Dahlia's Point of view
The rain lashed against the windowpanes, each boom of thunder echoing the turmoil in my chest. Curled beneath the covers, I squeezed my eyes shut, desperately trying to banish the relentless memories. Sleep, a precious escape, remained stubbornly out of reach.
With a sigh, I yanked the covers over my head and fumbled for my headphones. Scrolling through my playlist, I landed on the song my mom used to sing to me every night. Her favorite. Tears welled up as a kaleidoscope of shared moments flooded my mind. It had been a year and a half since she had passed away, the rain mirroring the relentless tears of that day.
Head throbbing, I decided to grab some water. Descending the stairs, a shadowy figure in the living room sent a jolt through me. I assumed it was Dad, drowning his sorrows as usual. But as I drew closer, the figure shifted, revealing a stranger dressed in an expensive black suit. A gun glinting ominously in one hand, the other tucked in his pocket, the stranger's eyes scanned the room with an intimidating intensity.
Fear coiled in my gut. This wasn't Dad. I darted back, my heart pounding, and melted into the shadows, crouching down in a corner, contemplating my next move. Suddenly, I heard the stranger's footsteps, his approach sending a shiver down my spine.
Peeking behind the wall, I saw he was inches away from me. My heart raced, the only sound I could hear. I closed my eyes, waiting for him to find me.
"Clear," a gruff voice echoed up the stairs, helping me escape the stranger's grasp. I let out a sigh of relief, at least for now.
"Every room," a second voice, laced with frustration, added.
"Just how many were they, and why were these suit men in my home? Och, this is going to be one hell of a rainy night."
"That damn man must have skipped town. The boss won't be pleased."
"If I ever get my hands on him," the man snarled, "he's a dead man."
Terror choked my voice. Who were these men? Why were they here? Where was Dad? What had he gotten himself into?
My dad had always been a loving parent. He was always there for me, always planning special activities for us. But everything changed when my mom died. He suddenly turned into a completely different person, likely blaming me for my mom's death. He got drunk all the time and sometimes didn't come home for days. He usually hit me every time he was drunk, pushing me away and saying that looking at me brought him pain.
Lately, my dad had been associating with strange people. Last week, an SUV dropped him off at our front door with bruises all over. I tried reporting it to the police but my dad warned me not to. Since then, he never hit me no matter how drunk he was, he even tried to have a conversation with me a few times.
We were finally making progress, and now these men were here to take my dad from me. I wouldn't let that happen, but first, I needed to find a way out of this.
How could I escape these men?
Questions swirled in my mind, but one thing was crystal clear: I had to stay hidden.
But for how long?
I had to call the police. Steeling my nerves, panic clawed at my throat. My phone, my lifeline, was in my room.
My heart pounding against my ribs, I darted into the pantry, the familiar scent of spices a small comfort in the face of looming danger. Just as I crouched behind a shelf, I heard their footsteps getting closer. I was tense, and my senses heightened.
They seemed to be searching systematically, probably because they might have heard me when I rushed into the pantry. A strangled sob escaped my lips, but I clamped a hand over my mouth, making myself invisible.
Their heavy steps kept drawing closer. I prayed desperately not to be found. But my silent prayer went unanswered. The pantry door swung open, the harsh light blinding me for a moment. Rough hands grabbed my arms, hauling me out of my hiding spot.
"Looks like we found the little runaway," one of the men sneered.
Adrenaline pumping, I grabbed a heavy bag of flour, the only weapon within reach, and lunged. Flour erupted in a white cloud, momentarily blinding my attackers. The startled shouts were music to my ears. I used the distraction to my advantage, scrambling past them and out into the hallway.
The rain outside hammered against the windows, a deafening roar that masked the sound of my pounding heart. I dashed towards the stairs to prevent running into the other man in the living room, the polished wood slippery beneath my bare feet. My pursuers were close behind, their heavy footsteps echoing like thunder.
Reaching the landing, I scanned my options. Panic threatened to cloud my judgment, but a sliver of hope remained. I spotted a dusty fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. Desperate, I ripped it from its bracket, aiming the nozzle towards the top of the stairs.
Just as the first figure rounded the corner, I squeezed the trigger. A blast of compressed air and icy water sent the man tumbling back, a startled yelp escaping his lips. The force of the spray brought me precious seconds. I dropped the extinguisher and threw open the window at the end of the hallway, the cold night air washing over me.
Below, a thorny rose bush sprawled across the lawn. It wouldn't be a comfortable landing, but it was my only chance. With a silent prayer, I clambered onto the window ledge, the wind whipping at my hair. The sound of my pursuers getting closer spurred me on. Taking a deep breath, I jumped.
My leap of faith was a desperate gamble. The rain pummeled my face, blurring my vision as I plummeted towards the waiting rose bush. The impact was brutal. Thorns ripped through my clothes, digging into my flesh, and a chorus of gasps escaped my lips. The tangled branches, initially forgiving, gave way under my weight, sending me crashing onto the hard ground below.
Pain exploded in my ankle, a searing agony that stole my breath. Tears welled up in my eyes, but the sting of rain mingled with them, making it difficult to see. Disoriented and whimpering, I lay there for a moment, the weight of my daring escape pressing down on me.
The silence, shattered only by the relentless drumming of the rain, felt like a cruel joke.
Had I escaped? Had they given up the chase?
The sound of heavy footsteps crunching on the wet gravel path shattered the fragile hope. They were coming.
I scrambled to my feet, the pain in my ankle a searing white-hot fire. I stumbled towards the shadows at the edge of the property, the rain offering some semblance of camouflage. But it wasn't enough. A gruff voice called out from behind, laced with a chilling amusement.
"There you are, little one. Playing hide-and-seek in the rain?"
I didn't dare look back. I pushed forward, driven by a primal urge to survive. Each ragged gasp for breath sent a fresh jolt of pain through me, but I didn't dare stop. The pounding of footsteps grew closer, their menacing rhythm echoing through the storm. I could hear their hushed voices, laced with anger, a conversation I didn't understand but whose meaning sent shivers down my spine.
Just when I thought my legs would give way, a strong hand clamped down on my shoulder. A scream tore from my throat as I spun around, the harsh glare of a flashlight momentarily blinding me. My pursuers loomed before me, faces twisted into cruel smiles.
The adrenaline that had fueled my escape evaporated, replaced by a bone-chilling dread. Escape was no longer an option. The rose bush, a symbol of both hope and despair, had become my prison, leading my captors right to me. The storm raged on outside, but within me, a different storm brewed, a tempest of fear and crushing disappointment. My daring escape had ended in a brutal capture.