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That inner voice claws at me, a wave of fear running through my stomach for me and little tadpole. He’ll kill us both for sure, and if he doesn’t kill me, he’ll kill the innocent life that grows inside me. She would never survive repeated rape and torture, and killing my baby will end me too. Even if I survive this, I know I would never survive the loss or the knowledge that I didn’t protect her. I am her mother; I need to protect her always.
Emma, you are not your mother. You can and will protect your daughter from Ray. You can do this.
Baby girl, sweetheart, Mommy is here. I’m here.
A surge of anger and some deep unearthly protective rage rush from somewhere inside me. My arms strain out as my hands grasp the railings, desperately trying to latch on. My palms slide on the wooden surface, but I try again and grasp on, gripping hard onto my lifeline, tugging us to a sudden unexpected halt, mid-step. It earns me a massive searing smack across my legs and butt, and pain and burning sensations flash across my skin in agonizing pain. I yelp but grab out again, catching further down the banister in the hopes of doing it again, each time delaying him so that maybe Mathews has a chance of getting here in time.
We’re almost halfway down the huge sweeping staircase, closer to the door, and probably a waiting car to take me, never to be found alive again. If I let him get me out there and take me from this place, all is hopeless. No one will know where to come and find me. I’ll be his to do with as he pleases, and I can’t let it happen.
Jake won’t survive this. It’ll kill him. It will destroy him. The beautiful soul that makes him who he is will be devastated and broken forever.
I try to picture him to give me strength and courage. His beautiful face and powerful body, that calm demeanor but passionate heart. He and our baby are my body, soul, and reason for breathing. They are my whole world, life, and future, and no one has the right to take that away from me or to take me away from them.
I close my eyes tight in determination, and with a slow, steadying breath, I grab at the smooth wooden rail, resolving to hold on to it with everything I am.
My hand connects with something loose on the smooth surface. It slides and rattles against the railings as I’m tugged onwards in our descent. It’s cold and heavy, and my fingers have grasped it before I can contemplate what it is.
The lights are off down here, he must’ve killed them before following me upstairs, and I can make out the solid object I’ve caught in my palms. We’re still moving, so he mustn’t have noticed it. He’s too engrossed in his thoughts of what he will do to me once he gets me into his car. My eyes dart open in surprise at the sudden weight I’m gripping onto …
What is this … Long and thin and heavy …
My breath catches in my chest as my scrambled brain makes sense of it, suddenly clicking my thoughts into place.
The crowbar … The crowbar!
I yank it up harshly, lifting it as high as I can above my head, positioning myself with my abdomen crushing against him, giving me balance and arching my back and head as high as possible. I stretch my arms to full length and extend the bar upwards for a fully heightened swing. I bring it down with the sheer force of hatred and self-preservation, teen Emma engaging my brain and taking control.
Take this fucker!
The crowbar connects with the base of his spine instantly with a magnificent self-satisfying crack, a body-vibrating shudder runs through him to me in a flash, and suddenly I’m flung backward at his shock of the connection. I am flying slowly down the stairs, disconnected from him, and surprisingly fearless. He cries out with a deep throaty gurgling scream of pain echoing around us in the dark space.
I hit the stairs sharply at an odd angle, tumbling backward as my ankles turn under me, the stomach-churning crunch and burning pain in my left foot lurches through me. I yelp loudly, gripping the bar as tight as possible because my life depends on it. I catch it across steps, trying to stop myself from sliding backward down the steps, my butt wedged over the edge and my head pressed to a wall from behind. I’m balancing crazily below where he is on the stairs, and my senses are finally coming to me, my body on high alert. This is my one chance at saving both of us, and he’ll have to pry this bar from my cold dead fingers to get me to relinquish my weapon.
He’s falling toward me in the dull light, brighter down here nearer the white marble hall because of the wide long windows and white reflective flooring. He trips down the steps trying to regain balance, attempting to catch the handrail with one hand while his other is on his back. He’s moaning out loud, grappling and struggling to regain his equilibrium as I shuffle backward to get some purchase on the floor with my butt and legs, trying not to wince at the pain coursing through my body, pushing away the searing agony.
I am ready and waiting as soon as he stumbles close enough, sheer fury coursing through me, fear giving me strength; my body numbs out the pain as adrenaline spikes in my blood.
I swing as hard as I can with both hands grasping the bar at the base, right at his knee level, giving it all I have left.
The crushing, gnawing sound of crunching, snapping, and splintering bone echoes before his scream, and he crumbles over the top of me like a sack filled with deflated air. His heavy weight crashes down on me, winding me. His big arms and disgusting stale sweat entangle me in panic and jolt my body down with his. He’s pulling me off balance and down the last few steps in a tumble as we roll the last distance in an entangled mass of limbs, grunts, and groans. His sheer smell and feel brought back nausea in my throat and the realization I am about to throw up …
My stomach is my only concern and my child within. I curl into a ball, holding tight with the bar in my arms against my breast, one hand protecting my baby, and fall into darkness with him at astounding speed. My eyes are closed, willing myself to hold on tight to what is most precious to me. The vision of Jake and our baby in my mind giving me the strength to keep going.
Our harsh marble floor landing is softened by his body at the base of the stairs, and we suddenly stop. I uncurl around him, realizing I’m on top and can get away if I shuffle backward on my butt. He’s too focused on grappling at the floor, writhing in agony and whimpering pathetically. I’m empowered by the groans and moans coming from his hunched-up body and drag myself away from him, turning on my knees with only the thought of getting away, crawling to safety, and getting help. His vice-like grip comes out to catch my broken ankle, causing excruciating pain to course through me, resulting in a high-pitched scream. I bite out and catch my breath, trying to hold myself together, but I’m not stupid. I’m still holding the crowbar, clutching onto it with the fury of a woman unleashed. I know what I must do. I know he will keep coming for me, keep pursuing me unless I disable him properly. I bring the bar down with perfect precision and great clarity over his skull and the force of a desperate and terrified woman.
There’s a deafening thud, an echoing and eerie silence as a breath escapes him, and then nothing. His body lies motionless, his hand on my ankle drops loose over my injury, and I hastily kick it away with my other foot.
I’m crouching at an odd angle, still gripping the bar so tightly that my nails have pierced my palms, breathing so hard it’s painful and making me dizzy. I turn to stare at the bulky form in the dusky light, and something inside of me snaps. All fear and flight go out of me, and emotionless clarity and sense come over me; a dark sense of quiet, calming stillness, followed by a moment of completely detached pause, and I listen to the long slow, steady breaths from his almost lifeless body.
If I leave him this way to go and get help, he could get away, wake up and run, or catch me before I get anywhere. He will never stop coming for me if I always run from him.
I hold up the bar and contemplate hitting him again, but he doesn’t appear to be conscious, and I know in my heart I don’t have the stomach or the willpower to kill a man … Even him … Even if I could justify it to myself and the world, I could never look at myself in the mirror the same way again. Jake would never look at me the same way, and how could my child?
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