Her first instinct was to kiss his face, all over, hands tugging away the gagging, rank cloth from over his mouth, frantically untying rope that was wrapped up and down his body.
Gavin cried out when he was free, stretching his arms and arching his back as if he’d been glued like this for hours—and maybe he had. His cry was a horrible sound—hoarse and low—more tortured than anything she’d heard on her way up to get to him. It was loss and anger and the deepest, most profound terror. Had he been tied up like this the entire time they’d been apart? He looked dehydrated and weak. He looked pale and broken.
“Lilah,” he groaned. “We have to get out of here.”
She nodded, turning to hack at the hole in the wall from this side, widening it and shoving away wet scraps of tissue, of unknown, sticky gore. She felt as though she were carving through a chest, through bone and cartilage, through muscle and organ. Her hands were covered in something dark and wet; what she’d thought was wood in the walls squelched under her blade.
“Gav, take my hand.”
He reached for her, shaking and stunned, and she began to guide him back through the wall. The house rocked around them, storms of dust and debris clouding around their faces. Gavin pushed Delilah through first and then crawled through the hole after her, but an enormous tremor rocked the entire structure, and with a sickening crack, Gavin’s arm snapped beneath a fallen wooden plank.
He yelled in pain, eyes squeezed shut and hands wildly shoving at the board. Delilah tripped over picture frames and torn carpet to get back to where he was trapped, helping him messily free an arm that hung all wrong, that had a sick, limp twist to it. His face had gone pale, eyes glassy.
“Gavin,” she gasped. Fear created a nausea inside her so intense it folded her in half. Clutching her sides, she looked up at his face. “Gavin look at me.” His eyes searched the area near her forehead, her cheeks, and then lit up when he caught her gaze. “We just have to get out, okay? We just have to get out of here, and then we can go, and it will be what we wanted. I’m not leaving you. You have to stand up and walk with me down the stairs, through the kitchen, and out to the backyard.”
He nodded, mute and clearly in profound shock. She didn’t know how long he would stand the pain—it had to be unfathomable, and from the way his face twisted in agony, she knew they had to move fast. Delilah had never had this sick, anxious feeling before, and the only thing she could think was that they needed to escape. The step after that didn’t matter. They just had to get out before the house collapsed all around them. Delilah looked up at the cracked hallway ceiling, at the floor with a long, jagged crease all down the center. The house had been blocking their escape, but so far she’d managed it. She had no idea how they were going to actually get to the backyard.
When he stood, Gavin swayed against the wall, grunting in pain. His eyes screwed shut, and with his good hand, he reached for her, grappling for support. His right arm swung loosely at his side, as if the bone inside had simply turned to dust.
“Look what you did!” she screamed at the house as she tore her vest from her body and helped Gavin use it to wrap his arm. “Look what you did to him! He loved you! He needed you! You’ve trapped him and scared him and broken him!”
Dust settled and the walls ceased their groaning. On the floor, the carpet lay still, and it was so quiet, not the calm before the storm, but the calm after—when, at last, there’s a comparison to make: the chaos before and the quiet that follows.
But Delilah didn’t trust the silence that trailed behind them as she helped Gavin stand and they stumbled back down the hall. It was the same hall as always, leading to solid steps, which led to the foyer, to the dining room, to the kitchen. Delilah could feel every one of the phantoms behind her, pressing into the air at her back as they walked through the cold, silent kitchen and out the door.