Author's note: I have had this idea in my head for awhile and finally got to writing it. The main focus is Alex, and how she deals with a heavy emotional trauma that effects her and someone she comes to care about. Not a romance story; focuses more on drama and friendship. I will try to update once a week or every couple of weeks. Enjoy!
I press my back against the wall so hard that I can feel the coldness of it on my back. My heart is beating at such a fast pace that I'm afraid it is going to leap right out of my chest, and my breathing is rapid and jagged. I think if I inhale any sharper, my chest will explode.
I don't remember ever being so scared. Coming back from the dead, testifying in front of the man who shot me, returning to my old life; all of these events paled in comparison to what I am facing right now.
I can hear footsteps in the hall and my breath literally hitches in my throat. I have to bite my bottom lip to keep from crying. I start to shake, and I wrap my arms around myself in an effort to stop the tremors. I love this
Why didn't I shut the door after I ran in here? He's going to know I'm in here - the door is wide open. I might as well go over the intercom and announce where I am.
The footsteps get closer. They're slow, yet purposeful and deliberate. The person approaching is obviously on a mission and knows exactly where they want to go.
I know it's him.
I slide down the wall and sit on the floor with my back against it, drawing my knees to my chest and leaning my forehead on my knees. I'm crying silently now and I've abandoned any idea of trying to compose myself. I can't. I know I'm about to die.
Suddenly, the footsteps abruptly stop and I hear a man's voice shout out, "Hey!"
The voice sounds far away and I slowly begin to realize the voice doesn't match the footsteps. The footsteps had been closer than the voice.
Now I hear a second set of footsteps, quick and heavy this time. The owner of the voice – I'm sure this time. They stop outside the hall, in what sounds like mere inches from the open door.
"Where can I find Alex Cabot?" the gruff voice demands.
I force my tears away and strain to listen. Only one person knows I came in here, and I saw her run away.
There is no response to the question. In a harsher, louder tone, the man asks again.
"Why do you want to know?" the person finally answers, and my heart stops again.
No; it can't be. I feel the onslaught of tears threatening me again. It's her. I was so sure she had gotten away. But I recognize her voice.
And I know she's going to sell me out. How could she not?
"Because I want to know," the man answers, and then I hear the most frightening sound I've ever heard – the sound of the safety on a gun being clicked off. "Tell me where she is." I don't have to have x-ray vision to know he is pointing a gun at her right now.
It should only be seconds before she tells him where I am to save herself. Seconds before he comes in and shoots me. Seconds left to be alive.
I realize I've been holding my breath for several minutes and I let it out, a cry escaping out along with it. I'm shaking so hard that I have to wring my hands together. I suddenly feel nauseous.
So this is what it feels like to die. This is the kind of fear felt by every innocent victim. I was a victim once. I was on my back on the cold hard ground while Olivia leaned over with tears in her eyes, desperately trying to keep me with her. The fear I felt at that moment has been with me every day, recessed in the back of my mind, waiting to spring to life again. I swore to myself I would never know that fear again. But it appears I lied to myself. I'm once more going to become a victim.
And then I heard the words I never expected to hear, "I'm Alex Cabot."
My mind can't wrap around what she just said. I can't process any thoughts. All I can do is sit in shock, unmoving. I know the right thing to do; the right thing is to get up and run into the hall and show myself and save an innocent life. For the first time, I feel what Olivia felt on the night of my shooting – total helplessness. It's like my mind has a pact with my body not to allow it to move.
The gunshots come only seconds after she speaks, though it seems like much more time has elapsed. Two shots, in perfect succession. No screams. No begging for her life. Just two shots.
And then silence.
I want to scream. I want to vomit. I want to run. But I can't. I'm frozen; paralyzed by fear.
A few seconds after the gunshots, I hear the heavy footsteps again. I listen as they seem to get further and further away. The next sound I hear is the elevator ring. I wait until I hear the doors swoosh shut before I allow myself to breathe again.
I know I have to go out into the hall. I have to see if she's alive. If she is, I have to help her. She saved my life. She took a bullet that was meant for me. I have to do everything I can; if there is anything that can be done.
My mind knows this is what I should do, but I can't make my body cooperate. I can't make myself stand. I'm sobbing and shaking and I can barely breathe.
What is wrong with me? I am always in control of myself. I am always calm and collected. I never panic. I'm better than that.
Yet I just sat here hidden and allowed someone else to take two bullets that we were meant for me. And if she's still alive, every second I sit here is a second she slips further away.
But I'm not strong enough. I draw my knees up to my chest and rock myself back and forth, consumed with tears.
So what put Alex in this situation? Who saved her life? You'll have to read to find out! This is the prologue; chapter 1 will be posted in the next week or so.