Her Last Hour by Daniel Hurst

Author:Daniel Hurst [Hurst, Daniel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-03-29T16:00:00+00:00

28

The pain caused by the blow to my head has me seeing stars, and as I fall to the carpet at the top of the stairs, I don’t even have the presence of mind to be grateful that I didn’t fall down the steps. I’m too dazed to know what is really going on, and as my head throbs and I struggle to keep my eyes open, I realise the danger I am in now is as real as it’s ever been.

While I might have been tied up, threatened and chased, I’ve not actually been physically harmed yet.

Until now.

I can feel something running through my hair at the side of my head and suspect it is blood, though I can’t confirm that because my eyelids are still heavy, and it’s taking all my energy just to breathe.

My hearing is also affected - I’m hoping temporarily, as a result of the blow to the head I sustained, but for now, all sounds are muffled, making it even harder for me to figure out what is going on. I can make out somebody shouting and I think it’s Rosie, but then the shouting stops, and I fear that it can’t be a good sign.

A few more sounds mix in with the roaring in my head, and as I roll onto my back in the hopes that it will alleviate the aching in my skull, I wonder if the man in the balaclava is now working to silence the witnesses before he returns his attention back to me.

Fred and Rosie don’t deserve to die here tonight, despite what they were doing earlier, nor does Norma, the poor woman who is still passed out in bed, or at least I hope she is. They are just people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, although I’m well aware that I brought this danger to their doorstep, and they wouldn’t be in such peril if it wasn’t for me.

But what was I supposed to do? I had a right to try and survive this, didn’t I? But right now, it seems it’s made no difference.

I’m still going to end up dead, regardless.

I briefly open my eyes, but all I see is the dark ceiling above me, and it takes me a few seconds to realise that the darting yellow lights I can see shooting around the lampshade are just the after-effects of the head trauma I suffered.

That man hit me hard, but I bet he could have hit me harder. The fact that he didn’t means that he doesn’t want me to die just yet. Maybe he really is keen to force me to eke out my final hour. But what about the others? He doesn’t need to prolong their suffering, does he?

I try to sit up, but even the slightest attempt to lift my head off the soft carpet results in me feeling sick, never mind dizzy. I let out a groan, but the escaping of air from my mouth does nothing to rid me of the pain I’m in.

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