¸.·´¯·»Chapter Six«·´¯·.¸
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»The Intruder«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸
"Brígh…"
Emerald green eyes pried open in the still of the night, the velvet purple sky illuminated with diamond starlight that twinkled down through the open curtains, which fluttered with the soft midnight breeze. Brígh shifted in her bed, her coverlet pulled up to her face as the cool autumn chill wafted through the window. She shivered slightly, blinking rapidly to rid herself from the remnants of sleep, a brief and baleful glare in the direction of the flickering curtains.
Today marked a total of one week that her sleep had been invaded by images that brought her nothing but conflicting emotions. The details of these reoccurring dreams seemed to fade away into nothingness as the day progressed, leaving behind only the emotions they evoked within her in their wake, though with each day she could recall small snippets of information from the dreams. She just wished they would stop all together.
Brígh was had deduced early on that these dreams were likely drawing on what little she recalled from her birthday last week, and that the mysterious man featured in them was actually the man she had brought home. It was just a speculation because she was still having trouble remembering much of that night, though she was confident that she was right because this man was somehow familiar to her.
Tired with sleep, Brígh heaved a sigh when she realized that falling back asleep would be an impossible task and pushed the covers down with her legs. She shivered again, quickly standing from her bed and approaching the window. She could not recall even opening it before she went to bed, though she must have because she had been alone last night and surely she would have noticed if Alec or Cadence had bound inside—they both were always too cheerful and obnoxious when they came to visit her.
Closing the window and switching the latch to secure it in place, Brígh pulled on her robe and ventured out into the living room area of her apartment. Situated in the corner was a chair that featured a sturdy and round rattan frame, curved in almost a bowl shape, sitting atop a durable base with a worn and decorative and plump cushion inside of it. A black hardcover book and set of whittled down pencils lay forgotten there, and she scooped up the items as she sat down, making herself comfortable before drawing a blanket over her legs.
Brígh opened her book, smiling slightly as the faces of her friends and family appeared before her eyes with every turn of the page. There were drawing pads and scraps of papers with sketches scattered over every inch of her apartment. Some of her drawings were cartoonish and unrealistic, with depictions of fairies and mermaids. Others, such as her studies on people, were detailed intricately and etched with obvious care.
The smile began to fade as she reached about midway through the book on her quest for a blank page.
Perhaps they were the product of her taking from her surroundings and reality to help bridges the gap in her memories, taking the features of one stranger and forcing them onto one she wished she could remember. Therefore these more recent drawings were images inspired by the man she had seen the other day.
Penetrating midnight blue eyes done with colored pencils and charcoal. Pages after pages, from different angles and a change in the lighting, from regular pencil to inked lines from a pen… they were all still recognizable as the same person. She just could not get his eyes out of her mind. It was if these particular eyes had been seared into her brain and she could see nothing else.
Finally locating a blank page, the young woman pressed the tip of her pencil to the pristine white sheet. The eyes came easily after having etched them so many times, and she made the eyelids hooded as the soft image stared back at her. She darkened the iris to make them all the more realistic, and began adding the thick eyebrows that curved slightly.
For nearly an hour she continued to darken the image until it came into a sharp focus, using her pliable eraser to remove the shading to give it some shine instead, occasionally wiping her stained fingertips on her pajama bottoms because she was too intent in her work to stand to get a rag.
As she always did, Brígh attempted to add more to the features, such as the nose or at least the shape of the face, though she ended up blackening it out because no matter how hard she tried it just never looked quite right. It was dissatisfying when she decided that she could do no more to it, the same disappointment lingering in her chest as it did every time she finished one of these portraits. Her loopy signature scrawled at the bottom corner of the page, she shut the book with a wide yawn and set it aside.
Reluctantly standing from the comfortable chair, Brígh stretched her arms to the ceiling and glanced at the clock adorning her wall, wincing as she realized before shuffling her way into her bathroom. She grimaced when she saw her reflection, her hand threading through her hair as she expelled a sigh. She looked horrible, her eyes slightly red, irritated and dry, the skin beneath them slightly discolored from her lack of sleep. She had forgotten to remove the makeup she had applied this morning, and now it was smudged and smeared.
And the frown that pinched her brows was only making it look worse than it was.
Brígh approached the sink and turned on the warm water so she could wash her face in an attempt to make herself look at least marginally better. Closing her eyes briefly, she scrubbed at her eyelids with a soapy washrag, washing away the last remains of her eyeliner and shadow. She tensed suddenly, however, as a foreboding sense of unease surged through her, causing her hands to tremble and gooseflesh to rise on her arms.
All day long, Brígh had been feeling a bit… out of it. She had been anxious and worried since she had woken this morning, somehow knowing that something was wrong. It was as if she had been waiting for something bad to happen all afternoon long and into the night, and she had thought she was just being paranoid because by the time she had locked herself within the safety of her apartment and had gotten ready for bed, even though there had been no strange occurrences.
The feeling, however, never receded and she had been hard pressed to fall asleep.
Slowly the young woman lowered the washrag to the sink as she righted herself, a muted gasp escaping her as her eyes came to rest on the mirror in front of her. Her heart seemed to stop beating within her chest for a second, though a moment later it began to beat a rapid tempo against her ribcage, blood pounding within her ears. She abruptly felt short of breath as she stared at the figure shrouded within the shadows bathroom, just mere feet away from her.
Fear paralyzed her when it consciously registered to her that there was an intruder in her house. She wanted to run because somehow she just knew that this person meant her harm, though her limbs were frozen in place, unwilling to respond to her. And then he took a slow step forward, the shadows unveiling his features with every step, revealing a rather the rather gruesome and disfigured face.
It was as if he had stepped directly out of a nightmare. His nose was slightly flat, a scar crudely etched down the bridge of it, ridges along his brow and his cheek bones with white bone protruding grotesquely from them as if they were horns. The eyes were a golden yellow, glowing almost the way a cats would in the dark, staring back at her hungrily through the mirror as a predatory grin stretched across his face, allowing the sharp serrated teeth to be seen.
Something glinted in the light, and wide, panic stricken eyes were drawn to it. It was some kind of double edged blade with a black handle. The silver engraved with various symbols while the handle itself had an emblem on it, as if it were a ceremonial dagger. He began to raise it threateningly, and suddenly she felt a burst of adrenaline and was in motion before she could even register the thought to move.
Before she could even move an inch, an arm shot out from behind her, wrapping around her shoulders. She was pulled back against his muscular chest, and the sharp blade of the knife was pressed against her cheek with enough force to sting, proving to her that he was willing to use the deadly object on her without remorse. She resisted the instinctive urge to struggle against her captor, knowing that should she move the blade would be used.
"No screaming, sweet little witch, speak not a word…" the man rasped, his breath huffing out against the back of her neck as he moved her hair to one side. "Such power… it's intoxicating… What a prize to have found…"
Brígh felt the cold metal of the knife slide down her cheek with no real pressure until it reached her throat, and he cruelly applied pressure until she cried out, small droplets of crimson blood to spill down her neck. Her heart was racing fiercely, pounding within her chest as if it were attempting to break free, her body trembling out of fear.
This man was meaning to kill her.
It was something she was absolutely sure of… and there would be nothing she could do to stop it. She could still see him through the mirror as his other hand slowly retracted from her shoulders, fingers brushing against her side as it slid to her waist, sharp talon like fingernails scratching along the delicate skin of her stomach as he lifted the hem of her night shirt up slightly.
The young woman felt a brief sense of panic, feeling his hand upon her bare flesh, and this was a different kind of panic than just fearing for her life. But he did not touch her otherwise, and instead drew the blade against her abdomen in a path of its own. "Time to die, little witch…" he told her in promise, and tears spilled down her cheeks as she felt his twist the knife to angle the tip of the blade upward to pierce her heart through her ribs.
"No!" Brígh cried with pain as it began to slip through the skin at a torturous pace, her hands quickly grasping ahold of his wrist as he continued to slowly drive the knife into her. The pain fueled her, and she suddenly snapped her head back forcefully, smashing the back of her skull into his face.
The impact hurt something terrible, and the back of her head throbbed because one of the sharp horns had connected painfully against her head, though it had the desired effect and he stumbled back, releasing her with surprise as he growled angrily, the sound more animal than human. The young woman wasted no time, emerald eyes bright and wild as she gave one quick glance around the room for a possible weapon. She found one in the form of the heavy, rectangular porcelain lid of the tank of the toilet, heaving it into her hands and swinging it at him.
The heavy object connected solidly with his head, cracking into two halves that fell on either side of him with a sickening sound. She was smart enough not to bother waiting to see if it had incapacitated him, bare feet pounding upon the wooden floors as she ran for the door. His angry snarls followed her all the way from the bathroom.
Agony surged throughout her entire body before she could reach the exit, faltering in her sprint and stumbling to the ground as she screamed. She was being pierced by thousands of little knives, each one going deeper and deeper than the last, and she collapsed into a sobbing heap upon the floor. She screamed even louder as the pain intensified, her hands gripping at her head as if the pressure might somehow ease the throbbing.
It stopped just as suddenly as it had begun, though phantom aches had fresh tears spilling from her eyes.
A clawed hand tangled in her hair and callously drew her up, and Brígh could not find it in her to stand, crumbling back onto her knees as he jerked her head back so that she was staring up into his cruel yellow eyes. "You shouldn't have done that," he tisked, his free hand lashing out at her so fast that her head snapped to the side with the force behind the strike, and she tasted blood as her lip was split.
The hand tangled in her hair tightened briefly, before he kicked her away from him harshly, ripping several locks of hair out as she fell away from him with the force. Brígh coughed brokenly, choking on the metallic taste of blood pooling in her mouth. Another kick was aimed at her stomach, and she rolled slightly and groaned breathlessly, while he chuckled. She curled in on herself, hand pressed against her abdomen in a futile attempt to relieve the pain.
"Your death was going to be quick," His hand enclosed around her throat, effortlessly lifting her up as she struggled to breath, her hands frantically trying to pry the tight grip away from her, her own fingernails catching at the delicate skin of her throat. "A knife to the heart…" He struck her again with his free hand, this time catching her across her temple and her vision blurred. "Now… now you are going to suffer…"
Through watery eyes, Brígh looked up at him, unable to see much other than a fuzzy outline as the blood raged in her head and the tears clinging to her lashes. She blinked rapidly to clear her vision as his fingers tightened even more, crushing her throat within his grasp.
Anger surged through her suddenly. At this cruel and evil man for attacking her, at herself for being so weak that she could do nothing to stop him from hurting her. She was at his mercy, and he clearly possessed none. He was enjoying himself, torturing her with even just the thought of what he could do. She was angry that she was so helpless against him. She glared at him, conveying the emotion quite clearing in her furious emerald eyes.
Quite abruptly the man released her, sharp talons clawing at her neck as he was pushed back fiercely by an unseen force. Surprise and outrage clouded his face as he flew through the air at a breakneck speed. His back impacted heavily with the glass wall that separated her bedroom from the rest of the apartment, causing it to splinter and break apart as he soared through it. The wall shattered a rain of glass down on the man as he finally hit the floor, and he laid there unmovingly.
Brígh stared at his prone body in shock, indecision on her face as she tried to process what happened for a split second before she grabbed her keys. She scrambled to unlock the door, and then she was running as fast as her legs could carry her. She bypassed the elevator completely, not confident that he would stay down this time to wait patiently for it to come to her floor. The stairwell was empty and her footsteps echoed loudly as she stumbled down them quickly, not pausing until she had reached the parking garage.
Fumbling with the remote to her own car, she pressed the auto start button on it, the engine roaring to live before she even reached the vehicle. The horn sounded as she unlocked it with another click of a button, practically yanking the door open and throwing herself inside the safety of the cab. She activated the lock immediately after the door was slammed closed, her hands trembling uncontrollably as she shifted the gears into place.
Bare feet worked the pedals as she backed out, and Brígh froze immediately as she spotted a bloodied figure barreling out of the stairwell doorway. He locked eyes with her, a snarl on his face as he placed himself between her car and the exit of the garage. Her knuckles were pure white as she gripped the steering wheel, accelerating the vehicle even as he ran towards her.
Move, move, move… she pleaded internally, unwilling to stop even though he was still in the way.
The young woman shrieked as he impacted with the hood, the knife embedded with the windshield directly in front of her as he rolled over the roof of the car. She stared at the weapon, looking around it and the splintered glass so she would not crash before her eyes flickered to look at the rearview mirror, watching as the man stood impossibly with several visible injuries. He stared after her as if he wanted to pursue her further as she pulled out of the garage.
Despite the late hour the streets of the city were still as bustling as ever.
Brígh found herself hard pressed to continue following the rules of the road, having to ease up on the accelerator several times as she navigated her way through the city to the one place she felt she would be safe. Slowly the cityscape faded the further she drove, the number of other vehicles on the roads thinning out before they ceased altogether, as she found herself pulling into a familiar road that lead to the more private and expensive housing estates on the coast.
Periodically throughout the long drive, Brígh would glance over her shoulder or peer into her mirrors, a certain sense making her feel as if she were still being watched. She was still frightened and not quite sure what to make of everything that happened. Her mind was in chaos, thoughts flitting in and out of her head with the same speed she was driving, which happened to be quiet fast.
As she pulled in front of the outer gates of the family estate, Brígh reluctantly rolled her window down so that she could type in the security code to enter the property, speeding away as it closed automatically behind her. By the time she reached the end of the driveway, her adrenaline had worn off completely and she could only stumble out of the car, her body moving lethargically as she unlocked the front door of her parents' house and slammed it behind her. Brígh backed away from the doorway, accidentally brushing her hip against a small wooden stand that had an old vase sitting upon it, consequently knocking it over.
The noise of it shattering upon the marble floors would have woke the house had her rather loud entry had not already done so, and she screamed out in start as arms went around her body from behind. She struggled within the hold, irrationally fearing that the man may have somehow followed her inside despite having locked the door behind her. It was only the strong and soothing brogue of her father's voice calling her name that made her still within his grasp, and once she had calmed slightly he turned her around in his arms.
Strong and weathered features were set in concern as his hard eyes assessed her condition, the creases in his brows deepening when he took in the split lip and already bruising face. His mouth downturned in a severe scowl, and he pulled her to his chest. She distantly heard him telling her mother to call the police before he bent down slightly and hooked one arm beneath her legs, rising with her in his arms as she buried her face in his neck.
Awareness slowly came back to the young woman minutes later, and she realized she was sitting on a bed gently cradled in her father's arm, while her mother was beside her, stoking her hair. Her sister was pacing beside the bed, alternating between chewing on her perfectly manicured fingernails and running her fingers through her hair. She could hear them talking quietly, trying not to disturb her, and she cast her gaze around her to figure out where she was exactly.
The panic room, she realized, all tension leaving her at this revelation because she knew nothing could get inside once the door was locked.
For once the idea that the paranoid Cian Rowan had spent a small fortune to build himself a glorified bomb shelter beneath their house was entirely welcome. It was basically the basement of the rather proportional house, having been modified to accommodate the pricy security system that prevented the door from being opened from the outside once the mechanisms were in place. The walls were made of thick slabs of cement on either side of a solid steel wall, the same treatment given to the floors and ceiling. There were four small bedrooms, a full working kitchen with a fully stocked pantry that could last for at least five years, and a functional bathroom.
"Did anyone think to call Connor?" asked Cadence, and Brígh assumed that one of their parents shook their head because soon soft beeps could be heard as she whipped out her phone and began sending him a quick message. And moments later the sound of music filled the room from her ringtone as he made a reply. "He says he and Jessica will be here in ten minutes."
Never mind that it was a thirty minute drive from their own apartment.
"Good…" their mother, Amelia, said softly.
Her father shifted his hold on her slightly, pulling away enough to see her face. "Brígh," he spoke, the tone harsh but caring as she lifted tearstained eyes to meet his. Her father was a rather serious man, rarely seen without a frown on his face, and it usually reflected in his voice. He was very perceptive and critical, and most people were intimidated by him, though all of his children knew just how loving he was. She and Connor had inherited their hair color from him, and currently his was still tousled with sleep and his face unshaven. "Can you tell me what happened?"
With a shuddering sigh, Brígh answered him with a weak voice. "… Someone broke into my apartment,"
Strong arms tightened around her, the embrace feeling as though it were a shield from the outside world and his chest rumbled with an angry growl, though he was gentle because he had noticed the wince she had from the injuries to her abdomen. Brígh soaked up the warmth of his body gratefully as it was offered. It was comforting, and entirely welcome. Her own body was still throbbing with a dull ache akin to the pins and needles effect, the sensation of excruciating pain she had experienced still making itself known, and her face was still swollen and hurting something terrible.
The mug of tea sat forgotten on the table beside her, no longer hot. Her mother had made it to soothe her nerves, sure that she was in shock. Brígh had no idea what shock felt like. Her face was paler than normal according to her sister, and she felt a bit cold. A warm fleece blanket draped across her shoulders, and the body heat being shared by her father was helping with the coolness.
Connor arrived not too soon after, looking completely disheveled in his sweats and hazardously thrown on boots, his wife by his side in a similar state of worried disarray as they barreled inside. The police as well as an ambulance had pulled up beside his truck as he and Jessica were getting out, so he had lead them through the house while Cadence allowed them all entrance to the basement when she noticed them on one of the security monitors.
With obvious reluctance, Brígh extracted herself from her father's arms, sitting up and shyly tucking her hair behind her ears as the paramedics approached her first, the police opting to first speak with her family to get their own statements. She flinched when the first latex gloved hand touched her face, though thankfully it was not out of fear but out of agonized pain as the tender bruising fiercely protested against the touch.
"Damn," breathed Connor in slight horror as he sat down on the bed beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders more for his sake than her own, as if he was reassuring himself that she was still here, while the paramedic looked her over. "Does it hurt? What am I saying, of course it does," He sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his tired and drawn face. "How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"
"… 'm Fine," she told him weakly, her smile more of a grimace as it pulled at the cut on her lip, and he looked about as convinced as she felt.
Having her ribs wrapped tightly was uncomfortable, though preferable to a hospital visit at this hour. The wound where the knife had penetrated her chest was shallow, though painful, and they had to clean it with some kind of antibacterial cream before they taped a piece of gauze over it. She was advised to seek her physician or the emergency room first thing in the morning, and once the paramedic had moved away from her, the police men approached to take her statement.
Brígh stumbled over her worlds frequently as she relived the experience. They looked a bit skeptical as she described what the man had looked like, because it was not very often people walked around with horns and yellow eyes and razor sharp teeth, though Cadence, who had been in many local theater productions throughout high school, defended her description fervently by pointing out the horns were probably prosthetics, the teeth could have been filed to a point, and contact lenses came in many colors, especially in the mid fall.
There were still a few questions she had difficulty explaining.
"How did he get in?"
"Are you sure the door was locked?"
"You think he scaled the wall to get through the window?"
"And he just fell into this glass wall?"
Honestly the only explanation she had for him breaking in was the open window, because she knew she had not opened it and the door had been locked when she flung it open to run away. That prospect was somewhat daunting because it meant he had to have been inside her apartment before she had woken up, and she had sat down drawing or at least an hour before he made his presence known.
And… and Brígh had no idea how he had managed to get enough momentum to break the glass. The wall made of a thick and sturdy type of glass, the same thickness as the rest of the walls. She knew that enough force might cause it to shatter as it had, though where that force had come from was still a mystery.
Because she had not pushed him, she had been at his mercy on the floor, and he had suddenly gone flying through the air. She could offer no explanation for it, though thankfully the paramedics seemed to think she had blacked out because she had bruising on eighty percent of her body that she had no recollection of attaining. In fact only the pain that had abruptly surged through her could explain it, and it had only lasted for all of ten seconds before it had stopped, and he had not been touching her at that point. She could not find a way to tell anyone about that without it sounding as crazy as it was.
"One last thing," the officer in charge said, interrupting her thoughts. Brígh nodded silently, pulling the warm blanket around her as she awaited his next question. "You said that there was a knife in your windshield," She nodded again, lifting her head to look at him. "It was still in it when you drove here? It was still there when you got out of the car?"
Brígh frowned, thinking back. "… Yes,"
The two policemen shared a look.
Connor tightened his arm around her. "What?" he snapped at them, his voice rough and angry.
"… the knife is missing."
Brígh stared at him confusion, though her brother looked as if he was readying himself to get up and run out the door, murderous intent in his eyes. "Are you saying," he hissed lowly, his accent thickening with his anger. "That the man who assaulted my sister may have followed her here? That he may be here now?"
Cadence sat down on the other side of Brígh, glaring at their brother. "Shut up," she said scathingly, wrapping her own arm around the younger woman, who was now sheet white and shaking at the mere thought that he had followed here. Surely that had been her imagination, the feeling of being watched the entire way here, because she had not seen another vehicle behind her the entire way once she reached this part of the city. Cadence's gray were shot to the policemen, narrowing at them. "And you. What are you still doing just standing there? Go—"
"Cadence Eileen," their father interrupted, silencing her with one look. He approached her, settling a heavy hand on her shoulder when it looked as if she may protest. "I apologize for my daughter," he said evenly. "We are all a bit emotional at the moment. Please do whatever you can to catch the assailant," There was a clear dismissal in his voice, and he waited until they accordingly escorted themselves out of his home before he addressed his family. "Connor, lock up the house."
As the younger man moved to obey, Cadence looked at her father. "Are we all sleeping in here tonight, then?" she asked, only to choke as he removed a small handgun from the back of his sleep pants. He gave her a serious look, and she watched in shock as he checked the safety and the clip before he moved to stand in front of the monitors.
The locking mechanism that sealed the panic room was engaged the moment they were all inside, the heavy metal sliding into place with a loud clank with a sort of finality to it. "This door does not open." He gave them each a severe look, making sure they understood the order. Once satisfied he would be obeyed, he nodded sharply, his gaze softening as he looked at his youngest daughter. "Brígh… you will not be going back to your apartment."
Brígh met his eyes, nodding slowly. "… Okay,"
"Connor and I will go gather your things tomorrow," he told her steadily. He briefly touched his hand to the top of each of his childrens heads, and squeezed his wife's shoulder. "For now, everyone get some rest. Extra blankets are in the cupboard," He himself moved stiffly over to an office chair in front of the security monitors, the gun sitting on the table in front of him, eyes glued to the screen unblinkingly.
Brígh accepted the loving embraces from the rest of her family before she settled herself against a pillow, smiling briefly as her siblings climbed on to the bed on either side of her by some kind of unspoken agreement. Their mother and sister-in-law excused themselves to one of the other bedrooms, closing the door behind them so that the glare of the monitors would not disturb her rest. She smiled at Connor and Cadence both haltingly as they each flung an arm over her stomach, drawing her close between them.
Wrapped in a cocoon of warmth, Brígh finally allowed herself to fall asleep in their arms.
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Cadence sneezed as she unpacked the box of bathroom essentials that had been brought over two days ago. Her father and brother had spent the entire morning packing away all of Brígh's personal items the day after the attack, to bring them back to her old suite in the house and since then they had simply say untouched save for a few changes of clothes. She herself had kept her sister company throughout the days, successfully coaxing her out of hiding once their father was positive that the attacker was nowhere on the property.
The young woman had been careful to censor herself the entire time she spent with Brígh, not wanting to bring up the subject of the traumatic event her baby sister had gone through a few nights ago. Cadence had been horrified when she had come down the stairs to find her sister in such a state. It had shaken the entire family, because they had never thought that anything like this could happen to any of them, let alone the youngest.
Brígh was the baby of the family, and they were all protective of her.
Despite being younger, Brígh had always been the one that she relied on when things went wrong. Cadence was very aware that she had a tendency to disappoint her parents. She knew that she could be irresponsible, even whereas her little sister was concerned. She knew she was immature. Brígh was the golden girl of the family, the one who was attending collage while Cadence had been on break to pursue an acting and singing career since graduating high school. It was as if nature screwed up and had switched their roles at birth.
And she knew that some things needed to change.
Cadence had felt helpless the other night. She had not been able to help her sister, and she knew intellectually that it was not her fault, but that didn't stop her from feeling at least somewhat responsible for everything that happened to her baby sister. Brígh had asked her if she would like to live with her a few months ago. Maybe if she had moved in with her sister, she might have been able to prevent the younger woman from going through that.
"So serious…"
Cadence straightened her back, a fine golden eyebrow rising. She smiled at the other girl carefully, eyeing her for any signs that she may seize in a fit of panic. Not that she was expecting that to happen, because out of all of them, Brígh seemed to be getting over all of this the easiest.
"Hello, baby sister," She eyed the redhead speculatively as she sat another box down. "How are you holding up?"
Brígh sighed softly, closing her eyes in exasperation. She had been asked that question more times than she could count, and no matter how much she reassured everyone they kept asking. "How many times do I have to say that I'm fine until you believe it?"
"About five million more," she told her with an easy smile. "Because fine never really means fine does it?"
"It does when I say it."
"You can say it all you like, pumpkin," Cadence told her. "But until you can go outside without getting all jumpy on us, no one will believe it."
"Then let me go outside," Brígh countered just as easily, crossing her arms. "You may have let me out of the basement, but the moment I moved for the door to get some fresh air everyone protested. I have a life, and I refuse to let some psycho scare me into hiding. The police have combed the property several times over, as have Da and Connor, and there is no sign of the creep anywhere. They are doing everything they can to find him. Meanwhile, life does go on…"
"There are still places he could be hiding," she insisted.
Brígh sighed again. "And there are still thousands of more people like him, or even worse than him roaming the streets," she said reasonably. "Yes, he scared me. Yes, he might know where I live. And yes, I'm still a little jumpy and upset. But you guys can't keep me in here. Eventually I will have to leave. I still have classes to attend…"
"Da took care of it," Cadence reminded her. "He called your teachers and said you would be absent."
"My classes are connected to my sanity,"
"Don't be so melodramatic. That's my job." She stared at her sister for a good long moment as Brígh sorted through the box of clothes despondently. The bruise had already begun to fade at a swift rate, the split in her lip already sealed over. Cadence had never had bruises so severe or a split lip, so she had no idea what the recovery time would be on either but two days to heal from such injuries seemed to be nothing short of miraculous.
Perhaps the body was just healing as fast as the other woman's spirit seemed to. Cadence had to concede that she did seem to be okay. She had been acting like her normal self since the morning after the attack. It was everyone else that had been walking on egg shells. Brígh was a very independent young woman, and being cooped up inside of a gilded cage for her own good was sure to slowly drive her mad.
Cadence inwardly winced, knowing that she would probably be acting the same way as her sister had this happened to her instead. The only difference would be that she would have had no problem telling everyone to back off before getting in her car and driving away to go shopping. Brígh was too much of a goody-two-shoes to ever do anything like that, and would allow herself to be bullied into submission to appease everyone else.
"Oh, quit looking so pathetic," she huffed, abandoning her own box as she grabbed her sister by the wrist and forced her to sit down on the chair in front of the vanity.
Brígh eyed her in bewilderment. "What are you doing?"
Scooping up several cosmetic items, Cadence set them all out and glanced at her. "We are leaving," she told her evenly, a happy gleam in her eyes as Brígh lit up at the news. "Though I refuse to go anywhere with you looking like you've gone rounds with a boxer, so hold still…" She selected the concealer, beginning to gently apply it to the nasty bruise covering the side of her little sister's face.
"Where are we going?" the other woman asked after a moment.
Cadence frowned thoughtfully, narrowing her eyes in concentration as she next used foundation. "We can go to that little coffee shop I like, maybe walk around and do some shopping," she decided finally. "Does it really matter, as long as we get out of here for a while?" She nodded in satisfaction when Brígh shook her head earnestly. "We can finish unpacking when we get back…"
Once Cadence was finished applying the makeup, she sent her sister off to go change into something more suitable than plaid pajama bottoms and a ratty old top while she put everything away. She herself had been dressed to perfection in a casual though glamorous sundress, with straps that tied at the base of her neck and a tight fitting bodice that flared out at her hips. Brígh came out a few moments later in a long cream colors skit and matching top, and Cadence sighed at her sister's lack of fashion sense.
"At least wear the lacy camisole I bought you for your birthday," she insisted, retrieving it from the pile of already sorted clothing, scowling when she saw it still had the tags on it. In fact, she realized after a cursory glance, several of the shirts still had tags, the prices obscured by a black permanent marker. "Do you ever wear anything I buy for you?" Cadence was just about to turn around to give her little sister a look, one that would say that she was impossible and irritating, only she paused when she saw something peeking out of the pile of shirts.
"Of course I do, Cades."
"What the hell is this?"
Brígh frowned at the incredulous tone, though her confusion turned to brief panic when she recognized the article of clothing that her sister was holding between two fingers, away from her person as if it were poisonous. She recognized it as the rumpled button down shirt she had found in her kitchen sink the day after her birthday.
"It belongs to Alec," she said, hoping the tremor she could hear in her own voice was lost on her sister.
"Nice try, pumpkin," Cadence said with an unladylike snort of disbelief. "Alec has money, and he knows how to spend it wisely. He would never be caught dead in a cheap knockoff like this. What is this, cotton?" She peered at the label of the shirt in distaste. "Alec had better taste than this. And besides," Her nose wrinkled at the smell of the shirt. "This is not the cologne Alec uses."
Brígh bit her lip. "Because it doesn't belong to Alec," she admitted, searching her head for a plausible excuse for why there would be another man in her apartment. She should have said it belonged to Connor. Although that could have been just as damning, considering that the only dress clothes he owned was the suit he had worn to his own wedding last month.
Cadence looked less than impressed with the answer. "And who does it belong to?"
"Okay, you caught me," Brígh said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. "We are working on the human figure in my drawing class. One of my classmates agreed to pose for me the other day. It probably belongs to him, if you're so sure it isn't Alec's."
A skeptical eyebrow rose. "… He left without his shirt?"
Brígh shrugged helplessly, her face the picture of innocence. "He had a sweat shirt. I'll have to remember to bring it to him next Tuesday," She took the shirt from her sister, folding it precariously and placing it on her drafting table with the art supplies she took with her to class just to make it more believable. She heard Cadence make a sound of disbelief, though thankfully deciding to drop the subject, and she released a haggard breath.
The last thing Brígh wanted was to tell anyone else what had happened. Cadence would blow it completely out of proportion, and she would blame herself because she had taken Brígh to the club that night and had left her there. Her guilt would cause her to attach herself to her sister, and it would suffocate Brígh. Eventually she would end up blabbing to their parents, and who knew what would happen should their father find out.
No, she just wanted to put it behind her.
Brígh was already hitting herself, not even sure what had made her keep the shirt rather than throw it out with the trash. It was probably a strange thing to do, to keep the shirt that belonged to a man she couldn't even remember. Alec would probably be upset should he discover that she was keeping it, because she was apparently clinging to the only tangible thing left of that night.
Cadence's voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you ready?"
Brígh smiled at her weakly as she grabbed the forgotten camisole and changed quickly, if only to appease the older woman, and she and her sister walked side by side throughout the house. They were careful to avoid being seen by anyone other than their mother, who only requested that they return within a few hours so that the men would not go insane trying to find them. Soon both girls were on their way to the into the city, Cadence was pleased to see a genuine smile on her sister's face for the first time in days as the younger woman basked in the sunlight and soft breeze.
Today was going to be a great day. Brígh knew that with a strange certainty that she desperately tried not to linger on for too long. She had been having a lot of these feelings the past few days. Even before the psychotic man had broken in to her apartment—that day she had known that something was just… off. She had been anxious that entire day, and it had not just been the dream that had caused her sudden burst of insomnia that night.
Every day the feelings got stronger, though they could not be called feelings exactly because it was… more than that. It was a sense of knowing. The morning after the attack she had woken up seconds before she received a frantic phone call from Alec, who had regrettably been informed of the attack and had been panic stricken and furious by what had happened. Yesterday she had flinched in anticipation before her mother accidentally dropped a box containing the dinnerware from her apartment. Earlier this very day she had caught hold of Connor by the wrist and tugged him safely away from the staircase, knowing with absolute certainty that had she not, he would have tripped and broken his arm in three places.
And Brígh was having difficulty finding an explanation for it all, especially when coupled with how she managed to get away that night. She had not pushed him, had not hit him… there wasn't even then slightest possibility that she had enough strength to send him flying through the air with enough force to bring down a wall, even if it was made of glass. Was there even a plausible explanation? Or… was something else happening?
It was actually a blessing that Brígh had been barred from leaving the house these past few days. Not that she enjoyed being cooped up, but it had given her the opportunity to go through the events of that night over and over again in her mind. Replaying it and analyzing everything little detail she could remember…
No one would believe what had really happened that night.
The young woman wasn't even sure if she believed what happened. She could not find a way to explain any of it, unless she was suffering from stress and an over active imagination. And that was entirely possible. She could have hallucinated it all, when in reality she really had pushed him hard enough to send him through a wall. There were cases of mothers lifting cars off of their children because of freak adrenaline rushes… right? The only thing that caused her to doubt this theory was the fact that she had not pushed him— his body had simply soared through the air.
Brígh glanced at her sister, who remained oblivious as she sang along to a song blaring through the speakers of her car. She would put it all out of her mind for now, because today was a great day and she would surely ruin it if she thought on this topic for much longer. The young woman signed inwardly and turned away again, resting her chin upon her forearm while watching the scenery pass by through the open window.
¸.·´¯·»¸.·´¯·»End«·´¯·.¸«·´¯·.¸
¸.·´¯·»Chapter«·´¯·.¸
Had trouble sleeping last night, so it was my sudden insomnia that allowed me to work on this. And I am having fun writing this story, because the tone of it is just so much different than what I have been writing recently, so I do think I will continue to update it regularly after all though Finding Yourself is still going to be my first priority. I'm not sure if I will be able to post every week like I try to with my other story though.
Lynx