Grace's POV
I couldn't believe it.
Even though I looked at the body. Looked up and saw Moriarty. Walked into the building. Punched in that curse—sorry, code. Walked into the apartment. I knew each step would lead to failure. Yet I still walked through the doors of Hell into the House of Death. Figuratively and literally speaking.
The moment he stopped talking, I quickly backed up from BOTH of the trapdoors. I knew better, but obviously not enough, because I still was the one who broke in to Moriarty's house. I was still "that idiot" and always would be.
I could hear him calling out to me. "Damn girl!" I thought that was the worst of it. But when I heard him load his gun, and call out his horror-movie worthy comment "Come out, come out, wherever you are," and shoot even more bullets—I lost count and just couldn't, I was too scared—I ran. For my life. Because obviously, my life was something was after.
I heard his footsteps, so I ran again. Further into the depths of his house I didn't know about. I had no clue where I was going, and when I entered an unknown room, I had to hope for the best. Because it was the only thing I could do to keep myself sane. But when I entered another room, I knew I ran the wrong way, because I ran into a room with the only the exit the one I came in. And going back out would be a death wish.
I climbed up the ladder to the next apartment—apparently he owned the one above AND below him—and found myself in a closet. The door was locked, so I kicked down the ladder I climbed up. I didn't care that he could have heard, but at least there was a bed where the ladder fell on. I too k my legs and spread them out so they couldn't be seen if he looked up.
I heard footsteps enter the room. And obviously, they weren't mine. I held my hand over my mouth, and I cried. New watery tears added to my old, tried up ones. I wanted to scream, but I knew I couldn't. I just sat there for what seemed like hours. Every second turned into a minute, and every minute turned into an hour. I kept hearing footsteps, and right when I thought that I was safe, I heard even more. But when I finally thought he walked out, suddenly I heard footsteps, right under me. I flipped my hair to look to my right.
Dumb move. He could have seen my hair.
I heard him start to walk away, because his footsteps kept getting softer. I thought I was in the clear, so I sighed.
"I love your hair," he said, his face inches from mine.
I screamed as the bullet entered my leg.
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