Paul takes a step back and then charges shoulder first at me. I try to dodge it, but his arm extends to his side, and he tackles me as we both plow into the door. It explodes off the hinges. Splinters rain down as the door cracks and crumbles beneath us. We land with a crash on the bathroom tiles.
Paul is grabbing frantically, searching for the syringe, and I take the chance to smash him hard in the face again, aiming for his swollen, bloody nose. A direct hit makes him wince and pull back his fist. He slams it down, but I move my head in just enough time for him to put a hole through what remains of the door. I grab at his eyes as his weight presses down onto me, keeping me from being able to escape or grab something to use as a weapon.
As I claw at his face, one hand grabs for my throat, and he clamps down hard. I can feel my windpipe being squeezed. I know it’s only a few moments before he will choke me out. Suddenly a searing pain rockets across my cheek, and I realize he is punching me with the handcuff around his fist.
My arms feel weak, and I have a hard time flailing at him. He hits me again, hard. Blood bubbles up in my mouth, and I spit out a stream of it onto his hand, still wrapped around my throat. I roll my head to the side to see the fist that has punched me is clenched around something else now. Panic runs up my spine.
The syringe is jammed into my shoulder before I can react, and I kick wildly when it goes in. One of my flails hits him low, and he crumples a bit, giving me just enough room to wiggle out from under him. Adrenaline pumps through my body to counteract the drugs I know are going to hit me any second. I grab the arm that had been choking me, wrapping my legs around it. Popping my hips, I am able to get my body weight pinned between the doorframe and the bathroom sink. There is nowhere for him to go, and his elbow is being bent at such an angle that all it takes is for him to move the wrong way by just an inch and…
He howls in pain as his elbow snaps. I let go of him and hop onto his back. Wrapping my arms around his neck from behind, I cinch up hard, pressing my knee into his lower back. With only one arm and on his stomach, he is helpless. I hold him tight under the chin, constricting his breathing with both arms until I hear him snoring in my grip. When I let go, his face smashes into the tile, and I wipe my mouth with my sleeve before yanking the handcuffed wrist over to the toilet. I snap the other side of the cuff around the pipe bolted into the wall and stand up, trying to catch my breath.
With Paul finally handcuffed, battered, and bloodied, but no longer coming at me, I drag myself up and into the bedroom where I left my phone, gasping for breath. I purposely didn't want it in the room with me where I was waiting. It was too much of a risk that he’d see the phone and destroy it. The only landline in the room is in the bedroom, but I wanted to be able to quickly call the contacts I had in place.
My vision blurry and breathing labored, I grab it and hit the first number saved.
“Are you alright?” Sam asks as soon as he picks up.
“Please just come,” I gasp.
“Be there in a second.”
The call drops, and the dizziness takes over. Drawing in a deep breath to try to flush my body with oxygen, I head back into the living room. Every step is wobbly, and the room seems to tip back and forth as I walk. Flattening my hand on the wall, I feel for the light switch and hit it. The lamp bursting on stings in my eyes. I feel like it almost physically knocks me back.
Grabbing onto the back of the chair, I hold myself up and keep my eyes trained on the doorframe to the bathroom, waiting for any sign that Paul might try to break out. Fortunately, it's only a few more moments before the door opens, and Sam runs inside. I let go of the back of the chair to open my arms to him. Just as he reaches me and goes to take me into his arms, my legs collapse, and I fall into darkness.*****
I wake up to the sharp smell of antiseptic and the harsh feeling of gauze against raw, open wounds. Sam's is the first face I see, and I nearly cry with happiness. He cups his hand against my cheek, and I tilt my face into it, kissing his warm skin.
“What happened?” I ask.
“He got you with his syringe,” Sam says. “The sedative intended for Agent Harding got into you. But you managed to fight it off before the full dose. You were able to stay functional long enough to fight him off before the adrenaline wore off and the drugs kicked in. But once you had him cuffed and called me, everything shut down.”
“How long have I been out?”
“A few hours,” he says.
Fear jumps up in my heart, and I try to get to my feet, but Sam gently presses me back down into the bed. The
