Page 70 of Declan

I look around, my arms flailing wildly in search of something, anything I can use as a weapon. My hands hit something solid above my head, and I grab it, pulling it closer until I can grasp it with both hands, knowing I’m almost out of time.

I swing my arms up over my head as fast as I can, hitting him in the forehead with enough force he instinctively lets go of my neck, his hands flying to his face. I don’t waste any time, considering my limited options. I twist my body as I push my hips up, and he topples over.

I’m on my knees as I choke and cough, the heavy object coming with me as I jump on him, swinging downward over and over and over until the only sound in the room is splattering blood and my own animalistic war cry.

I only stop hitting him when my arms lose strength, and then I rest there, sitting on his chest, attempting to catch my breath while also focusing on not vomiting.

After a few moments, I manage to stand. I look down at his prone body, wondering if maybe I should feelsomethingover the fact he is quite obviously dead, but I can’t find the energy to care.

I step back and boost myself up onto my desk, my legs coming up under me so I’m sitting crisscross, and then I sigh, contemplating what I should do next. There’s a good chance I could plead self-defense and come out of it unscathed, but frankly, the asshole doesn’t deserve any kind of press at all.

I sigh again, turning my body and grabbing my desk phone, quickly dialing Declan before I can talk myself out of it. The line rings a few times and then connects, “Who is this?”

“Declan?” I whisper though I’m not sure why I’m whispering, given the fact there likely isn’t anyone left in the building.

There’s a pause, and then he says, “No, this isn’t Declan. His phone is here, but he must have stepped out because no one was home when I got here.”

I curse, annoyed that I wasn’t more careful dialing, given the sensitivity of the reason I’m calling. “Oh. Sorry to have bothered you.”

I move to hang up, but then the man says, “Wait. Why are you calling Declan?”

“N-n-no reason,” I stutter. “I’ll try again.”

“Maybe I can help?”

“Who are you?” I ask suspiciously.

“Mathias Shields,” he answers. “But you can call me Matt. I’m a good friend of Declan’s.”

I hesitate, uncertain what I should do but also quickly running out of options. I glance back at Bobby, who continues to bleed all over my carpet, and then a noise in the hallway startles me, drawing my attention to the door.

“Hello,” Matt comes through the phone. “Are you still there?”

“Y-yes,” I stutter, then clear my throat and add, “I’m here.”

“Are you in trouble?”

I laugh, and I’m sure the sound likely comes off slightly crazy to the stranger on the other end of the line. Then, he says, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I say nothing, entirely focused on keeping the mania at bay, and after a few minutes, he says, “Tell me where you are.”

I don’t think; I rattle off my address, already feeling the cold sinking into my bones, and then my teeth begin to chatter, and Matt’s voice is in my ear, “I’m going to stay on the phone with you.” He pauses and then asks, “What’s your name?”

“Jessica,” I whisper, barely able to speak as I keep staring at Bobby’s body on the floor.

“Okay, Jessica,” Matt says soothingly as if he knows I’m teetering on the edge of a breakdown. “Are you in immediate danger?”

“No.”

“Good. That’s good. Do you have a sofa or a comfortable chair nearby?”

I frown, blinking a few times at his odd question, but then my eyes move to the other side of my office and the sitting area there. “Yes.”

“Great, that’s perfect,” he says. “First, I need you to find a blanket, and then I need you to wrap yourself in the blanket and curl up on the sofa or in the chair, facing the back of it. Can you do that, Jessica?”

“Yes,” I manage to say through my chattering teeth. Then, he asks, “Are you able to bring this phone with you?”

“No, but there’s another phone beside the sofa.”

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