23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Cassie

D ays ago, when James had arrived at my home during a blizzard and dramatically spoke of his care for me among the chaos that surrounded us, I had wondered if I would always be partial to the snow. The dawn that had extended behind him then was muted to a stormy grey, the snow clouds above blocking out the vibrancy of a new day's sun, but it was anything but dull, for the ferocity of the storm was reflected in his similarly colored eyes. The cold was near painful while the frigid gusts of wind and icy flakes in the air had bitten through our clothing as he stood on my porch and I in the threshold. I still saw it as a thing of beauty, though, for the winter storm was James' parallel.

The snow on the ground had almost melted since that day, but the flakes were falling again. It looked like they had been doing so for the entirety of the time we were all conversing in the apartment, and their soft fluttering through the air, along with the inch-deep covering on the ground, evoked a pensive melancholy within me. It layered much like the snow did in a blanket over my panic, and I truthfully wasn't sure which emotion was worse.

I pulled my car door shut, settling into my seat and fastening my seat belt as rapidly as I could. The sound of a closing door repeated twice—once from the passenger seat and once from behind me.

Zoey said, "Got the address on my phone. Hop onto main, get on the highway, and I'll tell you where to go from there."

I murmured, "Thank you."

"Cassie?" Liam tentatively spoke to me as I shifted my car into drive.

There was little inquiry from Liam as we had all taken turns rattling off our explanations of the morning some five minutes ago. He occasionally looked at me, perplexed, as Zoey or I would state something regarding text messages or GPS location, and his anger was far too apparent when he learned that we had left the apartment, but it was rapidly side-stepped as the reasoning for our collective frantic anxiety became ever-clear .

We left quickly to follow whatever trail of clues that would be bestowed upon us—Liam, Zoey, and I in my Jeep, and Claire, Luke, and Colton in Luke's car—and driving to Randy Dowler's current address was the only thing on our current agenda.

It wasn't confusion in my brother's questioning call of my name, for I knew that he was well aware of the scenario and the gravity that pulled us all down with it—it was concern.

Concern for me.

Something about his tone immediately made my voice crack on my replied, "What?" and I pointedly avoided his inquisitive stare.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he told me gently, "but ya look like you've been crying, and you normally… don't."

I exhaled, "I'm aware."

He huffed out a loud breath. "Are you okay?"

Zoey murmured from the back seat, "None of us are okay, Lee."

Liam twisted his body to look back at her, saying, "I know," but his questioning eyes still landed back on me.

When I finally brought myself to meet them, I swallowed through the lump in my throat and gave him a curt shake of my head no.

Seeing his face twist in worry that was clearly directed toward me made the vision of him blur, and I rapidly diverted my attention back to the road, sniffling to keep the tears at bay.

The silence that followed was thick, permeating the air in a weighted humidity that sat in my lungs like lead.

I changed lanes.

I got on the highway.

I wiped my face once, quickly, and then my phone began to ring through my car's speaker. Clicking the button on the steering wheel to answer it via Bluetooth without even registering the name on the incoming call, I spoke:

"Hey."

"Fuck, are you okay?"

It was Claire, and, yes, I had anticipated the person on the other end of the line to be the entirety of the three in Luke's vehicle, hence my expectant greeting. I would have said that her question about my current mental state was astute, but because of my tortured tone, it was more coming across as… obvious. While it would have been far nicer for me to thank her for her inquiry into my well-being and say something along the lines of, ‘No, but let's focus on the matter at hand,' the idea of doing such was far, far from my mind.

"No, Claire," I admitted in a whine. "I'm not! "

She stammered, "I—sorry, Cas, I—"

"Not trying to be a dick here, guys," Colton cut in through the speaker, "but we don't have much time until we're getting to this place. I don't think we can spend it debating who's okay and who's not." He rapidly went on before anyone could argue, "It's lookin' like we're going to a little neighborhood here, and if y'all haven't noticed, it's the middle of the day. We need to check out the area before we decide what the plan is."

"Wait… no, that's not what I thought…" Luke asked incredulously, "Are you seriously saying that we're getting to this guy's place and staying put?"

Colton replied, "The last thing we need is a neighbor poking around wondering what-in-the- Scooby Doo our group is doing—observe first. Act later."

The last word wriggled under my skin.

"Later?" I scoffed. "Later? Didn't you say that time is of the essence earlier?"

"Which is why we're dropping everything and going to check out this place now," he assured me, "and we can figure the best time to get in there once we get our eyes on it. Normally, with something like this, ya gotta scope a place out for days . Weeks. Figure out a pattern, yadda, right? We aren't doing that, so let's just… breathe, okay?"

While I heard Luke anxiously murmur, "We're breaking into another place. This is fine. Everything's fine," Colton told him:

"Technically… I'm breaking into another place. Y'all are just… accomplices …aren't ya glad I'm here with my special skillset?"

Luke grumbled, "If I say yes, I fear for the size of your ego."

I announced, "Look, I'm glad we aren't waiting days or—or weeks, but I'm not waiting until fucking nightfall or some shit to see if we can find more clues from the one thing we've got right now."

Luke said something unintelligible on the other end of the phone, but it sounded like agreement.

"Off the highway at the next exit, Cas," Zoey spoke up, and I steered accordingly.

"I don't think nightfall's in the cards, anyway," Colton remarked.

"No?" Claire questioned him. "Bit more cover to get into a house, right?"

"Claire, we cannot wait hours until we're making moves to figure more shit out," Luke rasped.

"I know, I know," she replied, her tone shaking with jitters, "and I agree, but if a neighbor sees and calls the police—"

A quiet thump emitted through the speaker, and I could practically see Luke's head falling back to the headrest in exasperation.

"God dammit," he uttered.

"Left at the light," Zoey instructed, "then right on Quinton Street."

I drove blindly, and Colton sighed loud enough for us all to hear it.

"I get it," he said sympathetically, "but none of us are a help to James if we start getting questioned by the cops, not to mention if there are more police involved with this…I really do think waiting until dark is a no-go, though."

Claire asked, "Why?"

"'Cause he'd be home, right?" he replied. "Sure, it's the middle of the day right now, but as far as we know, this guy usually works a nine-to-five."

"When he showed up after 2D broke into Zoey and Claire's, it was late," Liam stated. "Not nine-to-five timing."

I countered, "If he's the one that pulled Jay over, it would be nine-to-five timing."

"We have no idea if he was actually on the clock for either of those things," Zoey noted. "We can all try to figure out his schedule, but there are too many variables with that." She paused. "Left here, immediate right, third house on the left."

I nodded as I stopped briefly at a stop sign and turned the wheel.

"Zoey's right," Colton said. "If it looks like no one's home, I'll go in. If not, we've gotta tail the place for a bit."

"And what about being seen if you're going in now?" Claire inquired.

"Snow's coming down a little harder," he said. "I'll pull my hood up—it's not like I'm robbing the place. Just looking for papers…shit behind locked doors…clues, yeah? If I just get in, get out, and get on my way, we should be fine."

I whispered more to myself than anyone else, "Yeah."

Turning once more, I eyed the road ahead, and it was the first time that I had absorbed the scenery around me while we were all speaking. The neighborhood was oddly nice considering our circumstances for visiting and the potential monster that lived within. Not overly-rich. Just… nice… and the picture of suburbia. Colored in what was most certainly home-owner's-association-approved muted palettes, the houses were all similarly shaped—as if the head designer had created the blueprint and simply hit copy, paste.

A children's play area was visible over Liam's shoulder, the swings moving slightly in the wind, though no one was present, most likely due to the snow. In fact, all seemed quiet. Any neighbors were out of sight—assumedly either in their homes and away from the blustery weather, or out and about.

Noting that the streets were wide enough to allow visitors ample room to park, I helped myself to a space on the right-hand side of the road, slowed to a crawl, and put the car in park. Luke did the same as I watched him pull up behind me in my rear-view mirror, and I looked to the house—the third one on the left.

The two-story home was painted a dusty, greyish pink. An attached garage that could store two cars side-by-side was closed. Snow in the driveway was a pristine, untouched layer, and the same could be said for what covered the walkway that led to the small eave of the front porch. The windows on the upper floor all had blinds drawn; however, there was one to the left of the front door that left our view into the house entirely unobstructed.

"Lights are off," Colton spoke my observation.

"Driveway's empty," Luke noted. "Think a car's in the garage?"

Claire stated, "No one's driven on that snow."

"No one's home?" I voiced my hopeful thoughts aloud.

"Doesn't look like it," Liam said. "Unless they've been home for a while? "

"Give it a few minutes," Colton murmured. "Eyes on the window—looks clear, but you never know."

I didn't look at anyone else, but the pause in our conversation gave me the feeling that everyone had collectively narrowed their gaze toward the same space, searching for any movement within.

There wasn't any. In fact, the small window allowed us to see directly into what appeared to be a living room…and all looked quiet. Undisturbed. Empty.

Still, I examined it as if that would change, as did everyone else.

Claire asked, "Colt, do you have your headphones on you?"

"Mhm," he hummed. "Y'all gonna look out for me?"

"Someone's gotta do it," she quipped.

"I'm going in with you," I nearly cut her off mid-sentence.

No one questioned why, nor did they argue that it was too risky to go along with him in the hopes of finding further evidence of where James could be. Instead, because all of us were jumpy with anxiety due to his disappearance, everyone was silent as Colton slowly replied:

"Tagalongs would be helpful…get in, spread out, poke around, get out…it'll go faster."

Liam said, "I'll go, too. "

With one glance in his direction, I saw the ever-present concern for me that was flaring in his eyes, and there was no need to question him.

"Me too," Luke spoke.

I heard Claire nervously whisper, "Luke, you sure?"

"Uh huh—no way I can sit still through this shit."

I thoroughly understood that feeling.

"Okay…Zoey," Claire called to her, "come sit with me while they go—you can watch up the street, I'll watch down."

"Mhm," she returned, apprehensive. "If—if there's any movement at all out here, even neighbors, y'all are getting the fuck out of there, okay?"

Her tone was laced with her usual protective mentality.

"Assuming there are multiple exits, this should be fine," Colton noted.

"Liam."

He twisted to look back at Zoey, and as their eyes locked, they seemed to share a silent conversation. I looked away from them and back to the house to give them a means of privacy, and Colton pressed:

"Y'all good?"

"Good," Liam instantly replied.

"'Kay," he returned in an exhale. "Let's get this over with—we'll go around back and see if there's an easy entry. Front door's just askin' for trouble if he has a doorbell cam. Y'all ready?"

There was no verbal confirmation from any of us. We all just began to move—out of our respective vehicles, hoods on our jackets up in mock protection from the falling snow, and casually across the street. A car door opened and shut twice behind us as we all walked along, and I knew it to be Zoey going to sit with Claire and keep watch.

When our feet met the sidewalk, Colton reached into his hood, up by his ear with one hand, and then let it fall back to his side.

"Hello, Claire," he cooed. "I…did not see that. Observant—cockiness doesn't become you, though." He nodded toward the fencing on the left side of the house and told us, "Gate to the back."

We all followed the gesture of his head, the black hinges visible along the light wash of the wooden fence that enclosed the backyard, and we stepped through the snow to reach it. It opened with no trouble, and Luke glanced up and around.

"Private back here," he remarked.

Greenery encompassed us, planted just inside the fence line—the pine trees stood tall, and I felt myself breathe out a sigh of relief because Luke was right. The neighboring houses were invisible to us here…and I assumed that meant that we were invisible, as well.

"Good," I muttered.

The remainder of the backyard was small, with just enough space for a wooden deck on our right. Three small steps led to the patio, and as we all looked it up and down, Liam voiced:

"Back door on the porch?"

"Maybe," Colton responded. "Windows, too."

He pointed at the one situated next to the sliding glass door. Similarly to the one in front and unlike the door beside it, there were no blinds drawn, though we were at such an angle that I couldn't view the inside.

We trailed behind Colton as he walked up the steps, Liam at my back and Luke at my front, and I barely heard the wood creak before he pointedly pulled his hoodie sleeves to stretch over his hands, grabbed the handle, and gave it a gentle tug to the left.

It didn't budge.

"Locked," he murmured. "Figures."

"Well, unlock it," Luke requested.

"I'm not a dog performing a trick, man," Colton chuckled. "Just take it easy—other options first." I moved past Luke and Colton, to the left, up to the window, and just as I began to reach for it, Colton chastised, "Ah-bup-bup-bup, no-no. Cover up like I did— fingerprints."

I yanked my hands away, rapidly pulling down my sweatshirt's sleeves, and pressed the heels of my palms against the bottom edge of the pane. Wetness from the snow immediately melted through the cuffs that protected my hands, and when I pressed upward to usher the window along its track, they slipped. I caught them as quickly as I could, leaning the weight of my body into my touch on the glass, and tried once more.

This time, it gave way, leaving an inch-wide opening.

"Fuck, yes," Colton spoke. "In—window." I grasped along the crack, pushing up as far as I could manage, and it slid easily. "I know." He continued murmuring to Claire, "Lookin' good out there?" His head bobbed up and down as he seemingly nodded to her, confirming all was well, and he sidled up to me. Peering inside, he saw all that I did—an empty kitchen—and set both of his hands on the sill. "After me."

He boosted himself inside with a catlike balance that I hadn't expected from him, and once he was on his feet within the house, he brushed his sleeves against his pants. Pulling them up past his wrists, he outstretched one of his hands in an offer to me.

I looked at him, to his hand, raised my eyebrows, and let his offer hang in the air while I let myself in just as he did. Colton's shoulders shook in a silent laugh as I stepped lightly on the floor below and stood beside him.

His hand fell, and he sarcastically whispered, "Stripping made you graceful."

I waved away his comment that should have been amusing, muttering back, "I've always been graceful," as I looked around the kitchen while Luke and Liam made their way through the window.

There was little I could absorb about the space aside from the fact that it was alarmingly white. White cabinets. White countertops. White tile backsplash. Though the lights were off everywhere, the color rendered the area anything but dark, and it was apparent that it was rather clean. No dishes were out—no magnets affixed anything to the front of the stainless-steel fridge.

We all looked about, wordlessly pondering our next steps and where to go—where to look. To the left was a dining area, similarly clean with more white accents. To the right was the living area that we were able to see from the front window.

Colton quietly walked around the island, opening drawers with his hand that was once again covered by his sleeve and shutting them as he ruled them out. Luke followed suit and began to do the same, and as I moved to the right, Liam followed me. Entering the living room to gain my bearings, I saw the front door and a staircase to my left, and noted that I could see right past those stairs to the dining area.

Realizing that there were no dead ends to the main floor—the dining room wrapped around to the living and kitchen and vice versa—I returned to the kitchen with Liam. Colton seemed to have found a small stack of mail. Luke was standing beside him, and envelopes were scattered on the island before them both.

I asked, "Mail? What did you find?"

"Well, we're definitely in the right house," Luke remarked, pointing at the papers all addressed to an R. Dowler.

On the latter end of his hushed sentence, something rustled from above, and we all stopped our actions. As unnecessary as it was, Colton still held out an index finger as a request for everyone to cease speaking, and all of our eyes shifted upward.

It was a murmur.

A deep muttering that neither I nor anyone else could understand.

That aside, it was still someone… which meant that we weren't alone.

Colton let out a nearly inaudible, "Shit, someone's here— yes, Claire—upstairs— stop-talking-stop-talking-stop-talking." He ordered all of us, "Out. Out. Back through the window."

Liam grabbed my arm and tugged me toward the exit. Luke's wide eyes bounced around the room, landing on nothing as if he were considering his next moves. Colton swept all the mail into a pile to be taken with us, but he didn't get a chance to pick it up because his incoherent words were replaced by something else:

A guttural scream.

Clearly coming from the depths of a man's diaphragm, the raw, pleading tone grated on all of our ears, causing us to freeze. The hair on the back of my neck rose. Nausea swirled in my gut. I could feel the man's desperation through his initial screams, and when they abruptly cut off, we were all stuck in place, absorbing the sound of silent horror from above. There was no way to be sure how long it lasted—five seconds? Ten? Even twenty could have been possible, but there was no way to tell because those seconds dragged on.

Then, finally, the silence stopped.

"Fuck. OFF!"

The voice was quavering yet steadfast. Angry. Gritty as all hell.

And it was James.

There was no question in my mind that it was him—I felt it in my bones—and the realization was a shot of adrenaline. My heart raced, my palms shook, and I felt the dire instinct to sprint in the direction of his voice. To…I don't know…sneak up from behind and grab the man that I assumed to be Officer Randy Dowler by the head. To twist my grip so quickly that his neck snapped. To snatch a knife from somewhere in the kitchen and slash his throat.

That idea was unreasonable, of course. Not because of killing Randy. I wanted to fucking kill Randy, and if it came to it, well…I would happily see myself on the other side and evaluate my options after the deed was done . But because I had no idea of the layout of the upstairs and racing to find him could lead me to be face to face with the man in question, I was stuck in this goddamn kitchen, glued to the spot.

Luke, however, was not.

With an exhaled, "Oh my God, he's here," he attempted to take off, but was abruptly met with Colton's attempted resistance.

Liam let me go and took his place, forcibly holding Luke back with a tight grip on either one of his biceps. Colton rapidly stepped aside as it was clear that he was only interfering with Liam's brawn, and Liam looked Luke in the eye as they spoke to each other in quiet murmurs.

"Take a breath, Luke."

"Do you fucking hear James up there?"

"I get that, man, I do, but—"

James began to scream again, and Luke's face contorted as if he were in pain.

"If we're not running up there to get him out, what the fuck else are we here for?!"

Colton ripped the headphone out of his right ear, holding it between his fingers as he told Luke quickly, "I'm all about busting in to fuck shit up, but he's a cop. He's probably strapped. You're about to bring fists to a gunfight, and fists lose. We can go upstairs, but we have no idea where we're going. It…" he hesitated, "it'd actually be better if he were looking for us and we could split up or something—if we could just get him down here, we…"

Before Colton could finish or Luke could speak further, my lungs had swollen to the point of pain on their own volition, and in an act of insanity to get the man away from James, I let it all out in a shrieked:

"HEEEYYY!"

Everyone flinched.

James' screaming stopped .

It was silent save for our loud exhales when Colton berated me in a hiss, "What. The fuck. Is wrong with you?!"

Liam let go of Luke, bringing his hands to his hair. "Jesus Christ, Cassandra."

I retorted, "Colton said it— it'd be better if he's looking for us rather than the other way around so we can split up and—"

"In a planned manner!" Colton whisper-yelled back. "With. Fucking. Communication! Not screaming like a goddamn banshee and leading him to us all in the place where he likes to eat his breakfast!"

James' voice sounded once more, this time the words indistinguishable and muffled.

I seethed through my teeth, "Then. Fucking. Scatter."

Colton had already begun to frantically search the area around him mid-way through my demand, quietly sliding drawers and opening cupboards before he whined:

"Why the fuck are there no knives in this kitchen?!"

Bending down to look underneath the sink, he grabbed a red aerosol canister, appraising it for the shortest moment, and footsteps creaked from above.

Liam's breath shook. "Cassie, I need you out of here."

"No. "

Taking the container with him, Colton grabbed a handful of Luke's sweatshirt, tugging him along as he ordered in a hushed tone, "Move—crouch."

They tip-toed to the left, choosing appropriate shadowed areas to hide.

"Cas—"

"I said no, Liam!" I whispered angrily. "I am not leaving here without getting Jay."

There was no time to speak of, and the desperation in my tone could have been sensed by the deaf, but Liam still ensured to catch my eye. With so much to see within his dark gaze, the split second that we glanced at each other stretched on for what felt like far longer, and I could read him thoroughly. There was fear— naturally. Confusion, for the briefest moment. Attempted understanding, then. And, finally, begrudging acquiescence.

Liam squeezed his eyes together tightly and replied, "Fuck, okay— go."

His head tipped where I had intended to walk in the first place, and I scurried with light steps to the living area on the right. Liam's hands touched either of my shoulders as if he were shielding me, and when slow, careful footsteps walked down the staircase, our bodies shrank to the left, sinking into the wall .

Reaching the bottom, it seemed as though the man paused. Perhaps he was listening for something— someone— but none of us would have known . And then his steps grew slightly quieter, pointedly walking away from us. I let out a ragged breath, and it was only two more of the man's steps later that Liam nudged me with his arm.

I looked to him, and he gestured with his head to the upstairs as he mouthed silently, ‘Go find Jay.'

It was a tactic to lure me away from the maniac that was most likely Randy Dowler—I knew that for sure—and though my initial instinct was to vehemently shake my head and demand my involvement, I didn't. By my own doing, this had escalated to an immediate extraction attempt…and we had no idea if this man would be subdued in the midst of that attempt. We did, however, need someone to locate James—to try to free him from whatever madness this was.

I was more than up to the task, and I noiselessly demanded back, ‘Be careful.'

Liam gave me a curt nod along with what I took as a silent insistence for me not to come back downstairs until the coast was clear. I neither agreed nor argued, and I took off.

The stairs creaked as I took them two at a time, the carpeting below doing little to disguise my leaping up them. I didn't hesitate, though, nor did I look back, and I heard nothing else as blood roared in my ears rather than any potential noises from below or behind. The landing had scant hallway to speak of, with a single door to the left and right, and the only reason I ran through the former was because it was already ajar.

There was no furniture. No paint or decorations on the walls. In fact, if it weren't for the closet being cracked open, I would have left and sprinted for the other bedroom. I moved to the space instead, seemingly being pulled by gravity rather than my own two feet, and I pushed the door open.

I saw his legs first.

Sitting on top of a grey padding that covered the rest of the area, they were still covered in the brown slacks and loafers that he dressed in that morning. My heart jammed into my throat, and my eyes moved over his shirt. The material was a lighter, cool-toned blue, just as I remembered, but the top half clung to his shoulders for it was sopping wet. His face was obscured by a white hand towel, jerking from side to side as he grunted with each motion. It stayed stuck in place, what I assumed to be the same wetness making it heavy, and he only had time to take one panicked breath before I lurched for him .

Life often moves in both fast and slow motion when pulses race—when bullets fly—hell, when a boy unexpectedly shows up at your front door. It's moments like those where time is merely a construct—toying with the perception of reality by passing in the blink of an eye and subsequently slowing to the rate of pouring molasses.

This was one of those moments.

I yanked the fabric from his face, and time whipped back into hyper-speed.

I expected…fear in his eyes, maybe. Shock at my sudden arrival. Maybe even a whispered, ‘Cassie?' I didn't know…maybe I wasn't sure what to expect under the towel at all, but it most certainly wasn't this.

Bruising along his left temple and cheek had yet to darken to a purple, but I knew that it would in due time. The areas were angry—swollen to the point that the skin had split on his brow, and blood had dripped from the wound down his face. In some areas, it had washed away or smeared because of the wet material that was previously covering him, but in others, it had coagulated enough that it would require a generous scrubbing to remove it from his skin…over his eyelid…all the way into his beard.

James had flinched when I removed it, a metal clinking sounded from behind him, and as soon as he realized that it was me, his gaze turned to one of abject horror .

"No," he exhaled, his voice strained, "no, please, no—where is he? Why are you here?"

The way he asked it was tortured, and I could only assume that he thought Randy had taken me at some point, as well.

Seeing James in such a state boiled my blood, and any fear that I had at the dire situation at hand just… vanished.

My vision tinged in various shades of red, my teeth threatened to crack under the strain of my clenched jaw, and I felt as though I began to vibrate in place with white-hot rage. I lifted an index finger, pointing it toward the floor, and it twitched as I brought it up to my lips.

He watched me carefully, his chest still heaving as gusts of air ran through him, and when I knelt before him to inspect whatever was clearly binding him, he was looking at me in realization-induced bewilderment.

I entirely understood why he was staring at me with a wide-eyed embodiment of the one-worded sentence, ‘How?' but there was no use for me to explain how I was here in this exact moment. Feeling for his wrists, I found the cold steel around them and quickly realized that he was shackled through the padding and into the wall. I gave it a rough tug, groaning as its hold on him was all too strong.

The floor shook with a scuffle breaking out from below, and I whipped my head back and forth in search of something— anything that could free him that was located nearby.

I found nothing, and I hissed, "God dammit!"

James anxiously murmured, "Cassie, you can't—"

Clutter rang out. Heavy items crashed to the ground.

"I—I don't—" I stammered, pulling on the chain with more desperation, "I don't know how to…"

He rapidly told me, "The cuffs aren't going anywhere unless we can cut them off, Cas. He'll be back. You need to go—"

"AH!"

A male voice let out a shriek, another yelled, "MOVE!" and heavy stomps from multiple pairs of legs joined the chaos.

"Oh my God," James whispered. "Who else is here?!"

I couldn't answer him, for there was more. So much more to be heard as I considered searching through the second room for something to aid in freeing him. The noises buzzed in my brain—general clatter of rushing feet, deep-voiced words, and something I could only describe as angered fighting—but then, it all stopped.

Loud enough to rattle an eardrum from afar, a gunshot rang out, and there was no time for us to freeze and listen to the reaction of whoever was downstairs. No time for me to do the impossible and free him from his handcuffs without severing either his wrists or the chains that bound them. No time to think.

"FUCK!"

I couldn't tell who had screamed it, for their voice was disguised by a pained grit that could only have been caused by someone being horribly wounded, and I knew.

I knew that my options were fight, flight, or freeze…and because there was no realistic way to escape with James without cutting the chain that bound him, cowering in a corner was useless, fleeing without him or anyone else was fucking unacceptable, and everyone downstairs sounded to be in the midst of mayhem with an armed man, my plans had drastically changed.

And despite the fact that it could very well have been a death sentence, I couldn't stay here. I couldn't sit aside and listen to the others, let alone Liam, in the face of danger without at least trying to come to their aid.

Without meeting James' eyes, I leaned toward his right side rather than his left to avoid his wounds and launched myself at him, kissing him with all I had in me. It only lasted a split second, and the moment that I separated from him, I leaped to my feet.

"Cassie, what are you—" James halted his words the moment that I allowed myself to look at him, and he seemed to instantly understand my intent. "No," he muttered, and as I spun on my heel, I heard him yell, "No, NO—PLEASE!"

Chains clinked as James forcefully yanked against his constraints, continuing to scream pleas for me not to run toward the living hell below us. His anguished begging instantly blurred my vision with tears as I reached the top of the stairs, and I quickly swiped them away. I bit the insides of my cheeks, willing the pain and the sounds from below rather than behind to fill my mind.

Stooping low into a crouch as I moved down the stairs, I listened intently. In the dining area on my left, the pained shrieking had turned to vicious grunts with every breath the individual was taking. Steps scurried from the kitchen. Everyone else appeared to continue around the layout to my right, and I made my move by sprinting to the dining space.

I had only just now realized that the tile on the floor was white, much like everything else—I wouldn't have noticed that at all if it weren't smattered with red. Trying not to hesitate but failing miserably, I noticed the splatters and smears along with the wreck of the dining furniture. Chairs looked to have been thrown. The table itself was askew and thrown on its side. A short hutch had been knocked over; two lamps that must have previously sat upon it were toppled to the ground but not broken. What was most notable, though, was just past the wreckage.

The blood had pooled on the tile to the point that it was akin to dark ink, and Colton sat within it with his back against the wall on the threshold to the kitchen. His left leg was stretched before him, black jeans darkened even further from the hole made near his knee, and his hands gripped either side of it as if he were attempting to hold his limb together.

Skin paled to the point that it was grey and clammy, Colton caught my eye, shook his head rapidly, and moved his lips, baring his teeth to silently shush me as he gestured with a nod to his right.

I moved as quietly as I could along the tile, edging past the hutch that was face down on Colton's left, and without stopping to question it, I grabbed one of the lamps. Holding it by the neck just under the bulb, I felt that the heaviness of it came from the gold stand on its wide base—not the white ceramic that I gripped. Twisting the power cord around it several times so the wire wouldn't hang loose, I held it in place just below my fingers and continued on.

Past where Colton huffed and puffed, I peered into the kitchen to find it empty. All had gone silent, and as I reached the living area, I thoroughly understood why .

Tall, dark-haired, dressed in policeman's blues, and facing away from me, he stood just before the couch with his gun pointed in my brother's direction. Liam was near the window, hands up to show that he had no weapon, and he was frozen to the spot.

My heart slammed in my chest, stemming from my anger—my rage —rather than anxiety, and I secured both of my hands on the lamp as if it were a makeshift bat, squeezing so hard that my fingers went numb.

Luke attempted to back away, nearing the staircase with a single, careful step when Randy whipped the gun to him instead. Both he and Liam nearly jumped in place, and Luke held up his hands in a similar fashion to how Liam was. The only difference was that he was holding the red canister that Colton had previously grabbed in the kitchen.

"Ah-ah, you try to go upstairs, I shoot," he told him, and I tread forward slowly. "You move, I shoot." Shaking his head and hissing through his teeth as if something had burned his eyes, he bit out, "You fucking spray me with that shit like your friend did, I shoot." Luke kept his focus on him and nodded, and Randy instructed, "Put it down, kick it to me."

Luke did as he asked, setting the can on its side on the tile floor. He nudged it Randy's way, and it was when he moved slightly to the left to stop its motion with his foot that Liam noticed me creeping up.

What little color was left in his face drained away, his arms trembled as he held them up, and the breath that he pulled through his mouth was audible from across the room. His petrified look toward me was a mere glance, but the shift of his eyes back to Randy was still too slow.

He looked to Liam, rapidly turned to see me stalking behind him, and I didn't wait.

I just swung.

Lining myself up as if I were a first-string batter on a baseball team, the lamp cracked across his face, the recoil from the blow shook down my arms and into my chest, and though both Luke and Liam began to lurch forward, Randy went down. Following the momentum of the lamp, his body twisted, his expression went entirely slack, and he collapsed to the ground so quickly that his knees didn't even bend. He fell to his side, landing so close to Luke that he had to jump out of his way, and while he and Liam stopped mid-motion, I was winding up for another swing.

"Shit," Liam cursed, running to stand before me. "Stop—" He placed his hands over mine to cease my actions, assuring me, "You got him, just stop!" He ripped the lamp from my grasp, I snarled in response, and he stated, "We can't leave a string of bodies wherever we go, Cas, fuck!" Liam blew out a loud exhale. "He's—" Looking to Randy, he waited for him to move, and Luke spoke for him:

"Breathing— he's breathing."

"LUKE?!" James shrieked.

Luke took off, shouting, "Where are you?!" as he was halfway up the stairs, and almost immediately followed it up with a stammered, "Oh—oh my God, Jay!"

He yelled down to us regarding handcuff keys at the same instant that Colton called to us from the other side of the house:

"He down?"

His voice slurred slightly on the second word as Liam kneeled to roll the officer onto his back. I internally noted that it didn't appear that the lamp had broken his skin, but the red lump near his temple was practically forming before our eyes. He didn't stir as Liam patted along, searching his chest pockets and duty belt for the keys to James' cuffs.

"Yeah!" He called back. "Racked out. You good?"

Colton's sinister laugh was biting and tired. "He blew off my fucking kneecap, so no…" Seemingly focusing on his breathing, he heaved through the sass, "Could use a towel… tourniquet…surgery…amputation and prosthesis…"

I had intended to run straight back to James, but as I recalled the sheer amount of blood surrounding Colton, I made way for him instead, for there was no one else here to assist him.

"Jesus," Liam groaned, "Cas, go—"

"Already on it," I told him over my shoulder as I rounded the corner into the kitchen.

Rapidly pulling open any drawer that I could find, I finally reached the one to the right of the sink and saw an assortment of kitchen rags. Snagging the largest towel I could find in hopes that it could be tied around his leg, I half-jogged to meet him on the floor.

"Are you coming to help me?" Colton cooed, and I caught a hint of a smirk on his sweat-ridden face.

"You've been shot," I remarked. "How are you smiling right now—what is wrong with you?"

"Mostly," he panted, "blood loss— oop," he voiced in a high pitch, "speaking of…you're kneeling in it…"

"Leg, Colton," I chastised.

He deliriously chuckled, "I can't lift it," and his head fell back to the wall with a dull thump. As gently as possible, I placed my hand on the backside of his knee, and he spoke, "This is gonna hurt like a bitch— AHHH!"

"I barely touched it—"

"I've been fucking shot! I don't think it matters how hard ya touch it!"

Sliding the towel underneath his leg and aligning it right over his kneecap, I warned him, "It's about to get worse," and I gave him no warning before I tied the fabric in a knot and gave it the swiftest of pulls.

The scream he let out was so loud that it made my ears ring.

"Sweet MOTHER OF CHRIST!"

Wincing at his decibel, I whined, "Ow," tying it a second time for good measure before I sat back to look at my handiwork. "Are you good?"

He laughed once more, this time in a disbelieving, pained manner, and I instantly deduced that it was either a coping mechanism, wound-induced delirium, or shock.

"Good," he told me through his heavy breaths and odd cackling. "Get…your guy. Get… out of here."

"You bleed out before I'm back, and I'll kill you— don't make me deal with a corpse."

Colton's weak giggle caught in his throat. "Not today. Go."

Obeying immediately, I dashed for the stairs again.

Liam stood over Randy, watching him intently, and he noted, "You really got him—startin' to wonder how much he's gonna remember when he's up. "

I only slowed enough at the base of the staircase to ask:

"Did you…"

"Get the key?" he questioned without taking his eyes from him. "Uh huh. Threw it up to Luke while you were with Colt."

I pointed with a thumb over my shoulder in reference to Colton. "He's fucking out of it, we need to—"

"Get out of here?" Liam finished my sentence for me. "Yeah—how much is he bleeding?" Splaying my red palms out for him, I gestured toward my pants, which had been soaked through the knees. A quick glance to me made his eyes widen. "Holy shit …how are we supposed to clean up and not leave all his blood behind?"

"You…don't!" Colton yelled.

Liam called back, "The hell do you mean we don't?!"

Colton continued to speak with his weighted inhales and exhales, but I didn't hear him, for Luke ran across the landing to enter the bedroom on the right-hand side. He said nothing as he burst through the door, and I had no chance to question him before James appeared at the top of the stairs.

On his own two feet and anything but weary despite the wounds decorating his face, he rounded the corner, frantically racing down the steps. His eyes locked on me, he looked to be flooded with relief, and he embraced me so roughly that his wet shirt made a loud smack against me.

Arms enveloping me around my waist and shoulders, he was squeezing so tightly that my lungs strained for air. I craved the feel of him more than the oxygen, though, so I returned it—my head tucked into his shoulder and my fingers digging into his back.

"Fuck, Cassie," James choked. "You crazy woman." He leaned away from me first, just enough to allow our gazes to meet and his fingers to brush over my tear-stained cheeks. "Are you hurt at all?"

"No." One of my hands left his back, skating up his shirt to land on the left side of his chest. Finding him tachycardic, I whispered, "Breathe, Jay."

His expression twisted, and he pulled me back to him once again.

Tone stripped and welling with emotion, he murmured into my hair, "I don't know what I would've done if you weren't okay…"

As his words yanked at my insides, I opened my eyes to see Liam watching us carefully. He cleared his throat loudly, quickly shifting his focus back to Randy as if he hadn't intended to see a damn thing, and the noise prompted James to abruptly release me, whipping around to turn his attention on Liam .

James muttered, "Oh, um…" as it was clear that though he was no longer looking our way, my brother had witnessed our dramatic embrace.

A bang erupted from upstairs, one much like the sound of the crashing furniture that had occurred earlier. Our heads all snapped to the stairway, and Luke could be heard from above:

"Oh, God—" High pitched whimpering cut him off, and he assured, "No, no-no-no, you're okay, I'm—"

"GET AWAY FROM ME!"

The woman's scream was terror-laced and shrill, turning my veins to ice.

James' shoulders sagged as he uttered, "He found her."

I questioned him, "Jay?"

"I'm here to help you," Luke's muffled voice comfortingly spoke. "Look— key—it's for your cuffs. I can—"

It didn't seem as though the woman heard a single word he spoke, for she shrieked, "NO!"

The vowel carried on for long enough that it turned into a pleading cry.

James somberly confessed, "I— fuck, I should have gone myself—come on." He grabbed my wrist to lead me upstairs, and he told me in a rush, "She'll probably calm down more with seeing you, too."

"Who?"

"Sky."