Bound: A Supernatural Story ✔️

ONE

Holly watched the people in the bar move across the room, as she always did on a Friday night. Sat there and watched, waiting.

Waiting for what, she didn't know.

She knew it would surface sooner or later. A dark, foreboding feeling had consumed her thoughts ever since that night her parents had been killed. It sat in the back of her mind, growing deeper every day, filling her with feelings of caution and anxiety.

So she sat in the bar, under the dim glow of the gas lamps, to drink the pain away.

Not that Holly drank a lot— she was a year underage, but the bartender seemed to fall for her fake every time, so she was in the clear. The alcohol helped soothe her thoughts a little, and took the edge off of things. It made her forget the memories of the screams.

The loud chatter of the regulars pervaded her thoughts, making her blink from the gaze she had fixed on the doorway. Someone was nudging her side.

"Hey, Holl." It was Francis.

Holly turned to beam her best fake smile at him as he tugged at her sleeve. "How's it going?"

Horribly. "Good."

His bright blue frat boy eyes gleamed at her. "Going anywhere tonight?"

She shrugged him off, uncomfortable. 

"No. I think I'm going to stay in tonight." She kept her answer vague, hoping not to pique his interest. Already she could see the glaze in his vision and hear the slight slur in his words.

"Oh. That's tooooo bad." Francis raised his bottle to her and took a swig. "Cause I don't have a date."

She clenched her jaw, focusing on the edge of the wooden bar table, her fingers digging into the hard wood. "Why don't you go find one, Francis?"

"Because," he answered, breathing down her neck. She could smell the beer. "I found you, didn't I?"

Holly sighed and her eyebrow twitched. The bottle fell out of Francis' hand and landed on his lap, spilling liquid all over his pants. His mouth widened. "I...uh...I gotta go." He hopped off the barstool, stumbling a bit, and she could hear some quiet snickers coming from the corner of the room. She smirked, picking the bottle up off the floor.

"Aw, shit." Randy, the bartender, slapped a towel over his shoulder. "That prick should come back and clean up his mess."

"It's okay, Rand, I got this." She smiled up at him, and Randy rubbed the back of his neck, looking uncertain. He handed the towel to her. "Thanks, Holl."

Holly watched as he went to go get her another beer, and sopped up the drink with the rag. Perhaps she could have used magic. But she was exhausted, and didn't feel like spending her last bit of energy on Francis' mess. She had used enough to make him spill it. 

Satisfied with the clean-up job, she faced the counter again, throwing the towel on the counter. Randy re-appeared with her drink in his hand. "Thanks, doll. Appreciate it. It's on the house."

"Thanks." Holly took the drink from him and tapped her fingers on the side of the bottle. 

"So," he said, leaning on the counter, grabbing the towel, and wiping down some wine glasses. "Any plans for tonight?"

Holly's eyes followed a shady looking guy in a dark sweatshirt enter the bar door. "Uh, no, not really," she answered, distracted. "I think I'm just gonna stay in."

"Surely a girl like you has got to pick up a date sooner or later." Randy was just teasing, but Holly felt the words cut deep. 

"No," she said softly. "Not tonight."

The only people that ever carried on a conversation with her were Randy, her past teachers, and drunken frat boys.

Exhibit A. Francis came stumbling out of the bathroom, holding a paper towel to his pants. Holly turned away, trying to hide her face. "Hide me," she mouthed to Randy, and he sighed.

"'Ay, you!" The older man barked at Francis, who turned to look at him, wide-eyed. "Don't you be botherin' this lady tonight. She doesn't want your company."

Holly smiled, thinking to herself that she could handle any guy any day, but it made her feel happy to know someone cared. Francis frowned, stepping back from the barstool. "Hey, man, I don't want any trouble." He was across the room in an instant.

Randy wiped his hands on his wife-beater and grabbed a bunch of clean glasses in his hands. "You're welcome," he said gruffly, nodding to her, and headed to the back. Holly dipped her head, her curls falling around her face, smiling slightly.

She traced her fingers on the ruts in the bar, lifting her gaze slightly to watch the shady guy who had entered minutes before. She had seen him wander over to an empty table in the corner, but he wasn't there. She frowned.

The room seemed to freeze for a moment, and then it passed. Holly was filled with the sense of foreboding again.

The crackle of footsteps outside the door. Holly slid her body around to watch the entrance, her legs uncrossing.

The handle turned.

Something in the back of her mind pricked, like awakening from a long sleep.

She tilted her head, playing with a stray string off of her black sweater. The door swung open, revealing two guys wearing roughed-up jackets and jeans. Her mind whirred. She had seen these two before, somewhere. Alarms were going off in her head.

The shorter one met her gaze and she turned, biting her lip.

Oh, please don't see me please don't see me—

She felt their presences fade, as if they were walking farther away from her.

Holly let out her breath.

She was sure this was what she had been waiting for.