Stanley charged off the bed toward the splintered wood, but I scooped him up before he could get hurt, tucking the lashing ball of teeth in the bathroom for his own safety, not that he went quietly, furiously barking as the door shut.
‘The police are on their way!” I warned, searching the sparsely-furnished room for something to protect myself with, winding up with nothing but a small metal trash can.
“Let them come! I haven’t done anything wrong!” he snarled, the thud against the door that followed resulting in a cracking sound, the wood surrounding the locks giving way.
“You’re breaking into my room!” I screeched, launching forward to push against the now-rocking dresser, the door shifting against his weight.
“Can’t we talk like old times, dear?” Another slam of his shoulder almost knocked me on my ass, the dresser lurching toward me. “I’d love to catch up on our buddy, Ever!”
The next blow was more vicious than the last, and I came to the horrifying conclusion I wouldn’t be able to hold him off for long. Once the door broke, I was done for.
So I used the only weapon I had: my voice. I kept screaming, hoping someone would come to my rescue. Anyone. How could people stand by while a lunatic tried to break into a woman’s room?
But he kept coming, a battering ram of muscle destroying the door with each strike. Soon, his fingers were slipping through, clutching at the door frame as he gained leverage.
I gripped the small, cylindrical trash can and swung, a sickening crunch sounding as the metal met his digits followed by a roar, a final blow against the door sending me and the dresser flying. I barely avoided the television as it fell, rolling to the side at the last second.
When I looked back at the door, I saw the devil where it once stood, Rick’s chest heaving as he eyed me with rage, the fingers I struck hanging mangled from his left hand. “Bad idea, kid.”
I reached for the can again, but in one stride, he kicked it away, the metal clanging off the bed frame.
“What do you want?” I growled, refusing to let him see my fear. Not giving him the satisfaction of tears. He’d come an awfully long way, and I’d make sure he left disappointed.
“Seems like you and I know a little something that the world should know, but your boyfriend doesn’t want the word out there.”
“You’re fucking delusional,” I spat, summoning my inner Lil.
He stomped over, looming above as I lie flat on my back, his booted foot resting on my chest, pushing me into the disgusting carpet beneath me, stiff and putrid with god knows what holding the polyester upright. It was a horrible way to go if it was my time, but I wouldn’t go out a coward.
“Me?” he laughed, leaning forward to press nearly all his weight on my chest, squeezing the air out of my lungs in an instant. “You’re the one still protecting someone who left you to die. If I hadn’t found you, I’m sure one of the others would have eventually.”
The others?
I couldn’t reply, his foot still wedged between my breasts, forcing the wire of my bra into my sternum. “Damn shame, too. I know a whole bunch of people that would love to get their hands on you.”
As I looked up at the man I thought to be a friend at one time, I saw nothing but hatred staring back at me in his green eyes. It was then that I understood I wasn’t getting out of the hotel room alive. Not if he had his way.
But I didn’t want to die. Not like that. Not before seeing Ethan again. Not before meeting our child, the positive testing on the bathroom vanity giving me all the strength I needed to make sure I’d walk out of there.
I couldn’t wait for the police to save me.
I had to do it myself.
I bucked upright, on one hand, trying to shake him off, and on the other, hoping to distract him as I searched the surrounding floor for anything to help me. It worked, a small shard of table leg finding my hand. It was sharp, slicing through skin as I wrapped my fingers around it.
Rick forced his heel downward, the pain forcing my back to the floor, but not restricting my hand. I swung it upright, jabbing into his left leg from behind with the splinter of wood, plowing through tissue as it tunneled into the back of his knee until I hit bone, a feral cry erupting from his lips as he staggered to the side, his foot lifting from my chest, allowing me to scramble to my feet.
I made it two steps before a hand gripped my hair, but I was ready, whirling to slash with a piece of wood I’d palmed in my other hand. The wooden spike embedded in his forearm, and he instantly released his hold, giving me a chance to sprint to the bathroom.
Most people would’ve run straight out the door, but I couldn’t leave Stanley. He was all I had left of Lil.
As soon as I opened the door, he bolted, ten pounds of rage leaping over the broken wood with speed I hadn’t thought possible given his paunchiness. Like the world’s most unorthodox police canine, he hurled himself in the air toward Rick, teeth sinking into the crotch of his pants, a cry unlike any I’d ever heard barreling from Rick’s chest, somewhere between a cat in heat and an eagle screeching.
He swung his hands forward to strike the dog, but Stanley wasn’t having it, thrashing about with a mouthful of man-berries, refusing to budge. “Get this fucking thing off me!” he shouted, face nearly purple in pain.
I heard the stomping of boots then, the harsh order that
