Chapter Fourteen
Jane had always known that bad men would come for her.
Even as child she had known this and the fact that she can remember knowing that out of all the things that she can't remember told her something. She had been right to be afraid.
But fear wasn't going to help her now.
Because the bad men were finally here. And she needed to push the fear back to that deep, dark place inside of herself and fight. Because if she didn't then terrible things were going to happen. To her. And to Sam.
With a whispered breath she let go of her emotions as if they were pennies dropping to the floor and let instinct take over.
Pulling away from the wall, Sam's jacket slipped off her shoulder's. Feeling lighter and less constrained she looked around the bathroom, hunting for anything that could be used as a weapon. Her options, sadly, were limited. There were no knives or even anything sharp nor was there anything heavy with which she could hit someone with. All of this placed her at a disadvantage but she wasn't ready to give up.
Not yet.
Glancing further around her eyes latched on to a dark blue toiletries bag that was sitting next to the wash basin. It wasn't much but it was something and something was better than nothing. Not even hesitating she snatched it up and emptied it upside-down. The various items clanged out against the ceramic surface of the basin as they tumbled out but the sound meant nothing to her. The men were coming and whether she was silent or not no longer mattered. Time was what mattered. She didn't have much of it. The men would be here soon and when they finally came everything was going to go to hell.
Her hand shook, just for a second, as the fear tried to nudge its way through.
She blinked, concentrating her thoughts back on what she was doing. Her hand glanced over a bottle of Hugo Boss aftershave and she paused. Improvise. That's what she needed to do and the bottle of aftershave might just be the kind of improvision she could use. Having this thrown into your eyes should sting like hell. At least she hoped it would. Even better though were the nail clippers which shone up from the bottom of the basin as if they were the Holy Grail.
Finally something sharp that she can use.
Palming the aftershave in one hand and the clippers in the other, she turned around just as the door handle began to turn. It was all the signal she needed to know that time was up.
He's only a boy, she thought and then she struck out.
A spray of aftershave in his face, a lunge up with her other hand, connecting with his arm, the soft fleshy part at the top that gave way as the pointed end of the emery board sank in and a hard kick with her foot, right on the side of his knee. This last move was designed to bring a man down and it did just that, causing him to scream and howl in pain as he stumbled backwayrds, falling to the ground as he knee gave out.
His cries went past her as she continued on, not pausing for a second as she rushed into the room. The Deputy though wasn't a stupid man, despite what some may have thought and the sight that greeted told her exactly how far he was prepared to go.
Sam.
On his knees.
Hands cuffed behind his back.
Head yanked back.
The barrel of a gun placed squarely against the temple of his head.
There were many different ways that this scenario could play out and none of them were good. Jane knew this and the Deputy knew that she knew this. His eyes upon her were steady and cold. There was no doubt that he would not hesitate to pull the trigger.
"You know that I will do it. I'll pull this trigger and splatter pretty boy Marshall's brains all over this room before you could even take another step."
Jane shifted her gaze from the Deputy's cold eyes to Sam's warm ones. There was worry and a hint of panic in them but no fear. He wasn't afraid to die. But that didn't mean he wanted to die. This Jane knew. She wasn't afraid to die either but not wanting to die, well that was a lot more complicated. It was only recently that she had stopped wishing for death and instead focused on living. Sometimes though the temptation to just let go still creeps in.
But not today.
Today she would fight. For herself. And for Sam.
She looked back up at the Deputy and gave a tiny nod. A subtle acknowledgement that they understood each other.
"Drop what you're holding, kick it out and then get on your knees with your hands behind your head," said the Deputy, keeping his eyes on her while his gun remained firmly pressed against Sam's head.
Jane obeyed, following his instructions exactly as he had laid them out. Only when she was finally on her knees with her hands clasped behind her head did he ease the grip he had on Sam. With a nod at his other companion who was still holding the shotgun, the Deputy pulled away from Sam. In three strides he was in front of her and before she had time to react the gun in his hand was coming towards her. She felt the blow and then searing pain, a flash of light behind her eyes before everything went black.
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Bit by bit Jane slowly woke up and as consciousness became stronger so did the intense throbbing ache on the side of her head.
Pistol whipped.
She knew the term but had never experienced it. Until now. The continuous ache seemed to course through her whole body, making her reluctant to open her eyes let a lone move her head. But she knew she would eventually have to. Laying here, doing nothing wasn't going to help.
Hesitantly she opened her eyes, blinking and focusing as she gained her bearings. A ceiling, dark grey, the paint peeling in places, stared down at her. Turning as she propped herself up on one elbow a jolt of pain hit her and she dug her fingers in deep of the mattress that was underneath her, fighting back against the nausea that suddenly surged up. Breathing through her mouth as she swallowed, the nausea eased and passed and feeling a little better she looked around at the room she was in.
It was a prison cell. Grey walls, grey ceiling, grey bars.
The monotone colour didn't help her mood but it was a hell of a lot better than glaringly white or insipid shades of pastel. Because either of those would have meant the psych ward and that was the last place she wanted to be in. The outside world might have been scary but it was freedom. Freedom to run. Freedom to hide. And both of those things had kept her alive.
Gingerly she reached up and touched her head, her fingers meeting up with a damp stickiness. Blood. Not much. But enough. No wonder her head was throbbing so badly. Slowly running her hand through her hair she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, a long drawn out sigh escaping her lips. It wasn't good. Free from a psych ward she might be but she was still hurt and trapped. Trapped with nowhere to run.
And if she couldn't run, couldn't hide then the monsters would find her. Find her and do...
No. She wouldn't let that happen. Couldn't let that happen. Not after everything she had been through. And what about Sam? Where was he? She had no idea and that scared her even more because if the monsters killed him then it would all be her fault, just like...
No. Please no. Not again.
Panicked she abruptly stood up and felt the room sway under her feet. She paused, waiting for the dizziness to pass and then when it had, went over to the prison cell door. Wrapping both hands around the bars she gripped them tightly as she tried to shake them, screaming loudly as she did so.
"Let me out! Please! You have to let me out!"
Her voice came out strangled and hoarse, unuse to speaking. She tried again. Shaking the bars even harder, her knuckles turning white, her voice rising in volume as she pleaded for help. "Please! Let me out! I have to get out. I have to get out now! You don't know what's out there. Please! You have to let me out!"
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