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“Don’t look at me that way,” I proclaimed in a fit of giggles.
Derrick Martean, my super amazing boyfriend, had a thin eyebrow hiked up halfway on his forehead. A grin lazily stretched across his bad boy face. I loved it when he smiled, because it suited his high cheek bones and his deep blue eyes that looked good with his brilliantly white teeth. Today his hair was dyed dark auburn, and he wore it spiked. Okay, Derrick was just really hot. That’s all there is to it.
His parents weren’t home, so I knew that look and what was coming next. Every single fiber of my being was screaming for me to run, hide, or go somewhere far, far away from his tickling fingers. Instead, I continued to lounge on my half of the couch. Noticing my refusal in surrender, Derrick leaned over and started tickling my tummy.
“Stop it, dork,” I squealed, laughing.
“Surrender, Trish Engleland, for I shall not give up!” His reply was in a baritone sound with a hint of a poor British accent.
“Never!” I pushed him off the couch and rolled off, landing on top of him. I quickly kissed his soft lips, smiled at him, and stuck out my tongue. He leaned up and bit it lightly before I pulled it back into my mouth. “Ouch,” I joked. “That wasn’t very nice, mister.” I poked his Green Day t-shirt that covered his muscular chest with my index finger. “What are you going to do now? Hmm?”
“This.” Pushing me off and over, Derrick got on top of me, and started tickling me again.
“Hey! No, no, no!” I couldn’t stop laughing. “Stop it, buster! I’m about to tinkle!”
A crash seemed to come from a second story window. He stopped. Our eyes met, exchanging worried glances. Derrick silently got up, pulling me with him. I squeezed his hand tightly; my knuckles turned white while his fingers turned purplish. He put a finger from his other hand up to his lips, unnecessarily telling me to be quiet. Duh.
Derrick reached into his right pocket and pulled out a switch blade with a shiny, black handle that he always had on him “in case of emergencies.” While a couple of heavy footprint thudded around upstairs, we made our way from the living room to the kitchen. As we were about to go into the dining room a scratchy man’s voice commanded, “Stop.”
We froze in place like good little kiddies and turned around. The man was tall and looked totally in shape. He held up a handgun and cocked the trigger while pointing it at us. Derrick pushed me roughly behind him, holding out his pocket knife. “Trish, run!”
I wasn’t going to abandon him. Tears from fright start to well up in my eyes, and I pleaded, “Not without you, Derrick. You don’t have to be the hero. Put the knife away and maybe-”
I screamed as blood splattered all over the kitchen and me and Derrick’s body simply fell to the ground. I didn’t want to just leave his lifeless corpse there, but I wasn’t about to get shot as well. I ran before he could shoot me too.
I dashed through a lot of halls and doorways, lost in Derrick’s mansion-like house, while men were yelling at each other. All the while I couldn’t figure out who these men were, or what they wanted. Eventually, I found a mud room with a little door. I had nowhere else to hide, so I went into the dark, closet-like space and hid. That’s when it finally hit me to call the police.
Whimpering, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911 with shaking fingers. I hit send and accidently dropped the phone. I bent over, picked it up, and put it to my ear. The voice on the other line was staticky. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but a voice from behind me whispered loud and clear, “Boo.”
Everything went black.
I woke up, my eyes barely opening in slits. Everything was blurred. An unfamiliar female voice forlornly said, “It’s time to pull the plug, Mrs. Engleland.”
“Yes, I understand.” That was my mom’s voice.
“Pull the plug? No!” I tried to tell them, but I was paralyzed.
“Goodbye, sweetie. I love you,” my mother cried softly. Then I heard the sound of a machine powering down, and the world faded.