(Malory)
“No,” I say, my voice shaking and breaking.
“Who’s there?” Kyle says.
My eyes go wide. I stop breathing.
I run; I stand when I hear his footsteps quickening towards the door and I run. I run through the door frame with no door. I run through the empty, cobwebbed corridor to the dark steps that lead downstairs. My feet slam against each of the wooden steps as I hurry downstairs.
He’s gaining on me.
“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” He yells. “ANSWER ME OR I’LL SHOOT!”
I don’t respond.
I run. I run. I run. I make it to the front door. I run out of the house. The familiar blue car bends the corner from the main road and enters Carson Street.
I panic.
The footsteps inside the warehouse become louder and I know that Kyle is near. I run left –in the opposite direction of both him and the car.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t tell if what I just witnessed was a suicide or a murder.
I can’t think straight.
“Malory!?” He yells in disbelief from the distance.