Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
My forehead pinches with confusion as I hear it again. It’s as if someone is checking inside of each room in the hallway. I almost call out to tell Mason that I’m in here and I’m not hiding, but something eerie stops me. A chill I’ve never felt before, like a grave warning from someone or something watching over me, runs down every inch of my skin and my heart races with sudden fear.
Another door opens, then closes. And this last one was closer.
All I can hear is my heart pounding in my chest as I get down on my knees as quietly as I can and crawl under the bed. Something’s wrong. I hear the door next to the master bedroom close as I try to turn onto my side, but I can’t. I’m stuck, wedged between the floor and the bed frame, but it’s enough. My heart beats wildly and I try to convince myself it’s just Mason and I’m being stupidly foolish again. Keeping as still as possible, I watch the door only six feet or so away, the light from the hallway faintly pouring in through the crack and shining against the gleaming hardwood.
Click. It opens softly, and two shiny black shoes walk in softly. It’s not Mason. I know it’s not. Fear fills my veins. Violently and with a chill that’s paralyzing.
I can’t stop the adrenaline from pumping through my blood as the shoes leave my periphery. The footsteps thud to my right, but I can’t see him. I hear the bathroom door open and terror runs through me, wondering if I’ve left the light on. If whoever it is that’s come up here will know I’m in this room.
Steam will still be on the bathroom mirror and he’s going to see where I’ve messed the bed up from lying there just a moment ago. My heart rages so hard that I swear it’s trying to leave my body. If he touches the comforter, he’ll feel that it’s warm. He’ll know I was here only moments ago.
“Jules?” My eyes widen and flash to the open doorway as I hear Mason call for me from downstairs. I can faintly hear him walking to the bottom of the staircase, and I can practically see him standing down there. Given his casual tone, he’s completely unaware there’s someone else in the house.
God help me; I want to scream.
The black shoes quickly leave the bedroom but not so quick that the man ran. His steps were silent. He gently closes the door and the click is barely heard. I’m caught between wanting to scream out to warn Mason and saving myself.
Whoever it is that was in this room a moment ago doesn’t answer Mason and he doesn’t go down the stairs; instead he goes to the left, farther into the house.
I didn’t think it possible, but my heart slams harder as I hear Mason start to climb the stairs.
Move! my inner voice begs me. My palms are clammy against the wooden floors as I drag myself across the floor. Do something! I don’t know who’s here, I don’t know what they’ve come for. But I can’t stay here and let Mason walk into what could be his death sentence.
I crawl out as quickly as I can, the rug beside the bed burning against my forearms and the metal from the bed frame scraping against my back, but I’m out with time enough to open the door just as Mason reaches the top of the stairs. I swing the door open prepared to scream and when I do, the man is standing right there, staring at the stairwell with a gun in his hand. The thin silencer on the end is pointed straight ahead, right at where Mason should be in only a moment.
“Mason!” I yell out his name, or at least I think I do. I can’t hear anything but a loud ringing and my body is so numb from fear and the heat coursing through my body that I can barely feel a thing. As if I’m not even here. As if I’ve left my body, yet I’m still standing where I was.
The end of the gun points straight at me, only feet away with nothing in between us.
My head spins, and my vision nearly goes black from fear. I never imagined what it would be like to know that you’re dying. That you only have a precious second or two left to live.
How time would slow and my body would sway, yet be utterly still.
As I stare at the man’s cold dark eyes, it feels as if I don’t even exist anymore. They’re so brown, they’re nearly black. His skin is a beautiful tan, but it looks pale against the black turtleneck and leather jacket he’s wearing.
He doesn’t look like a killer; he’s too handsome, his clothes too expensive.