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T h e H o l l o w s   O f
H I R A E    T    H
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I tried to shift around but my aching body protested. Adding to the problem, the handrail on the stairs had also followed me downwards and was laying across my legs; it was heavier than it looked when it was still attached to the staircase. After choking on the dust I had just inhaled, I pushed myself up, despite the searing pain that shot through my limbs as I did so. Leaning over, I tried not to yelp as my legs stretched out, the sprain—or break—in my left leg not helping me at all. I pushed the metal rod off and it hit the cold stone floor with a loud clank.

I peered out into the darkness, frowning as I squinted, concentrating hard on seeing just a glimmer of light—a glimmer of hope. But there was none. I then proceeded to look up, I couldn't make out much, but upwards was definitely lighter than down here in the everlasting shadows of broken lights. Jameson. Where's Jameson?

"JAMESON?" I yelled, not shying away from screaming, the need to find him too big to overcome. The only response I got was my own voice bouncing off the breaking walls as it travelled up the stairs.

"JAMESON!" Despair and anguish scarred my voice and I refrained from wincing. Move, Sky. I need a plan. Why has Jameson never taught me any of this stuff? I yell out Jameson's name again, hoping that he is somewhere near. The fact that there was no reply tells me he's either not near—or in very deep trouble. At that clarification, a conversation we had a few days back came to me.

"Though," I had told him.

"I think part of me feared that if I was about to face an attack, and you weren't there to protect me, that something had happened to you."

Something has happened to Jameson. I knew that much. He could be dead. That conclusion itself wounds my heart. Or he could be brutally injured—fatally injured.

Now I could remember what he had said moments before my confession. He told me that he would've taken the bullet that had shot down Angela—for me. He protects me because he cares about me. And I care about him. So I won't let that be in vain.

I pushed myself off the ground, using both my arms and my only available leg, since the other had been crushed by the metal of the stairs. My limbs were cramped but I managed to get myself upright, and once stood up, I stretched out as I took a look around me. Well, I tried to look around me; it was too dark to see practically anything.

Even if there is an exit around here, I can't see it. The only reliable exit I have is the stairwell—the blown-up stairwell. It wouldn't be sturdy. And the courtroom is as good as on fire.

Fire.
Light.

With only my hands out in front of me to guide me, I made my way over to what I believed was the courtroom. Taking a deep breath, I asked myself that, if I died right now, would I be okay with that? I didn't answer it, and instead twisted the door handle.

The handle scalded me but I refrained from jumping away, I pushed the door open and was almost thrown back by roaring flames. The temperature was scorching high as I coughed on the fumes. Dangerous as it may seem, I hesitantly moved towards to door, plucking a piece of discarded wood from the floor.

I found a small, kindling fire, and set the top of the wood alight, like one of those medieval torches. Though, soon it would burn up, and burn me.

I quickly rushed away from the room, not letting my light go to waste. The stairs were even less accessible in the light, if at all possible, and so I turned away from them with regret. I checked for Jameson—for a corpse. Nothing.

I sighed, turning away—looks like I'll be doing this alone. That statement had shivers trembling my spine, but then the loneliness set in; I could die, I could survive, but no matter what happens to me, Jameson is certainly gone—dead or alive.

Using my makeshift torch, I lit the way through a corridor of uncertainty, the dust particles ghosting the surfaces. I gulped as I reached two doors, two entrances. There's a probability that one says death, and the other days survival. But which one? Then, my marvellous torch lit up a sign, as if fate had given me my answer. And it wanted me to live. It read:

'Passageway 121, leading to-'

I frowned, trying to make out the rest of the sign; the dust was in the way. I brushed the sign with my fingertips, trying to clear the way. Then fate smiled.

'-everything'

I grinned. Gotta love fate—sometimes. I pushed the door with all the force needed to open a door that has been closed for what looks like a long while. I entered it, and, behold—darkness. Well, that was a given. I tried to use my torch to light up any signs on the wall but there were only tunnels.

I sighed, annoyed with my current circumstance. Then, it only became more annoying when I circled around on the spot to see more than just two tunnels. There had to be around eight—eight pathways. What would I walk into if I got the wrong one?

Childishly, I closed my eyes, with my arm outstretched, and spun. Having no clues or information, fate was now my biggest bet. I came to a stop, my arm still outstretched with my index finger pointed outwards. I hesitantly opened my eyes, peering out through half-closed lids. What I saw was not a tunnel. I blinked a few times before I dropped my now disintegrating torch and ran over to what appeared to be a bleeding and injured Jameson.

I embraced him and then fell backwards onto the floor, Jameson toppling down with me. Jameson's head lay on my shoulder as I ran the palm of my hand up and down his back to soothe his pain. Tears were dispersing in droplets as I held him, grateful of what the heavens have granted me—grateful of what fate has granted me.

"Jameson." I whispered, trying to peal him off my frame to inspect him of his injuries.

"Are you okay?" I asked him just as I saw blood on his once perfectly pristine, white shirt. I froze. Jameson's eyes met mine, then followed my wide eyes to the blood drenched patch of his shirt. He rose the shirt and showed me his side, which held a mark, looking like he had been impaled by a pole. I swallowed my shock, to have it only pinch and stab at my insides. I was going to ask if Jameson was okay, but knowing his current state and the fact that he did not look healthy, I would take that to be a pointless question.

"Do you know where each of these lead?" I asked him instead, referring to the dimly lit up pathways; my torch was simmering out.

"Does one lead to the hospital?" I asked Jameson but he just stared at me, shaking his head profusely.

"You need to be safe, the hospital–" Jameson broke off as he winced.

"Is the perfect place to let you heal, I agree." I finished for him and I nearly laughed at the glare he graced me with in response.

"Come on," I beckoned, trying to haul him up gently. A few groans from Jameson had me wincing, the thought of hurting him hurt me. What also hurt me was the searing pain in my leg, but I soon managed to forget all about it. Then, as Jameson reluctantly pointed me in the direction of the hospital, the torch's last whisper of a flame faded out, leaving us with echoes of despair in the darkness of danger. All we could do now was follow our senses, and I believed that fate could and would get us through if our eyes could not.

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Jameson's alive!!!!!!!!!

for now

Woah who said that ??

The #skyson though

We can't lose baeson 😭

yes we can

Woah who said that ??

–hillybillyfrog

BUT WAIT

ITS TALLY TIME

Previously on Tally Time:

The Three Month Tally:
734 Reads
119 Votes
71 Comments
28 Parts

And now

The Five Month Tally (before posting this):
#109 In Mystery/Thriller (best rank so far)
1.87k Reads
194 Votes
88 Comments
51 Parts
(50 Chapters)

And now now

The Six Month Tally (before posting this):
#109 In Mystery/Thriller (best rank still) 2.49k Reads
260 Votes
150 Comments
66 Parts
(65 Chapters)

And now now now

The Eight Month Tally (after posting this):
#109 In Mystery/Thriller (best rank still) 3.24k Reads
362 Votes
204 Comments
93 Parts
(92 Chapters)

__________
Next update: #same
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CHAPTER NINETY-THREE SPOILER:

Sky and Jameson head for the hospital.

But with Sky's probable broken leg and Jameson's gaping wound, do they make it there alive?

Do they make it to the hospital at all?

Remember the classic quote of the book 😉