Disclaimer: I own nothing. The characters belong to John Wells, Edward Allan Bernero, NBC and a bunch of other people I don't know.
Rating: R for language and violence
Feedback: Well, it will make me write faster ;)
Angela squirmed towards the end of the bed and swung her legs over the side. She struggled against the rope that was binding her hands before her. She tried to undo the knots but was unable to do so. Nervousness overwhelmed her at the possibility that the deranged man could be back at any given moment. She brought her arms up, attempting to use her teeth to undo the bonds. She tried in vain for several minutes; finally stopping when she saw it was useless. She cried out in frustration, her voice radiating throughout the room. "Dammit, come on!" Angela said desperately as tears of frustration sprang from her eyes. Angry with herself for crying, she quickly reached her hands up and wiped away the tears that were streaming down her face. "I can do this," she said out loud her voice determined. "I can do this," she repeated.
She looked around the room, trying to see if there was anything lying around that she could use to free herself. Finally, her eyes locked on the lit candle in the corner of the room and she sighed in relief. Angela slowly rolled off of the bed. Her body made a thudding sound as she came to rest on the cold, bare floor. Sweat rolled down her face as she slowly dragged her body towards the night table that the candle was perched on. She sighed in relief as she finally found herself directly below it, She quickly brought herself up to her knees, before lifting her hands up and holding them above the flame. She watched as the flame caught, slowly burning through the rope. She cried out as the flame licked too close, burning her wrist. She quickly pulled her arms apart and sobbed in relief as the rope snapped apart. She carefully touched her wrist in the spot where she had burnt it and winced in pain. Looking down, she quickly untied the rope binding her feet together. She shakily made her way to her feet, a wave of dizziness threatening to make her lose consciousness. She squeezed her eyes shut; desperately trying to say conscious, knowing that this was her only chance of getting away. On shaky legs, she made her way to the stairs leading up to the hatch. Angela closed her eyes once more, saying a silent prayer that it wasn't locked, before using all her body weight and pushing against it. She cried out in relief when the door gave way causing her to stagger.
Cautiously, she raised her head, looking into what appeared to be a basement. Making sure that the man wasn't lurking nearby, she quickly made her way into the room. Her eyes scanned the room, trying to make out its features. After a few minutes, her eyes adjusted to the dark and she could see a door in the corner of the room, a light shinning beneath it. Her heart pounding in her ears, she slowly pushed it open, wincing as it loudly creaked open. Expecting the man to come running towards her at any given moment, she held her breath. After a few seconds, she stepped through the doorway and saw that she was in the middle of a kitchen. Looking around, she quickly made her way through the archway. From she was standing, she could clearly see the front door. Disbelief hit her at the realization that she was escaping so easily. She threw the door open and ran down the street, desperately searching for a pay phone or a restaurant, someplace where she would be safe and could call for help. As she ran down the street, she prayed that she wouldn't run into her assailant.
The man finally stopped his car, wondering where he was. He quickly glanced around confusion registering on his face, before recognition finally set in. He quickly parked the car and sat there for a few minutes, his mind racing.
You know I'm right, the voice said, grating on his nerves.
"I said shut up," the man hissed, trying desperately to remain calm.
She's not the one. You saw how she reacted. She was upset for him. She loves him, not you.
"I said shut up," the man said weakly, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.
Crying is not going to do anything, the voice chastised.
"I was so sure," the man whispered pitifully.
We all make mistakes. The voice said gently. You have to fix it now.
"I know," the man said sadly, gazing down at his hands.
Do you really? the voice asked, not believing him.
"Yes," the man said, starting the car. His voice calm, his strength and reasoning returning, " I have to kill her."
Angela sighed in relief as she saw a pay phone next to a corner store. She quickly ran up to it. Placing the receiver to her ear, she quickly dialed. As the phone rang she suddenly realized what she had done as tears filled her eyes. She was just about to hang up when she heard the most amazing sound in the world on the other end of the line.
A faint ringing sound could be heard as Bosco lay face down on the ground, in between consciousness and unconsciousness. He blinked his eyes open and coughed violently. He cried out as the movement caused his ribs to ache and his throat to burn. He slowly pushed himself onto his hands and knees, his head hanging down as he desperately tried not to vomit. He swallowed several times, causing his tender throat to burn painfully. Tears dotted his eyes as he slowly brought his hand up to touch his neck. He gasped in pain as his hand made contact with the raw and bruised skin. He sat back on his heels and quickly looked around trying to recall how he had gotten to where he was. He saw his car parked before him and quickly looked around. A second later, he remembered everything. It was at that moment the ringing of the telephone finally penetrated his thoughts. He quickly pulled it out of his pocket and opened it, hoping that whoever it was wouldn't hang up. He cleared his throat painfully before speaking. "Hello?" He croaked into the phone, his throat on fire.
"Maurice?" His mother asked in disbelief. "Oh, my God, Maurice honey, please tell me that's you," she said, sobs of relief racking her body. Her son was alive.
"Ma?" Bosco said hoarsely as he stumbled to his feet, grasping the wall to steady himself. "Ma, where are you?" he whispered into the phone, panicked.
"Oh, Maurice it was horrible. He's insane. He told me you were dead. I didn't know what to think. I was so sure..." his mother said, trailing off.
"Ma? Ma where are you?" Bosco asked as he shakily made his way out of the alley.
"I was in his house but I got away. Maurice, he's such a sick man."
Bosco could feel his panic mounting by the second as he took in his mother's words. "Were are you now?" he asked her, tears stinging his eyes from the pain in his throat. He fished his car keys out of his pocket and unlocked the car door.
"Umm..." Angela said, looking around desperately. "I'm at Amsterdam and West 57th Street," she said quickly.
"Hang on, I'm coming," Bosco said as he started the car. He quickly left the parking lot, tired squealing. "Ma, I'm going to call the police, okay? I need you to find a safe place to hide, all right? Are there any shops nearby?"
"There's a corner store," she told him, glancing over her shoulder.
"Good, stay in there. I'm coming. Everything's going to be fine. I'm gonna hang up now and call the police, okay?" he asked, although in reality he wanted nothing more than to be able to stay on the phone with her, to hear her voice and know that she was going to be okay.
"Okay," his mother said her voice small and frightened. It scared him to hear her that way. "Maurice, please hurry," she said before disconnecting the line.
Bosco quickly tore down the streets of Manhattan trying desperately to reach his mother in time. He silently prayed that the cops would get to her and rescue her before the madman returned, because if not she was a sitting duck. He quickly turned a corner, tires squealing in protest and clenched his teeth as a shooting pain tore through his abdomen. He ignored it; his eyes fixed on the road ahead, which stretched out for miles. "Come on." Bosco whispered out loud as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Hurry," he said, tearing down the street.