36. Jasmine
Chapter thirty-six
Jasmine
I sit beside Alex, roaring with laughter as a cartoon coyote falls prey to another ill-fated scheme. It's the type of cartoon I watched as a child, but Alex thinks it's hilarious, and his laughter is infectious.
"Do you see that?" Alex gasps between giggles, pointing at a character who has just been squashed into an accordion shape, only to bounce back with a rubbery resilience that defies all logic. "That is so silly!"
I can't help but chuckle at this simple moment of joy. The smell of buttered popcorn lingers in the air, a giveaway scent of our sneaky after school snack. Everything about this feels like a slice of perfection, a sample of the days I can see before me if I accept Zane.
Is it a question of if, or just a matter of when?
I want this, I just need to get over the feeling that it is too soon.
The rumble of a car's engine on the drive threatens to bring our play-date to an end. However, I know I'll just be swapping Alex for Zane and that is an ongoing arrangement I can live with.
"Is that Dad?" Alex's voice hitches with excitement. He springs to his feet, darting to the window to look out.
"Maybe," I reply, knowing Zane is just as likely to return first.
The car pulling up outside the house doesn't belong to either Zane or Marcus.
"That's not Dad's car," Alex murmurs, his initial enthusiasm melting into confusion. He presses his small nose against the cool glass pane, forehead creasing with concern. "Who are they?"
"Probably just security. Let's keep watching the cartoons, okay?" I suggest, trying to mask the unease that has taken root. I shouldn't be worried. Zane left a man sitting in his car when Alex stayed with me yesterday. I would expect no different today.
"No." In an instant, Alex's small hand clutches mine with surprising strength. His wide eyes are pools of fear and urgency as he tugs me toward the stairs. I stumble with him, leaving the TV playing a betrayal of our presence in the property. "The bad men came when I was little. Daddy says nothing is never nothing."
Upstairs, the hallway feels silent and cold. We slip into Alex's bedroom, where the bed lies unmade, a fortress of pillows and blankets from our games. Alex guides me around the wardrobe to a small gap behind it. We crouch down together, waiting for some kind of proof for either of our thoughts. If it's security, we'll stay here until Alex feels safe again. If it isn't…
I don't want to think about the outcome if it isn't.
Our wait is shattered by the sudden crash of breaking glass from below. I was wrong about our guests. I cling to the boy beside me, hoping he finds comfort in my arms. It's all I can do as my mind races for other options.
"Shh," I whisper, placing a finger over my lips. Alex nods, his body pressed tightly against mine, trembling with the effort to remain silent. The sound of voices confirms there are people in the house, even if I can't understand what they are saying.
We listen to them moving deliberately around the downstairs. They aren't making the sounds of robbers taking things, leaving me certain they are here because of me. I can feel Alex holding back sobs, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and I know I have to protect him. I wrap an arm around him, willing my own fear into stillness as we wait, praying for the danger to pass and leave us untouched in its wake.
The minutes stretch on, our bodies wedged in the confines of the narrow gap.
With each step, the intruders' movements grow louder and closer as they make their way up the stairs, their menacing presence encroaching upon our hiding place.
"Here," Alex mouths urgently, voice barely audible. He reaches up, fingers fumbling for a moment before finding purchase on the small handle of the laundry chute.
"Go," he insists, swinging the door inwards with a creak that seems to echo like a scream in the tense air. My heart lurches into my throat, my nerves on edge.
"Alex—" I start to protest, but he cuts me off with a determined shaking of his head, pointing adamantly into the chute.
"Quick!" he urges, glancing at the closed bedroom door.
I know there is no time for debate, no moment for hesitation. I trust in the boy's instincts and swing my legs over the edge, feeling the cool metal sides of the laundry chute against my skin. It's a tight fit, an enclosure not meant for adults, but adrenaline and fear give me flexibility. I slide in feet first, the passage swallowing me in shadow as I slip down, landing on a soft duvet at the bottom.
"Follow me," I whisper upward, expecting to see Alex's trainers appear above me. But they never come. Instead, I hear the faintest rustle, then the sound of the swing door closing with a soft, muffled, final thud. My stomach drops as I realise he isn't coming. Alex is sacrificing his hiding spot for me, staying behind while ensuring my escape.
"Alex!" I call out desperately; my voice choked with emotion. My hands claw uselessly against the slick metal above me as I try to find a way back up to him.
Panic grips my chest as I scramble to reverse my descent, fingers seeking a grip on the chute's polished metal. The slick walls offer no purchase, and my palms smudge the surface with the sweat of fear. My breath comes in short gasps; each exhale fogging the narrow space around me. With every attempt to haul myself upward, my body slides further down, the soft pile of blankets and spare bedding below creating an insurmountable barrier.
"Come on," I mutter to myself, summoning a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength. But it's like trying to climb a slide coated in ice, my efforts are futile. The reality is that I am trapped, wedged between the cold embrace of the chute and the cushioned blockade that blocks any chance of escape.
I angle my shoulders, twisting in desperation, but it only serves to wedge me tighter. The chute seems to constrict with my rising panic, the air growing thick and heavy. I pound a clenched fist against the unyielding metal, the sound dull and lost to the laundry-lined tunnel.
"Alex," I whisper, the name a silent plea for courage. He has had the foresight to hide me here, to protect me. Now, it's my turn to be brave, to trust that he has a plan. With resolve hardening in my chest, I still my frantic movements and force myself to take measured breaths.
"Think," I urge myself, eyes straining in the dim light filtering from above. There has to be a way out, a solution amidst the chaos. For now, I will wait, listen, and hope—for safety, for rescue, for Alex's cleverness to see us through this harrowing ordeal.