For a moment there was silence. Connie shifted so that she could sit up on the bed, reaching awkwardly for the clothes that had been tossed onto the bedside cabinet. She began to dress, feeling as she did so an odd dissociation with her own body, as though the guilt had already gnawed away every single nerve ending.

Then, from the other side of the bedroom door she heard Eliot's voice, sharp and raised, just one single exclamation of a word that she couldn't make out, and then something heavy hit hard against the other side of the door, making the handle rattle and the whole door shudder.

She wanted to call out, but the words suffocated in the back of her throat. She was motionless, kneeling on the bed listening, straining her ears so hard that her head began to ache and when she tried to swallow she found her mouth was so dry that her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth.

The floorboards creaked, and then again, slowly, evenly. Her mind was starting to fail, like an engine that turned over and over, never kicking into action. She couldn't formulate a thought other than the repetition of the realisation that there was no way out. She glanced at the floor, to the bathroom, to the the walls...no windows.

Everything in her was telling her to move. She had always thought, when faced with an intruder she would fight back, she would pick up the nearest object that she could use as a weapon and she would attack with all she had in her...

Something heavy...she thought suddenly, she looked about the room. Books, books lined the walls, there was nothing...she glanced to the bedside table again, and silently reached out, opening the drawer on his side. She slipped in her hand – it seemed to be his underwear drawer, socks were balled up and set into rows, and black boxers were folded into piles. She closed it gently and opened the next drawer down – an unopened packet of condoms, a notepad, moisturiser...she pushed her hand to the back and pulled out a small pearl encased pen knife. Silently she closed the drawer, holding the knife within her hand and slipped off the bed.

She knelt down and lay flat against the floor, there were old wooden crates beneath the bed, and she found, if she moved one up slightly she could crawl between them, feeling her way until she was wedged between four drawers, two on either side, each filled with neatly folded clothes.

She held the knife beneath her, her hands balled against her chest, her eyes on the door. The creaking had stopped, and if she held her breath she was sure she could hear the murmur of voices, and then there was the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor, a soft sound, and then a dull thud, and then the door handle turned, and the door was pushed open so that it bounced back on it's hinges and knocked loudly against the book case.

Before her was a pair boots, black boots, scuffed at the toe and laced loosely over black jeans. She was still holding her breath, her lungs burned and her face felt hot and cold all at once.

"She already gone?"

The voice made her exhale and she clutched the tiny silver knife tighter against her chest.

A second pair of shoes was behind the first, brown pointed shoes with blue jeans. The pair of black boots moved slowly, until they were out of sight.

"Either that man's a tranny, or she's still here."

The man with the black boots said, and with a kick, one of her shoes was sent skittering across the floor to the door where the other man nudged it out of the way.

"And there's only one place to hide."

He added.

-.-

xxx