound, before her weight collapsed entirely. My momentum carried me a step forward before I realized I was no longer pulling her along.
“Clarice?” I turned, my heart plummeting as I saw her crumpled on the ground. Blood bloomed across her chest, spreading outward in a dark, horrifying stain. Her wide, unblinking eyes stared up at me, empty and lifeless.
“Clarice!” The scream tore from my throat, raw and desperate, as I dropped to my knees beside her. My hands pressed against the wound as though I could stop the blood, as though I could undo what had just happened. The gun trembled in my hold. “No, no, no. Stay with me!” My voice cracked, barely audible.
Her head lolled slightly, but her gaze remained fixed on nothing. She was gone.
“Why?!” I whirled around, the question tearing from me like a blade as I faced Analia. My vision blurred with tears, and I couldn’t see her clearly, but I didn’t need to. Her silhouette stood in the center of the room, her gun still raised, still aimed.
“Why did you do this? She didn’t deserve this!” I screamed, my voice rising to a pitch I barely recognized as my own. “She wasn’t a threat!”
Analia didn’t respond. Her expression didn’t change. Her gun didn’t lower. If anything, her grip tightened, and her finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger.
The next shot rang out, splintering the wooden floor inches from my knees. I flinched, instinctively throwing myself backward. Another shot followed, then another, each one carving into the walls and furniture, the deafening sound tearing through the silence.
I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding like a war drum in my chest. “Stop!” I shouted, though my voice was swallowed by the chaos. “Analia, stop this!”
But she didn’t stop. The bullets chased me as I bolted for the door, each one grazing closer, the air around me alive with violence. I barely made it outside, the cool night air hitting me like a slap. My lungs burned, my legs screamed, but I didn’t stop running.
I didn’t stop until I collided with something solid—someone.
Arms caught me, strong and steady, stopping my momentum. “Eleanor?” The voice was familiar, low and rough with concern.
I looked up, my vision blurred with tears, and saw Dominic. His face was pale, a streak of blood running from his temple down to his jaw. His eyes scanned me quickly, taking in the state I was in—disheveled, bloodied, and trembling uncontrollably. He was breathing heavily which told me he had been wrestling and just tried to outrun someone.
“Dominic...” His name came out as a broken whisper, a plea for reassurance, for safety.
“What happened?” His hands gripped my arms tightly, steadying me as his eyes darted past me toward the house. “Ellie, what—”
He froze mid-sentence, his body going rigid. His gaze fixed on something over my shoulder, and I knew without looking what he had seen.
Slowly, I turned, my stomach twisting into knots.
Analia stood closer now, her gun raised once again. But this time, it wasn’t aimed at me. It was aimed at Dominic.
“No,” I whispered, the word barely audible as it left my lips.
Dominic’s hands fell from my arms as he stepped forward, shielding me with his body. “Analia,” he said calmly, though there was an edge to his voice. “Put the gun down.”
She didn’t respond. Her aim didn’t waver. Her chest heaved with each labored breath, and her eyes—those cold, hollow eyes—were locked onto him.
“Analia,” Dominic tried again, his tone softer now. “It’s me. It’s Dominic. You don’t have to do this.”
For a moment, just a moment, her grip faltered. Her hands trembled, the barrel of the gun dipping slightly. But then her gaze hardened, and her finger moved back to the trigger.
“No!” I screamed, pushing past Dominic.
He caught me, his arms wrapping around me tightly as he pulled me back behind him. “Eleanor, stay behind me!” he snapped, his voice laced with urgency.
The world seemed to slow, every second stretching unbearably. The tension crackled in the air like static electricity, thick and suffocating. My heart thundered in my chest as I clung to Dominic, my mind racing with every possible outcome.
“Analia, please,” Dominic said, his voice breaking slightly. “It’s me. Whatever you’ve been through, we can fix it. Just... put the gun down.”
For a brief, fleeting moment, I thought she might listen. Her hands shook, her eyes flickering with something I couldn’t quite place. But then her grip steadied, and her aim shifted ever so slightly.
She was going to pull the trigger.
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