How About Seven? ✔

27. After The Fall

My heart squeezed, painfully tight. First Kaylan, now Emrys. Father was right, they would come after them. They would come after all that I loved.

They would come after my friends.

"What do you want?" My voice was harsh and hoarse in the night air.

Storeroom Stalker said nothing but turned away, walking into the gloom and disappearing around the bend. The plastic bags I had been holding crashed to the ground and I sprinted after him.

He led me on a fair bit of chase, twisting around the backs of the shops, always keeping just out of my sight. My head went wild imagining what he could have done to Emrys, and the frenzied breaths that fell from my lips had little to do with the running.

He finally stopped near a line of abandoned shoplots. Slowing to a light jog he approached one of the shops, its metal shutters down. With minimal effort he placed both hands under the shutters and lifted. For a moment he paused, shooting me a sideways glance. Then he stepped inside.

I hesitated. Alarm bells were pinging everywhere, just everywhere; we were alone, he obviously knew his turf, while I was half-panicked and in foreign territory. But this was Emrys we were talking about. He was annoying and immature and completely childish at times, but he was my friend. He did nothing wrong.

But he did, a voice slithered in my head. He made the mistake of being your friend.

I told that voice to shut up and went inside the shop.

The second I entered something somewhere clicked, and the metal shutters banged down behind me. Lights flashed on overhead.

Emrys was nowhere in sight.

There was the sound of a gun being cocked. Storeroom Stalker stood a few feet away, weapon leveled at my forehead, stance ready. And this time, the arm that held it did not shake like how it had shake as it held the knife in the alley, such a long time ago. 

This time, he was sure.

Well chocolatey fudge.

Damn right, it was. After all, Emrys had been holding a standard Faber Castell blue pen, it was hardly anything rare, and could be bought for one dollar at any stationery store. There was no guarantee the pen Storeroom Stalker threw at me had belonged to Emrys. But it was too late now.

The shop rang with emptiness. There was no furniture, no wallpaper on the walls, no leftover items abandoned by previous owners. In short, there was nothing for me to defend myself with and no places to hide. There was just me, him, and a well-aimed gun.

My heart relaxed in a little hiccup of relief. At least Emrys was fine. He was probably back at the store now, moaning and wailing over how I had unceremoniously dumped all the chips on the floor. Such sacrilege! And then Storeroom Stalker walked a little closer and my heart went back to pumping its way out of my chest.