A/N: . . . So. Um. Yeah.
I looked through some of my old writings a little while ago. To be honest? I cringed. A lot. I'm not even kidding. I deleted one, then decided to rewrite my Home Alone entirely. Still the same plotline, but better written (in my opinion at least). I worked on this through the night, so it took me only a couple hours because I already had something to base it from. Hopefully this will be a better (and easier) read than the original version, which will be deleted as well.
Soon I'll get around to rewriting the sequel Home Alone Again, but I'm not sure when I'll be able to. Hopefully in the next few times when I have a moment to spare.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plotline. Kudos to Satoshi Tajiri completely.
The house was silent. All the lights were out, every electronic shut off except the refrigerator in the kitchen and the DVR box in the living room. Upstairs, Dawn dozed on the bed. The covers were pulled over her head since it was chilly in the bedroom, the ceiling fan above her poorly circulating it. The whir of the blades acted as white noise as she slept, helping to block out the nighttime noises from outside.
She hadn't been asleep long when the sound of the front door being slammed shut startled her awake. Rolling over at the noise she blinked, reaching to rub away the sleep that dragged at her eyes. What time was it? The alarm clock that sat on her nightstand read some time past nine. When she reached beside her on the bed she found that she was alone. Was it Paul that had just come home? She didn't know who else it could be. "Paul?" she called, her voice cracking from sleep. Clearing her throat she called again. "Paul, is that you? I didn't think you'd be home so early."
Nothing. Only silence met her words; there was a small sound though. The creaking of the stairs reached her ears. Creak. Creak. Paul knew how loud the stairs were on cold nights like this one. He always avoided the really loud ones when he knew Dawn was asleep. But when a loud creeaaak was heard from right outside the door, she knew something was wrong. "Paul . . ."
Sitting up, she slowly padded away from the bed toward the door. She could hear the comforter slip to the floor, but she didn't pay any attention. The carpet was cold between her toes, sending a shiver up her legs. Luckily she'd left her robe hanging from the back of the door. It was soft against her arms, almost instantly making her feel better. She tied the rope around her waist, pulling it tight as she went to open—
A cry escaped her as the door slammed into her, knocking her backwards. "What the . . . ?" Her voice was caught off when something covered her mouth, smothering her. She clawed at who—or whatever—held her down. Whoever they were pushed her down against the bed, trapping her beneath them. She couldn't move, could barely even breathe without hyperventilating. What was going on? What is that touching me—?
Something was running up her leg. It felt like . . . a hand. It was warm, the palm rough against the smooth skin of her thigh. They pushed her robe aside, slowly travelling under her nightshirt. Whimpering, hot tears pooled in Dawn's eyes as she tried to kick at her assailant. Tears blurred her vision, clearing when they finally fell. It was too dark to see who they were anyway, though, the light was off. Even the moonlight that shone from behind her just cast a deep shadow across their face.
Kicking at them didn't seem to be doing much, she was pinned. For a moment she feared she wouldn't be able to escape, that they would keep running their hand higher, and higher . . . With a sharp cry, she twisted hard enough that she was able to free one of her legs. Lifting her knee she rammed it into the person's stomach. There was a grunt of pain, then she was free.
The only escape route was through the bedroom door. Scrambling to her feet she raced through the doorway, slamming the door behind her. Running frantically down the stairs, she grasped the railing with sweaty hands as she tripped two at a time. She raced through the living room, her mind blanking with fear. Either she could run out the front door and wake the neighbors to call 911, she could call 911 herself in the kitchen, or she could find some place in the living room to hide. If the lights are turned on I'm dead. If I try to unlock the door I'm dead. Her only option was the kitchen.
The tile was cold beneath her feet as she stumbled into the kitchen. The kitchen phone was somewhere along the walls, near the fridge. It was at her eye level so she should find it easily. It was so dark though. If only I'd turned on the light. But she realized belatedly that if she'd done that it would have drawn her attacker straight to her like a moth to a flame. While she mentally screamed at herself for her stupidity, her hand bumped against the edge of the phone's frame. Her fingers fumbled to grasp the receiver. She was shaking so badly that she dropped the phone, and since it was a cordless, it went crashing to the ground. As it rolled across the floor, Dawn froze as she listened.
The entire time she'd been flustering around for a way out, the unknown person had been making their way slowly down the stairs. Creak, creak, went the stairs. With each step the sound grew louder, seeming to echo throughout the house. The crash of the phone caused them to pause for a moment. They were somewhere in the living room. How close to the kitchen doorway were they? Would she have enough time to hide? Could she grab the phone without being seen? Again she had to react quickly without much thought.
As quietly as possible, Dawn fell to her knees beside the kitchen table. Lifting the tablecloth she crawled beneath it. Hopefully if they turned on the light she wouldn't be visible. Maybe she should have opened the door and slammed it shut. It would have probably confused the intruder, causing them to run outside to chase after her. It might've given her time to lock the door and find the phone to call the police. If only she'd thought of it in time. She was stuck under the table for now.
Shaking with silent fear, Dawn listened so hard bells rang in her ears. Everything was still quiet, even the buzz of the fridge had paused in the mayhem. It took every strand of her sanity to keep from hyperventilating from sheer terror. Oh God, where was Paul? He was due home by ten or so, but she didn't even know what time it was anymore. Had it been minutes, hours since this person had broken into her house and tried to . . . She wouldn't think about it. Her attention was caught by a small sound in the living room. It sounded like . . . humming. Almost a song.
"Da du du da du du da du da du da du du . . ."
Dawn's eyes widened in fear.
The Halloween theme. She knew what that meant.
It was maddening listening to them hum. Pressing the backs of her hands against her eyes, she tried to keep from crying. If she needed to run she had to be able to see—tears would just compromise her vision. That song, though. It was difficult to listen to it, the rise and fall of their voice. It was a man's voice, deep and mesmerizing . . . No, no, no. She wasn't going to allow herself to be pulled in. That's what he wanted.
Heart pounding in her chest, she pushed herself as close to the kitchen wall as possible. As she rested her forehead against her knees, she tried to keep the pressure that began to swell in her chest from exploding. It was the sense of fear that he was trying to instill in her. It had taken root deep behind her sternum, right beside her heart. It felt crushing, almost as if her ribs were about to cave in on her organs. She tried to not give in, to keep strong under strong sensation.
But then the front door opened.
Usually Dawn was awake when Paul got home from work. She could hear him call her name from the still-dark living room. Putting down his keys, taking off his coat—everything he always did when he got home. Leaving the light off she could hear him head for the stairs. Probably to check why she wasn't answering. Oh, how she wanted to call out to him. But the intruder didn't know exactly where she was, and she didn't want to alert him to her location. So she let Paul go upstairs instead. Hopefully he'd stay up there.
Faint footsteps were heard as someone slipped into the kitchen. It was difficult for her to tell whether or not it was Paul, but she could hear him calling for her upstairs. That left only one other person. He was walking through the kitchen slowly, probably still searching for her. The sound of plastic scratching against the tiles startled her. Somehow his foot had found the phone she'd dropped moments before. The sound would have gone unnoticed by Paul upstairs if the cordless hadn't gone crashing into one of the cabinets. This alerted the other man, causing him to come back downstairs. "Dawn?" he called. "Was that you?"
Quick footsteps, somewhere near the fridge. Peeking under the tablecloth, Dawn dared a look from under her protection. It was hard to see, but because Paul had turned on the stairway light she could see feet standing about a yard or so away from where she was sitting. Clenching her teeth to keep from screaming, Dawn watched him. She saw booted feet, jeans, and . . .
She gasped silently when she saw the small sheath of a dagger. Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god. She could have been stabbed earlier, maybe even killed if she hadn't been able to get out of there. Curling back against the wall, her fingers clawed at her hair, pulling at it painfully. Keep calm, keep calm. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks in anguish. She was despairing over what could have happened, but at the same time relishing in the fact that she'd gotten away.
Her thoughts were interrupted when Paul's footsteps headed toward the kitchen. So close to where the trespasser was standing. He was just by the door, doing his best to press against the side of the fridge to stay out of view as Paul came to the kitchen doorway.
I would just die if something ever happened to him.
When the lights flicked on Dawn dove out from beneath the table. She gave a cry of determination mingled with fear. Nothing would stop her from protecting Paul. She would die for him if need be, her own safety be damned. Stumbling forward she tackled the intruder, tackling him to the hard tiled floor. Crying out in surprise, the knife he'd pulled from the sheath shined in the harsh light as he took a swipe in her direction. "Paul!" she cried. "Paul, get away!"
During their struggle Paul had moved to where he was standing over them. He'd wasted no time making his way toward them, grabbing the man's arm that held the knife. The man slashed at Paul's face, nicking his cheek. It was a shallow cut, but a thin trail of blood rolled down his cheek, like a scarlet tear. He didn't let this deter him, though; he hadn't even flinched when the knife had cut him. He grabbed the man's other arm, using his knee to push him against the floor. With the man restrained Dawn was able to remove the knife from his hand. She pried it from his fingers, sliding it into the living room, hopefully far enough away from them.
"Dawn, go call the police." Paul's voice was scary calm, especially for a situation as insane as this.
"But . . .," Dawn started, looking back and forth between her boyfriend and the abandoned phone that had landed by the back door. So close to where I'd been sitting, she idely realized. She'd had a small chance of calling for help if she'd just known it was there. Paul's loud voice pushed her into action when he yelled, "Go!"
Fingers trembling even harder than earlier, she grabbed the phone by the door and dialed 911. "H-hello? Yes, s-someone is in our house. They tried to . . . to . . ." Hot tears formed in her eyes again. Peeking from the corner of her eye she saw that Paul had flipped the guy over, pinning his arms behind him as he used his knee to hold him down. The man's face was pressed into the floor, but she could see that he was watching her, a sick gleam in his eye. It sent a chill down her spine, but she used the rest of her courage to turn her back to him and continue. "He tried to rape me, possibly even kill me afterward." This caught Paul's attention, his gaze flicking in her direction. He seemed to become even more outraged, if that was even possible at this point.
She went through the process of giving the operator any information she asked for. The woman on the other end of the line was a small comfort for her and she was told that the authorities were on their way, that they should be there within minutes. It wasn't long before red and blue lights were shining through the front windows. Dawn was the one who answered the door when they knocked, leading them back to the kitchen where Paul jerked the man to a standing position. The police took it from there, handcuffing the man and pulling him with them out the door. It took both of them to get him to move, and before they disappeared outside the man turned and looked at Dawn. He smiled at her, a . . . strange smile. Almost crazy. Dawn turned away to bury her face in Paul's chest.
When the door shut and the lights faded, Dawn collapsed against Paul. She was so exhausted. Paul was silent as he held her, her head tucked beneath his chin. Leaning down, he slipped an arm under Dawn's kneed, pulling her up into his arms. She was silent as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He said nothing even though it choked him slightly. He couldn't say anything because he could feel the tears that began to wet his shirt. The only thing he could do was hold her tightly as he carried her upstairs to lay her down in bed.
Everything was quiet upstairs, the fan's blades still a whirring white noise. When he tried to lay her down on the bed she wouldn't let go. Even when he tried to pry her fingers apart she just grabbed his hair, one of his only known weaknesses. Sighing, he gave in, climbing over to his side of the bed. Pulling her close he covered her with the comforter, tucking it under her. He tried to soothe her to sleep, brushing her hair with her fingers, and telling her stories from their childhood. Only when the sun started to shine gray light through the windows did she finally doze off. It had taken Paul hours to lull her into a sense of security, enough to make her sleep, and many kisses—to her forehead, cheeks, her lips. Anything to make her stop crying.
Since her grip around his neck was still tight, Paul sat there in the same spot for hours, falling in and out of sleep, until she finally opened her eyes. They were puffy and bloodshot, but even he knew to keep his mouth shut about it. Fully rested yet still dead tired she looked up at him. Her eyes roved his face for a moment, as if she were trying to memorize every inch of it. Fresh tears dotted her lashes as she ran her fingertips over the cut across his cheek. It was about an inch long and followed the shape of his cheekbone. Dried blood still spotted his handsome face, the only real evidence of what had happened that night. Burying her face in his chest, she gave a sob of both misery and joy. Misery for the horror that had almost happened the night before, joy for the both of them making it through it all without much injury.
Wrapping his arms around her tightly, his arms felt stiff from holding her the entire night in his fitful sleep. She'd never moved once during the night and his arm had fallen asleep long before she had. But he would do anything to make sure she'd been comfortable. As long as she was all right he didn't care if he was hurt. All he wanted was her safety.
"Paul . . . Paul, I'm sorry. I thought—I thought that it was you coming home, b-but he didn't answer when I called your name. I was—I was so scared," she wailed, hot tears flowing freely as she gripped the collar of his shirt. He winced at her tears. Another one of his weaknesses. He hated when she cried even more than when she pulled his hair.
"It's okay, Dawn. It's okay," he murmured into her hair. "It's all okay."
And, finally, she believed him. After all the tears and her fear, she knew he would protect her, just as she protect him in return. So much that she dried up her tears, rubbing them away from her eyes and looked determinedly up into his face, saying, "I believe you. And, I love you." Reaching to hold his face in her hands, she winced along with him when her thumb ran over his wound.
Placing his hand over her, he gave her a small smile. "I love you, too," he replied.
Snuggling against him once again, Dawn found herself smiling to herself. She wanted to stay there with him for as long as possible. To get away from reality. Away from it all.
A/N: Alright. According to my word counter I doubled my word count from 1,406 to 2,949. God, that feels so good.
As I said above I plan on someday rewriting this story's sequel. With school and work it's usually a hit-or-miss situation. Oh well.
Either way, until the next chapter. Ciao.