Jonathan Hemsworth's Arc

Chapter 4 of 7

The hook scraped at the window. Eva crouched over her husband. He blinked up at her, mouth slack, the liquor still thick in him. She could not send him to the bathroom in this state. She could not go herself and leave him drunk on the floor. She had to fix him first. The man who summoned the thing waited outside in the rain, and every minute Jonathan stayed this way, the closer the blade came to the glass. "On your feet," Eva said. She hauled at his arm. He slid halfway up, then sagged. His weight pulled her down with him. "Jonathan. Stand." Jeb pressed against the far wall, hands shaking. He would not help. He only stared at the window where the hook worked at the frame. Eva knew she was alone with a drunk husband and a frozen old man. She grabbed the water jug from the counter and dumped it over Jonathan's head. He gasped and shoved his glasses up his nose. "Cold," he said. "That's cold." "Good. Wake up." She slapped his cheek, once, hard. His eyes came into focus. "Look at me. The thing outside wants us dead. I need the book from the bathroom. You are going to help me walk there, or you are going to hold this door. Choose now." He swallowed. He looked at the window, at the curved blade scraping the glass, and something in him hardened. For once he did not look away from the shapes. "Door," he said. "I'll hold the door. You get the book. I can't walk straight, but I can push against wood." It was not brave. It was honest. Eva took it. She pulled him to the door and pressed his shoulder against the wedged plank. His feet skidded, then caught. He braced both arms and locked his elbows. "Go," he said. "I've got it. Go." The window cracked. A thin line split the glass from the hook's point. Jonathan flinched but held. Eva ran for the dark bathroom, her only path to the book that could end this. Behind her, Jonathan shouted through the door at the man in the coat. His voice broke, but the words kept coming. He was keeping the thing's attention on him. For the first time since the car died, he was doing something. Eva reached the black doorway of the ruined concrete bathroom. Cold air breathed out of it. Somewhere in that dark lay the leather book. She stepped inside. Behind her, Jonathan's boots squeaked against the floor as the door shuddered under a heavy blow. He did not fall. He was sober enough to fight now, and that was the one thing she had needed.