“No!” I screamed, thinking of what he must have done to those innocent women.
He slapped me across the face again to shut me up and kept working. When he edged the jacket off my shoulders, he kept it there for extra restraint and began unbuttoning my plaid shirt, exposing my white tank top. He sighed loudly, grotesquely happy at his progress and the sight before him. His fingers were unusually warm as he lifted the hem of my tank. As it edged up my torso, he pressed delicate kisses to my stomach, stopping at my belly button, sinking his tongue inside. I turned my head and vomited all over the floor next to me.
He sat up abruptly. “Do I disgust you, Harper?” He asked, the hurt evident in his voice. “Do I!?” He roared. “Get up,” he said. “Can’t have you tasting like vomit.” He threw me out the door and I stumbled onto the carpet. He gripped my upper left arm hard as he pulled me up and walked me toward the restrooms on the opposite side of our floor. He pushed me inside over to the nearest sink. “Wash your mouth out,” he ordered.
I obeyed him, rinsing out my mouth but when I raised my gaze into the mirror above the sink, I barely recognized myself. My face was bruised and bleeding. My bottom lip was swollen as well as my right eye from each back hand I’d received. I was surprised to see that the blood vessels in my eyes hadn’t actually burst, that it had been my imagination.
John stood behind me, caressing my hair, straightening out the strays from our scuffles. I shuddered in revulsion. He bent over me and pulled several paper towels from the dispenser at my left. He ran them through warm water, never taking his eyes from my reflection. He squeezed out the excess water and began cleaning up the dried blood around my mouth that I had yet to clean as well as the blood from around my busted brow and neck.
“There,” he said, kissing my temple, “now let’s get out of here before your asshole husband returns with the police.”
I gripped the sides of the sink. “Are-are you going to kill me?” I asked point blank.
“Eventually, yes.”
Chapter Sixteen
Dream is Collapsing
Callum
I’d called the police, briefly spoken with the detective handling our case, and been advised to leave the building. Sure. Now that they were on their way, I was on my way to beat the living shit out of the murderer who had my Harper on the fourth floor. I tipped over one of the reading tables on the third floor not caring if he heard me or not and unscrewed one of the heavy legs to use as a makeshift bat. I knew if he’d touched her, touched a single hair on her head, that I was going to smash that bat in his disgusting face.
I spun open the door, studying the floor I hoped they were still on. I edged up the crosswalk stairs but stopped at the top. I knew I’d have to make a sprint for the door as there was no hiding from all the glass windows but I wanted to know exactly where they were before I did that, knowing John could just shoot through the glass the second he saw me. I desperately tried to see but it was of no use. That’s when I heard the most blood curdling scream come from behind the glass door. Forgetting the risk, I raced through to the door, practically tearing it off the hinges but they weren’t visible. I ducked behind a stack and quieted myself, listening.
“It’s on the bottom floor,” Harper said, terror laced in her voice.
“Where?” John asked softly.
I followed the sound of his voice until I came upon them stuck between two stacks. He had her pressed against the shelves, his hand studying her face like they were lovers. Harper looked beyond frightened and John looked like he loved it all the more because of that. Sick bastard. I bit my heels into the floor when he kissed her neck intimately, making Harper’s bottom lip tremble. He acted like he had all the time in the world which made me wonder if he didn’t care if he was caught. And there was only one reason he wouldn’t care about being caught and that terrified me.
“Walk,” John ordered her toward the elevator, walking right past me. I burrowed deeper into the shadows.
As they walked to elevator, John leaned over Harper and pressed the button. I stalked closer, trying desperately to stay as quiet as possible. The wait for the doors to open was agonizing. Finally, they opened and I made my move. Heaving the bulky table leg over my head, I swung on John and it smacked him square in the back. Unfortunately, the brute was so large, it barely made an impact. I shoved Harper in the elevator and pressed the first floor button, turning back to John as quickly as possible and swinging the table leg toward his head but missed, just as the doors began to close, I jumped in with Harper. The doors closed completely and Harper startled when John began to beat at the doors.
“Harper!” Bang. “Harper!” Bang. “I’m going to kill him for that! And you’re going to watch, you stupid bitch!” John screamed, making Harper tense beside me.
We began our descent but it didn’t last long. John was pressing the button and the elevator began its ascent once more. Harper wisely pulled the stop switch as well as the alarm bell. I didn’t have time to tell her that was useless, that I’d already called the police, because we heard John bellowing out Harper’s name. She sidled up to me and I wrapped my arms around her. Three clear shots rang out, making us both tense.
“He only has one shot left,” I said absently, trying to gauge how much further we needed to go to reach the lobby and if it was close enough that John wouldn't be able to run down the crosswalk stairs before we could make our escape.
“How do you know?” She asked, tucking her arms into herself.
“Because his gun is a revolver. It can only shoot six.”
“Unless he reloads.”
“Yes, unless he reloads but I doubt he will.”
“How do you know?” She asked eerily calmly.
“I don’t,” I said, looking her in the eyes.
“What do we do now?” She asked.
“We wait for -” I started but stilled at the sound of metal bending. “Oh my God, he’s opening the doors. He’s going to jump.”
“No,” Harper whispered, backing into the corner of the elevator, staring at the ceiling.
Immediately, I pressed the stop switch once more, repeatedly pressing the first floor button. Much to my relief, we were moving downward. I hoped to God we’d reach the first floor before he reached us. A loud thud sounded above us and Harper and I stilled. I bent to grab my wood ‘bat’ and backed my way to Harper’s corner, tucking her behind me. The elevator was still moving but we were nowhere near the first floor. I knew John would be joining us soon. I turned to Harper just as John began to peel back the escape hatch above us, the sound of metal twisting and bending.
“Harper,” I said, meeting her eyes.
“No,” she said, crying and grabbing my face. “No, Callum. Don’t do anything stupid, please?”
“Listen,” I said, ignoring the feel of her warm hands on my cheeks, a feeling I never knew if I’d feel again, “I’m going to fight with everything I have but as soon as those doors open, I need you to run like hell, okay?”
“No!” She said, frantically searching my face with her hands. “Please, don’t, Callum. I can’t leave you!”
“Harper!” I said, grabbing her shoulders. “He only has one bullet left and I swear to God if that bullet comes anywhere near you I will never be able to forgive myself.”
“And you!” She screamed in my face. “Will you-” She started but John came crashing to our feet just as we rounded the second floor.
Almost there, I thought. I grabbed the table leg and rushed him, swinging at his hand as he aimed the gun for my head, knocking it away. Harper immediately reached for the revolver but john kicked her in the stomach before she could reach for it, making her double over. I swung as hard as I could for his head but he leaned back just enough for me to miss and my bat met the wall beside him instead, giving him just enough time for his fist to connect with my jaw and I staggered back against the wall.
When I righted myself, John had bent to pick up Harper, sickeningly attempting to sooth her with troubling words that she made him do that to her, so I took advantage, swooping up my makeshift bat and cracking him over the head as hard as I could. John fell to the floor in a massive lump.
“Oh my God,” Harper cried, reaching out for me.
I tugged her to my chest just as the bell alerted us we’d reached the first floor and the doors opened to reveal surrounding officers, their guns drawn. We practically fell from the elevator as they swooped in to collect a very out, very heavy John Bell, the sickest bastard I’ve ever come across in my entire life.
“Thank you,” Harper said, tears streaming from her face. “You saved my life, Callum.”
“Shh,” I told her, rubbing her back. I placed my hands on her face, pushed the coppery hair from her tear soaked cheeks, and rubbed my thumbs across the salty wetness. “It’s over, love. It’s over.”
It’s all over.
And my stomach plummeted to the floor, a strange mix of relief and colossal regret.
Chapter Seventeen
I'm On Fire
Callum
Harper and I watched as two EMT’s placed John in an ambulance and drove away with a police cruiser following behind, a collective, pent up sigh came barreling from both our lips. The detective took our statements on the scene and we were given the clear to go home around five in the morning. We rode the subway in a dazed disbelief, quiet, and afraid of what this meant next for us. I opened the door to our apartment, closed it and locked it as Harper began a sticky walk all the way to her bedroom door. She didn’t want to sleep alone but didn’t know how to ask me.
“Come on,” I said, dragging her by the hand to my bedroom.
The room was pitch black despite the fact the sun was coming around soon. I need complete and utter darkness to fall asleep or it won’t happen. I closed the door behind us and felt around for my dresser, pulling a random large t-shirt from my bottom drawer. From the feel of it, I guessed it was, ironically, my Barcelona tee. I explored my nightstand with my hands, looking for the remote for my stereo. Finding it, I hit play and my Stateless album rang softly through the room, drowning out the sounds of the city that never sleeps.
I felt Harper sink into the bed and reached for her, pulling her across the top, towards me, and sitting her up. I pulled her hat and coat off, peeled off her t-shirt, and pushed my own on top of her head. I unlaced her boots and tossed them at the end of the bed. Shaky hands reached for the top of her jeans but she’d already started undoing them. I heard her slink out of them and toss them with her boots.
The intimacy of the situation didn’t escape me, nor Harper, I’m guessing, but undressing her in my bed never played out like this in my dreams. In my imagination, she wasn’t practically catatonic, or bruised, or beaten, or scared out of her wits. No, that was not how it was supposed to be. I peeled back my steel gray sheets and tucked her beneath them before enfolding her in my arms and we were both asleep before our heads hit my pillows.
A loud pounding woke me from a dreamless sleep. I sat up right, still on edge, glancing at my alarm clock, nine a.m. Harper sat up, but I pushed her back down.