Jesse

29: Armageddon

Author's Note: This is the most intense chapter, therefore, it can be considered as the climax I suppose. 

29: Armageddon

            The falling light glared through the living room window, before it dimmed, and passed. I sat on the sofa, waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. This was the worse part. Sitting, watching the clock constantly, waiting for Harold to come bursting through the unlocked door. He had left it unlocked. He never left doors unlocked. It must have slipped his mind. Thank God.

            Or I might be dead. Or Ian couldn't have saved me, like he did.

            Harold must have been working late. It was already seven. He was home earlier than that usually. Maybe it was just my nerves getting at me. My stomach was all in knots, my heart pounding out of my throat: my thoughts in a chaotic fray. I knew something bad was coming. You know when these kinds of things will happen: You sense them. Feel it in your gut. Like an oncoming twister. A storm. Bolt of lightning. Or consuming hurricane. You feel it in your bones. Taste it in the thick, intense air. And then you know something's terrible is about to happen. You know, because we all have been there one time or another.

            And now it was my time.

            My time to face my own oncoming storm. The unstoppable Armageddon.

            I just hoped I was ready. The apocalypse was near. Just a shadow away. The deadly silence before the breaking of the storm, before all hell breaks loose. It is always the world holding its breath, waiting to see what happens. Waiting to see who makes out alive, and who dies.

There are sounds now, the thought rippled through my head. Outside the house, a vehicle is being parked. Oh God. Oh God. It's him, I think. Prepare yourself Jesse. Do the best you can. Keep yourself together. Wait a few minutes. He takes his time with the walking.

            Watch horrified as the doorknob begins to turn. Slowly, at first…Or maybe that's just the mind playing tricks. The door creaks. He's opening it now. Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

            The coughing.

            My heart was shrieking from my chest; sweat was trickling down my neck.

            His back was turned to me.

            I don't breathe.

            I can't breathe. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.

            He's turning now. His face is toward me. His eyes widen. Harold can't believe it. He just stares. What am I supposed to do now? Get up? Remain sitting? Run? Fight?

            "What the hell!?" he bellowed. "Why the hell—what—the fuck—How the hell—"

            He couldn’t speak; Harold darted his eyes toward the thrown open closet door in the distance, with the pushed aside furniture. Then his face flustered red, and he glared at me. "It was HIM, wasn't it?" he shouted.

            "I have no idea what you're talking about," I muttered coldly, standing.

            "Don't you DARE LIE TO ME!!" Harold plodded, savoring every moment's time toward, his movements slinking with a heavy darkness. "That boy! THAT CALLED!!"

            "What boy?" I demanded. "What call?"

            "He called last night, asking about you!!" Harold cried. "You know who I'm talking about! Don't you dare lie in my face."