isabella [h.s.]

thirty eight

A.N. some of you may be mad at some decisions made by some particular characters in this chapter, however before i get all the comments about it, i'm just going to say that 1) it's fiction and 2) it's needed to progress the story so let's all just go with it. also we've all had dumb bitch moments ok thanks bye enjoy  x

ISABELLA

I stare down at the pieces of paper still clasped tightly in my hands, the words looking like they're floating across the pages from how badly my hands are shaking. My heart is ferociously banging against my ribcage, panic and fear sending my pulse racing, making it so loud that I swear I can hear it thumping in my ears. I want to stop reading the note, but my eyes continue to scan it over and over again, the scrawled, threatening message burning itself into my brain where I'm sure it'll stay for a while.

I'm in the middle of frantically shifting through the papers again when I suddenly hear a click, my eyes flashing up to the toilet door just as it emits a loud creak and then is suddenly yanked open, a young man and woman stood on the other side of it with concerned expressions. A wave of relief immediately rushes through me and I shove the papers into the inside pocket of my jacket before rushing out of the toilet, stumbling out the door to meet the two people who managed to unlock it.

"Hey, are you ok?" the woman asks me in a soft voice, the man beside her continuing to fiddle with the door as if he can figure out what happened.

Even though I'm still visibly shaking, I try my best to disguise it. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine."

"That's weird. I think the door was locked from the outside somehow," the man informs me, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he turns back to look at me. "We heard you banging on it and shouting. How long were you in there?"

"Not long," I reply, attempting to act less shaken up than I actually am, even offering them a small smile and a careless shrug. "I think the door is just dodgy, but thanks for getting me out."

I shoot them another thankful smile before quickly walking away, pulling my jacket tighter around myself as I weave my way through the crowds and cars on my journey back to Harry and his car. As I walk, I try my best to ignore my scattered thoughts and focus my attention on calming myself down, not wanting Harry to see me in a state like this and get suspicious. The logical, rational part of me knows I shouldn't listen to that stupid message, that the smartest thing to do is just tell him about it. It is about his case, after all. But another part of me knows that Harry is overworked and stressed enough as it is, and I doubt something like this will help matters much. Even though he probably wouldn't admit it to me, I know that Harry has become quite protective over me throughout the months we've known each other, and telling him about this will only make him panic. And if he's too busy worrying about me, then he won't be able to dedicate his full attention to his job and finding out who this killer actually is. I will tell him eventually, I'll have to, just not tonight.