A/N: Whoo- halfway point until I get to where I have no idea what's going to happen next! I was excited, so I just thought I'd point that out, not that it really matters. Also, just a helpful hint- always check if you have online homework due soon BEFORE you start updating a new chapter, or else you'll have to stop in the middle when you suddenly remember, and then it just throws off your whole flow and it sucks and everything takes twice as long to come out and you don't get an update out until 5! and then you only get like three hours of sleep and are cranky all the next day... Regardless of all that, however, I really like this chapter, we officially have now begun the Brittana portion of our featured fic, and here it is! Yaaaay!
Chapter Ten:
Santana sprinted down the sidewalk as fast as she could, her breath coming in small puffs of air that she could actually see coming out her mouth as she ran. Her bag had been left behind, spilled all over Mr. Sanders' foyer, and her phone completely forgotten, and probably water-logged out in front of his house. Her own house was just three doors ahead of her, she took the last corner a lot harder than she anticipated, and her flats slid across the slick cementer. Ankle twisting painfully, she barely had time to cry out before she landed in a heap, her face buried in the snow, and her left shoe floating in a relatively deep, slushy, puddle. She groaned as she pushed herself upright, regretting her decision to change after Coach had let her go immensely, her sneakers never would have slipped.
An angry shout echoed from close behind her, and she knew she hadn't gotten enough of a head start on Mr. Sanders to waste any time lying around on the ground. Wincing as she pushed herself back up onto her feet, Santana added a little weight to her tender ankle and then continued running without even glancing back. Her legs were burning, her ankle throbbed, and her face was wet and numb with freezing droplets of water, but she didn't stop.
Her heart plummeted when she saw that the driveway along the side of her house was empty. She prayed that her father's car was in the garage as she limped towards the front door, even though she knew it wasn't. She'd forgotten earlier, having been so caught up in Cheerios and having spent the last few nights at Brittany's, but she remember then, her parents had left to go and visit her oldest brother at college on the West Coast. They weren't due back for another three, maybe four, days, depending on what Carlos's schedule looked like.
Jamming her keys into the lock, she threw open the door and stumbled in, slamming it behind her and turning to push all the latches into place, for once thankful for her mother's over paranoid personality, always worried about break-ins. Kicking off her remaining shoe, she ran further into the house, automatically calling up the stairs before she was able to catch herself again. She wished that either of her two other brothers were home, but they went to California too. She only hadn't gone because she couldn't get out of practice, with Coach Sylvester completely berserk.
The adrenaline slammed through her veins, dulling the pain in her ankle to nothing more than a minor annoyance, and she rushed into the kitchen, her trembling hand reaching blindly for the phone on the wall as her eyes darted around the dark room, daring not to turn any lights on. She feels nothing and looks over, finding an old shadow on the wall. She does a double take and curses her parents every which way until Sunday for cancelling their land-line and buying them all cell phones. Screw saving a few bucks. What were you supposed to do when you lost your cell and a psychotic math teacher was on his way to try to kill you? How were you supposed to get help them? Smoke signals?
Turning away from the non-existing phone on the wall, Santana threw open the closest drawer and desperately rummaged for something to defend herself with. Anything. She pulled out some old pens and tossed them on the floor, followed by a notebook, a handful of rubber bands, and a whole bunch of other odds and ends, but she comes up short of finding anything useful, even a pair of rusty old safety-scissors. A crash against the front door sent her jumping and scrambling to open the second drawer, her mind racing to remember where the knives were as her hands fumbled with the knobs, coming up empty every time.
In a brief moment of either idiocy or bravery, she wasn't sure which, Santana glanced up and towards the front door. Mr. Sanders was staring right at her through the glass, she could see Lisa standing behind him. With a bent elbow, he broke clean through the front window panel on the door, reaching in towards the handle, finding a jumbled mess of locks instead. Santana was in the snow-filled backyard before he even got the first lock undone, and was scrambling over the metal fence and into the next yard before her door was even opened.
Running up the back porch of her neighbor's house, Santana reached forward to knock before she even got to the top step, silently praying that they were home and that someone would hear her- going in through the back was an unconventional method of entrance usually saved for sneaking out in the middle of the night. Heart slamming against her ribcage painfully, she looked over just as Mr. Sanders and Lisa stumbled into her backyard. He glares, but holds an arm out to stop Lisa from going any further. His movement is slow and deliberate, and she sees the gun in his waistband as clearly as she sees the snowman Emily must have spent all afternoon building just three feet away from her.
Her hands balled into tiny fists within her sleeves and her eyes clenched shut as she waited, positive they were going to shoot her right then and there. But then the backdoor swung open and warm arms enveloped her before she was even able to open her eyes, a hearty laugh echoing in her ear as she was pulled inside by her hands and face fist into a busty chest.
Maggie, Brittany's mom, released her from the crushing hug only to place a quick kiss on either of Santana's cheeks before before stepping back to hold her out at arm's length, giving her a scrutinizing once over with a wrinkled brow. "No jacket?" she demanded loudly, but not unkindly, "in weather like this?" she threw up hands up dramatically and shook her head with a heavy sigh, "kids!" she declared, like that explained everything. Turning away, she made her way through the cluttered storage on the porch and headed towards the kitchen, beckoning for Santana to follow her. "I'm about to start dinner, would you like to help me?" Maggie called back over her shoulder.
Santana stayed rooted in her spot, watching Maggie step through the sliding glass doors and into the brightly lit kitchen. She allowed herself a short moment to look around the portion of the house she could see, knowing what the rest looked like, even out of sight. She had always loved Brittany's house, ever since the first time she had been invited over after she moved in next door in third grade. Brittany's parents kept the house constantly bright, and it was always full of happy noise, she could only wonder what their electricity bill looked like. Even if she had never truly understood it, it always used to make her feel safe, but now that feeling was gone. She turned around and slammed the backdoor shut, sliding the lock into place and checking it twice. She immediately noticed that Mr. Sanders and his wife had vanished from her backyard.
Spinning around, she called out to Maggie, Maggie looked back, surprised, "is the front door unlocked?" she demanded, Maggie was, at the moment, regrettably, not nearly as paranoid as her own mother. She often left the front door unlocked, sometimes even in the middle of the night, which proved to be helpful for Santana on several occasions, but on this one, she feared it could cost them their lives. Maggie glanced towards living room door, able to tell it was cracked open from where she was standing. "You have to lock it!" Santana all but screamed, hardly able to contain her panic.
Brittany chose that moment to come running down the stairs, sounding more like she was falling head first. She stopped and first looked towards the door, and then, confused, turned towards the kitchen, where she found Santana, still standing on the porch. She flashed her best friend her brightest smile, "I thought I heard you!" she declared. Brittany had been dancing upstairs in her room, waiting for Santana to text her that she was ready to hang out, and hadn't even heard her knock on the back door.
For the moment, Santana ignored Brittany, and focused solely on her mother, her voice low and even as she pleaded for understanding, eyes darting to Brittany every other word, relieved when Brittany soon got absorbed into whatever was on tv. "There are people after me, we have to call the police," she tried to explain about finding Quinn, and the gun, and Mr. Sanders breaking into her house, and she breaking into his house, but all she could get out was a strangled cry. Her thoughts were coming too fast and her legs were starting to feel like jello, and her head throbbed, and her ankle hurt, so much so that she could hardly string together a proper sentence or barely even think straight. Maggie scoffed and shook her head good-naturedly with a dismissive wave.
"Don't be ridiculous, Dear," she smiled, well aware of all the trouble Santana had gotten herself in over the years, "I'm sure it's nothing as serious as that. Nobody is after you. Now, come in."
Santana shook her head adamantly, eyes wide and lips pressed in a tight line, "they have a gun!" she insisted, "you have to lock the door."
Maggie threw her head back, letting out a healthy bark of laughter. Mr. Rich leaned in from the living room, tearing his eyes from his program at his wife's outburst. "Hey, there, Miss Santana, long time no see," he teased with a smile, but Santana doesn't return the gesture like she normally would have. Having three draughts of his own, Mr. Rich remained unfazed and shrugged it off as usual teenage hormones and leaned back in his recliner chair, turning the volume of his program back up, but not before yelling, "you two are going to get sick if you stand out there chatting all night."
"Come on," Maggie urged again with a slight jerk of her head and a small smile, "we'll make chocolate cake for dessert."
Santana wanted so much to agree and pretend that nothing was wrong, pretend that everything was the same as it had been the night before when she had slept over, but then the door bell rang and she looked passed Maggie, watching as Brittany automatically skipped to open the door without a second thought. "No, Britt, wait!" she called, but it was too late.
"Oh, hey there, Mr. Sanders," Brittany greeted cheerfully.