I had no idea if mere minutes passed or an hour, but I couldn’t hear a single sound anymore. When I was sure there was nothing, I started to weigh my options—not that I had many.
Even so, I was either going to suck it up and get out of the bathroom, or I was gonna stay in there indefinitely. Then I remembered that all my camera equipment was out in the open in the living room: lenses I’d borrowed from my professor, the beloved Sony camera my dad had gifted me, my laptop, and even more expensive equipment I had no way of buying again anytime soon. Still shaking and shivering, I decided to step out and at least take a look around the corner. Surely, if someone was still in the house—though I was hoping really hard that someone wasn’t in the house—I’d either try to make a run for it, or I’d just drop dead on the spot, because I had a feeling my heart wasn’t going to be able to hang in there much longer.
I was so scared, I forgot how to breathe. Forcing my body to move forward, I swallowed and opened the door so I could slowly peek around the wall.
Someone was definitely in the house. It wasn’t exactly pitch black thanks to the street lights softly illuminating the living room, but other than that, none of the lights in the apartment were turned on. There weren’t many pieces of furniture in the living room, just a big comfy couch, an armchair big enough to comfortably seat two people, and a coffee table. Seeing this awful stranger kneeling down right behind the couch and going through something in a big bag on the floor made my blood turn to ice.
He was stealing my equipment.
The rolling pin still securely held in my hands, I pulled myself back from the edge, then leaned against the wall. The apartment door was closed. I was trapped. Even if I ran for it, he’d hear me and catch me before I could make it out. With the size of him, I didn’t want that to happen. My only chance—my only option, really—was to hit him in the head with the rolling pin while he still had his back to me, grab the key I was eighty percent sure I had left on the kitchen island, and then make a run for it—after grabbing the bag that held my camera equipment, of course. Considering my lack of clothing, getting to Ms. Hilda, who lived at the end of the hall, was my best shot. She was always home, so I wasn’t worried about not finding anyone, but was it possible to even make it out there?
When I realized there were cold tears running down my cheeks from the fear and anxiety of the whole thing, I took a choppy, deep, but quiet breath and told myself I could do this. I repeated it over and over again in my mind.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I stepped out into the open, the rolling pin held high in my hand.
Here goes nothing.
I sucked in air and started tiptoeing on my weak, trembling legs toward the dark figure who still had his back to me.
When I was only a few steps away, I started shaking in the worst way, so I chose to run the last few steps and lifted the baking tool even higher to inflict maximum pain. I released what sounded like a war cry to my ears but was more likely a high-pitched shriek as I hit him right in the back. I was aiming for his head, so…maybe that didn’t work out all that great for me. Probably not a Viking warrior in one of my past lives.
“What the hell—” my killer grunted.
In the amount of time it took me to lift the damn thing again, he’d already spun around and grabbed my wrists in a tight, painful grip that caused the rolling pin to slip out of my fingers as I started screaming.
My breath hitched and I whimpered because I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs. I couldn’t exactly wrap my mind around what was happening, but I fought his hold on me like the Viking warrior I was not until my legs gave out.
“Shit,” the man barked, tightening his fingers around my wrists as I started to slide out of his grip and down to my knees. I was trying my best to rip myself out of his grasp.
Nothing worked.
My vision blurred. No air.
He was talking, and I thought what I was hearing was his voice, but it was so damn hard to hear anything through the building pounding pressure in my head, not to mention my poor, wild heart, which was in overdrive.
“Hey! Breathe. Please breathe. Breathe, goddamn it!” my angry killer shouted, and I flinched.