(no subject)
We're in the little annex of the room in which we've made our holdout. Our prisoner is in the larger, main part of the room, handcuffed and sitting on -- well, presumably the floor, since we already used the bed she was on to block the door. Maybe she's on the coffin we used as a decoy. We can see through the window into the hallway beyond the front door, so when the assassin arrives, we'll know. We're examining the roofs outside the window that's just small enough we could crawl through it.
"How do they look?" I ask.
"They look just fine, actually," he acknowledges, "but then we'd just be on the roof. They'd follow us."
I had been imagining running across the roofs back to our party, jumping in the vans and going home away from all of this. I realize now that that's folly. The other men will still be there; there'd be no way we could get into the vans and away without instigating yet another pedal-to-the-metal chase, yet another gun-point, suspenseful stand-off like this. I consider other options. "We could hide in the forest all day..."
He smiles like he's feeling nostalgic too. "This would be a good time for that."
I wonder why we're not going and he takes my impatience gracefully, explaining that the assassin won't be here for another forty-five minutes anyway. I had forgotten that he was called in. That he wasn't here already. I still wish we could just get away, though. Who wouldn't?
A girl walks down the hallway we can see through the window, a girl in a grey and white dress with red ornamentation. She's got dark hair, shoulder length, which flips out at the ends. She goes straight for the door to our room. And she knocks. And then there is a crash as she tries to break the door down, and I feel like my heart has stopped beating. "Oh god," I can hear him say, his voice low and as full of dread as I feel. "It's her. She's here."
"Well why don't we just GO?" I hiss, and he starts to crawl out the window before we realize that if we can see her, she can see us -- and she's the one with a gun.
She starts shooting and suddenly everything is happening too fast. He jumps back down onto the floor and we both cower below the level of the windows, listening to the gunshots and the now ferocious banging on the blocked door, and as parts of the wall I'm huddling against blast away, he says to me, urgently, "She's shooting at the wall that's right there behind us. Get against the other one, now. NOW." I do, but it seems like we can't get anywhere that hides us from her and her accursed gun. We decide to make a break for it and just try to get out the window. She won't have bullets forever.
But as he reaches for the sill, she targets the clock above the window. The one with the wires that run just under his hands as he fumbles with the window pane. There's an awful crack. "Oh god!" I shout as he collapses, and I run to him, and he's motionless for a moment. Neither of us wanted this. None of us ever wanted this. "Are you alright?"
He's not, of course, and the timing couldn't have been worse. I see our prisoner pulled out into the hallway, jubilant at her rescue, and I reach for one of his burned hands and for the briefest of moments I hold it gently, tenderly, and he returns the pressure ever so lightly with his fingers, and I know we're out of time. I take him and I shove him bodily through the window. "Come on," I say, more to try and give myself strength than to encourage his cooperation, which I know he'd give me if he could. "Fall if you have to. Come on."
He's through, and I haven't the chance to look and see whether the bit of roof jutting out beneath us caught him. It's my turn to squeeze out the window. I'm not even halfway through before the assassin appears in the doorframe of the annex, just behind me....
I woke about a half an hour ago from a dream in which, presumably, Nathan and I are both shot and killed. I woke in a panic and couldn't get back to sleep. So I lit some candles, I made some mint tea, and I turned to the internets for comfort. Replied to an e-mail from my grandparents. Read a note on Facebook written by my Pennsylvanian penpal, an amusingly appropriate quote about meditation by Jack Kerouac. And last but not least came to you here on LJ to write the demons away.
It seems to have helped. I'm going to blow out the candles and get as much more sleep as I can before the alarm goes off at six.
"How do they look?" I ask.
"They look just fine, actually," he acknowledges, "but then we'd just be on the roof. They'd follow us."
I had been imagining running across the roofs back to our party, jumping in the vans and going home away from all of this. I realize now that that's folly. The other men will still be there; there'd be no way we could get into the vans and away without instigating yet another pedal-to-the-metal chase, yet another gun-point, suspenseful stand-off like this. I consider other options. "We could hide in the forest all day..."
He smiles like he's feeling nostalgic too. "This would be a good time for that."
I wonder why we're not going and he takes my impatience gracefully, explaining that the assassin won't be here for another forty-five minutes anyway. I had forgotten that he was called in. That he wasn't here already. I still wish we could just get away, though. Who wouldn't?
A girl walks down the hallway we can see through the window, a girl in a grey and white dress with red ornamentation. She's got dark hair, shoulder length, which flips out at the ends. She goes straight for the door to our room. And she knocks. And then there is a crash as she tries to break the door down, and I feel like my heart has stopped beating. "Oh god," I can hear him say, his voice low and as full of dread as I feel. "It's her. She's here."
"Well why don't we just GO?" I hiss, and he starts to crawl out the window before we realize that if we can see her, she can see us -- and she's the one with a gun.
She starts shooting and suddenly everything is happening too fast. He jumps back down onto the floor and we both cower below the level of the windows, listening to the gunshots and the now ferocious banging on the blocked door, and as parts of the wall I'm huddling against blast away, he says to me, urgently, "She's shooting at the wall that's right there behind us. Get against the other one, now. NOW." I do, but it seems like we can't get anywhere that hides us from her and her accursed gun. We decide to make a break for it and just try to get out the window. She won't have bullets forever.
But as he reaches for the sill, she targets the clock above the window. The one with the wires that run just under his hands as he fumbles with the window pane. There's an awful crack. "Oh god!" I shout as he collapses, and I run to him, and he's motionless for a moment. Neither of us wanted this. None of us ever wanted this. "Are you alright?"
He's not, of course, and the timing couldn't have been worse. I see our prisoner pulled out into the hallway, jubilant at her rescue, and I reach for one of his burned hands and for the briefest of moments I hold it gently, tenderly, and he returns the pressure ever so lightly with his fingers, and I know we're out of time. I take him and I shove him bodily through the window. "Come on," I say, more to try and give myself strength than to encourage his cooperation, which I know he'd give me if he could. "Fall if you have to. Come on."
He's through, and I haven't the chance to look and see whether the bit of roof jutting out beneath us caught him. It's my turn to squeeze out the window. I'm not even halfway through before the assassin appears in the doorframe of the annex, just behind me....
I woke about a half an hour ago from a dream in which, presumably, Nathan and I are both shot and killed. I woke in a panic and couldn't get back to sleep. So I lit some candles, I made some mint tea, and I turned to the internets for comfort. Replied to an e-mail from my grandparents. Read a note on Facebook written by my Pennsylvanian penpal, an amusingly appropriate quote about meditation by Jack Kerouac. And last but not least came to you here on LJ to write the demons away.
It seems to have helped. I'm going to blow out the candles and get as much more sleep as I can before the alarm goes off at six.