Grace's POV

I was scared. It wasn't that horror scared, it was the suspicion scared. It wasn't that I was just pulled into the house of the devil. Or I was just dangling above death. It was Moriarty saying he had "other plans" for me. Other plans could not be good.

HE dragged me to his front door. I tried shaking off his arm, but he refused to let go of me. Instead, every time I tried getting out of his grasp, he tightened his grip even harder. "You will follow me," he said. "And you will not fuss about it."

"Not like I have a choice," I yelled back. He yanked me.

Then he had a change of direction. He shut his door and brought me back to the staircase to his basement. I was sure he was finally going to torture me and kill me, or maybe do more…I got those thoughts out of my head.

But instead, he brought me past my room, and into the other. There was a woman, with brown hair. Her head was covered with a bag.

"This could be you," he said. He laughed. "But you're not being tortured physically. You're just being tortured with fear." He laughed his devilish laugh.

I was scared. My eyes were opened wide, and my mouth was gaping. I wanted to strangle Moriarty, and scream in his face. I wanted to cuss and spit at him. But I knew I had to close my eyes, keep my mouth shut, and keep my hands to myself. Because I knew he could do this. He couldn't control me. He wouldn't. He wouldn't because I wouldn't let him.

He led me out of the room, and back to his front door. He opened it and he let me through the hallway. He got out a rope and tied me to a table out in the lobby, near the staircases.

"Not like you have a choice, but wait here and shut up."

He left me, tied up to a table, in the middle of the 25th floor. How normal. Either way, I was happy to be inside, sitting on solid ground.

Sooner or later, I figured, someone would come by. And soon enough, an elderly woman walked by. She looked at me weirdly.

"Hey," I said, smiling

"Do you…" she started. She struggled to get words out, while I just sat, smiling at her. "Do you need any help?" I tried to be as sarcastic and as rude as possible, because obviously, I did.

"Nope. I'm only tied to a table by a rope, and a murderer is chasing after me and almost killed me. Not much help is needed." Luckily, I planned it perfectly. I put my shoe in the doorway on the way out, so his door wouldn't close all the way. Either way, the person screamed. The girl screamed.

"That would be him—the murderer," I laughed. The woman walked away with a scared look on her face. "Nice meeting you," I called out after her.

Unfortunately, Moriarty eventually came back. I guess I wouldn't want to be tied up to a table with rope forever, but I hate Moriarty even more.

"Let's go!" he yelled at me, and started to untie me.

"You know, I've heard of a great anger management class at Oxford. You might want to try it, or at least check it out." He acting like he didn't hear me. "How rude. Anyways, where are we going? Field trip?" I continued sarcastically.

"Shut your damn mouth!" He untied me.

"Whoa, calm down with the cussing! Where we going?"

"It's a surprise." I guess that's his way of giving in. He smiled. And telling by his smile, it was a good one for him, which meant it was a bad for for me.

He led me to the staircases, but instead of going down, he went up. He grabbed my arm. "You have any lotion?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Your hands must be burning from the cable. Put some lotion on." I pulled out my lotion and my water bottle, poured some lotion into my bottle, mixed it around, and poured the water/lotion mixture on my hands. So I wasn't slippery. I had a feeling I'd need my hands.

He kept going and we ended up on the roof. He laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" I asked.

"This is the roof my wife died on."

"She wasn't your wife."

"Shut up!" he yelled. I looked off the roof, at the harbor.

"And this is the roof you will die on." He grabbed me and brought me to the edge. 400 feet down. I shuddered. It made 250 feet look like a step. This was the whole staircase.

He pulled up the scaffolding—or what was left of it, the cable, and he laughed again.

"You can catch the cable for the two-hour long ride down, that I will be giving you after I push you, or you can fall down to the ground."

"I looked at him, deep into his eyes. "Why are you doing this?" I started crying. Moriarty stared into my eyes, for only a few seconds. "Because I love you." He shoved me as hard as he could off the roof. I had no time to react to my most likely death. Only a tear could escape my eyes before I faced the brutal truth: maybe dying is better. Maybe not living where Moriarty loves me—maybe dying really is better.

And I told myself at this time, to let go. Because I knew there wasn't any hope left for me.

I couldn't do that to myself.