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Her bright pink heels clicked loudly as she sprinted down the alley. One of the strained heels snapped and collapsed underneath her weight. She plummeted to the ground, landing with a sharp gasp. Her heart raced nearly out of her chest as she tried to push herself back up. Her hands slipped on the damp ground, scraping them deep. She winced and bit back tears as she was finally able to kneel. She heard her pursuer's loud foot falls behind her, and she barely had time to turn her head to get a glimpse of her attacker before he was upon her. He flipped her over, straddling her with his legs. His breathe was hot against her sweaty skin as he pinned her to the cold ground. She struggled underneath him and screamed as loud as her lungs could hold, before he shoved a hand over her mouth, sealing her fate. He pinned her to the ground more forcefully to keep her squirming to a minimum. He lifted the needle from his hoodie pocket, while holding her still with one arm, and shoved it into her neck. Her movements soon faded as the drug entered her system. Her eyelids fluttered shut as the man was tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Charlie woke with a loud scream. She quickly sat up and felt the sweat tears dribbled off her forehead, down her face. She took in several gasping breathes of air, struggling to breathe. She slide one of her hands into her hair as she placed her head in-between her knees as she brought them up close to her.
After several long, utterly silent minutes, her breathing leveled out. She lifted her head and looked down at her trembling hands. She slowly began to regain her sanity. She covered her face with her clammy, shaking hands, and sighed softly.
She uncovered her face to look at the clock. 3:32 am.
She stumbled out of bed and headed down the hall, toward her kitchen. The flashes of her nightmare still plaguing her mind. She could still feel the sand in her throat and her ears still seemed to ring from the loud bangs of the rifles.
She flicked on ever light possible as she went, feeling like a young girl again, afraid of the dark.
When she made it to the kitchen she reached above her stove, to a cabinet full of liquor bottles. Without taking much more than a glance at the bottle, she grabbed it and unscrewed the cap. Her mind sent a flash of the war around her. The loud screams of her comrades, children crying, blood becoming black in the light of the sun. She looked down at her shaking hands before taking a few large swigs from the bottle. After several more drinks she leaned back against the kitchen counter, allowing time for the alcohol to kick in and push the awful memories from her mind.
A loud, back-firing vehicle, down on the street below, made her jolt so violently the bottle sipped from her sweaty hand and shattered across the kitchen floor. She dropped into a crouch behind the counter and out of instinct she reached for the hand gun she had hidden in the drawer by the sink.
She held the gun tightly in her grasp as she slowly crept around the counter. She winced slightly. She looked down, seeing a streak of red across the floor. She had sliced her foot on a shard of glass.
She felt dizzy as she watched the small puddle of blood begin to pool around her foot. She took in several sharp gasps of air, dropped her gun on the ground and tried to stand up. She grasped the edge of the counter and pulled herself up. She stood there a moment, clutching the edge in order to stop her vision from swimming. Her sight began to cloud, red with fog as she stared at the blood continuing to pool around her foot.
She had to mentally slap herself for being such a chicken and a wimp in order to move finally. She was able to limp toward the kitchen table and slowly place herself into one of the chairs.
She picked up her foot and stared at the bleeding wound, it wasn't large in any sense, but the glass still stuck in the wound allowed for a lot of blood to dribble out and drip on to the floor.
She took in a sharp gasp as she tugged on the glass. She bit her tongue as yanked it out. Her stomach began to churn and she nearly threw up all over the kitchen floor.
She chucked the glass, across the room and it skidded across the kitchen floor producing several quiet dings of noise.
She slowly stood and limped toward the bathroom leaving a smeary blood trail as she went. She quickly filled the sink with warm water and drenched a hand towel with the warm water. She sat on the cold tile floor as she wrapped the wet towel around her bleeding foot. She sat there in a daze which to her only felt like a few minutes.
She was awoken from her trance by a loud series of knocks at the front door. She didn't move at first, just stared through the open bathroom door. She looked down at her foot, and the towel, that was now saturated in her blood. She felt a bit woozy as she continued to stare at the blood. Another knock came, louder and a little more urgent.
"Charlie?" A muffled voice sounded, and Charlie growled in frustration as she pushed herself up from the cold floor. She limped down the hall as another knock came, this one louder and more urgent than the last.
She turned the corner and watched her step as she maneuvered around the shards of glass still strewn across the kitchen floor. She unlocked the latch and slowly opened the door.
John's eyes widened at the sight of the kitchen, blood and broken glass was everywhere.
"Charlie? What happened?" John asked worried, he laid his hands on her shoulders and moved her over to the side as Sherlock brushed past them.
She mumbled softly, but nothing coherent came from her lips.
John looked at her closely, worried. Then he looked down at her foot, still wrapped in the bloody towel and then he looked around at all the broken glass.
Charlie sighed and lowered her gaze.
"Let me look at your foot." John stated and led her toward the table, making sure she avoided the glass on her bare feet. He lowered her into one of the chairs and pulled another one closer to her and sat in it himself. He lifted up her leg gently and removed the damp towel. He looked at the wound closer.
"Doesn't look too bad." He muttered.
Charlie just stared at him, not really focusing on anything.
John stood up and went to find something better to wrap her foot in other than another towel.
"Find anything?" John asked as he saw Sherlock snooping around Charlie's room.
He vanished into the bathroom and grabbed another towel and dug through the cabinets finding some gauze.
Sherlock appeared in the door.
"No sign of break in." He said and then followed John down the hall toward Charlie, who had slumped over in the chair, asleep.
Sherlock watched John patch up her foot. He finished wrapping the wound with gauze and looked at Sherlock.
"Help me move her to the couch." He ordered and lightly picked up her feet. Sherlock bent over and lifted her from the chair with ease. They gently laid her down on the couch, covering her with a couple light blankets.
Sherlock lounged in the uncomfortable chair across from the couch, near the open window. His hands propped up his head as he watched her calmly sleeping.
She had stirred a few times, but remained in her deep slumber. He sighed and dug around in his pockets for his secret packet of cigarettes. He knew John wasn't going to be back for a while and pulled one out and was just about to light it.
"If you light that in front of me without giving me one, I'll be forced to strangle you with your own scarf..." Charlie mumbled softly as she slowly sat up on the couch.
"You are awake" He sat up a little bit in his chair, leaning forward. "Care to explain what happened?" He asked as stood up from the chair to hand her his already lit cigarette.
"Don't act like you don't know..." She looked at him, her green eyes glaring with annoyance as she took several long drags from the cigarette. She slowly stood up taking in several more drags, as she stumbled toward her bathroom, slamming the door behind her.