Chapter 2 - The Crawl Through the Dark
Moving was out of the question; the pain radiating from my right side made every nerve ending scream in protest. But staying meant a slow, psychological and physical erosion. Clenching my teeth until my jaw ached, I rolled onto my stomach, biting back a cry that threatened to tear through the quiet house.
The living room television was still flickering, casting long, dancing shadows across the wall. I could hear the faint murmur of a late-night talk show, masking the sound of my slow, agonizing progress. Dragging my dead weight across the floor, I inched my way toward the back door that led out to the mudroom and the backyard.
Every inch forward felt like a mile. My fingers dug into the seams of the floorboards, pulling my torso along while my right leg trailed uselessly behind me, heavy and dead. Sweat poured down my forehead, stinging my eyes, mixing with the hot, silent tears of frustration and rage.
Keep going, I told myself, repeating the mantra with every agonizing heartbeat. Do not give them the satisfaction of breaking you completely.
It took an eternity, but finally, my fingers brushed against the cool metal of the back door handle. I managed to hook my fingers around the lever, pressing down with all my remaining strength. The latch clicked open with a sound that felt deafeningly loud in the quiet house. I held my breath, glancing back toward the living room. The TV light flickered on, but no footsteps followed. They were too absorbed in their drinks and their self-righteous opinions to notice my escape.
I pulled the door open and tumbled out into the mudroom, the drop to the concrete floor sending a fresh wave of agony through my ribs. But I didn't stop. Crawling out the exterior door, I plunged directly into the bitter, unforgiving embrace of the night.
Freezing rain instantly soaked through my blouse, plastering my hair to my face and sending violent shivers through my body. The autumn chill bit deep into my skin, but the numbing cold was almost a relief compared to the fire burning inside my bruised torso. The backyard was a muddy expanse of darkness, illuminated only by the distant, hazy glow of streetlamps.
My destination was three houses down: the home of Mrs. Greene. She was a retired nurse in her late sixties who lived alone, kept a meticulous garden, and had always looked at Ethan with a quiet, watchful skepticism that I now recognized as intuition. She was my only lifeline.
The mud sucked at my hands and knees as I crawled across the lawn, the sharp blades of grass pressing into my skin. The rain poured heavier now, turning the earth into a slick mire. My arms trembled violently, exhausted from the strain, threatening to give out completely with every movement.
Just reach the porch, I told myself, fixing my gaze on the single, warm beacon of hope cutting through the storm: the small brass light glowing above Mrs. Greene’s front porch.
It felt like miles. My muscles turned to lead, and spots danced in my vision from the pain and the cold. But sheer adrenaline and a burning, unrelenting fury kept my hands moving forward, inch by agonizing inch, until finally, my fingers brushed against the wooden steps of her porch.
Pulling myself up using the vertical spindles of the railing, I managed to get onto my knees. I raised a trembling hand and knocked against the heavy oak door.
Once.
Twice.
Three times—each knock weaker than the last.
My vision swam, the porch light blurring into a halo of yellow light. As the heavy locks began to turn from the inside, my grip on the railing failed, and I slumped forward against the welcome mat just as the door swung open.
A sharp gasp pierced the sound of the rain.
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“Oh, sweet mother of God,” a voice cried out. It was Mrs. Greene. Warm hands grabbed my shoulders, pulling my shivering, battered body out of the storm and into the bright, safe sanctuary of her hallway. “Ethan! What in heaven’s name—child, look at you!”
“Help me,” I whispered, the last of my energy evaporating as darkness rushed in to claim me. “Please… call an ambulance.”
