In Laymon's Terms

They walked into a dark master bedroom. A huge oak bed, stripped of linens, stood in the center. Cindy moved away and went for the closet, while Monica got on her knees and checked under the bed. If she was cold before, it had faded by now. She was nervous and sweating and her shirt was tight against her skin. Her nipples brushed her forearm through the thin fabric. They were as hard as pencil erasers.

“He’s not here,” said Cindy.

“Let’s try the other rooms and get the hell out of here. I’m gonna kill him when we find him.”

“Ditto.”

They walked through the second room with no luck. A kid’s room, there was another black stain on the floor. A dark gray stain had bled into the mattress.

“Do you think this is where he killed the kids?”

“I don’t know, but I’m taking-down Steve when I see him.” If I see him. “Just a couple more rooms.”

“What if we don’t find him?”

“Then we call the cops and your mom.”

“Did you bring your cell?”

“No. You?”

“No, my mom keeps it when she goes to work.”

“Great.”

The door to the third room wouldn’t budge.

“What the fuck?” Monica said.

She kicked it over and over.

Cindy turned to the door behind her and tried the knob. It opened easily. She was glistening with sweat, too. An adventure is one thing, but she wanted out and they were stuck here until they found Steve.

“I’m gonna try in here.”

“Don’t go too far.”

“K.”

She held on to the knob and peeked inside. A hand flew out from the other side and punched her in the face. She was dragged inside, screaming.

Monica turned around as the door closed. The hard wood muffled her best friend’s screams.

“Cindy? CINDY? Open the door, Cindy.” Her voice was shaky.

Monica tried the knob, but the door was locked. She punched and kicked it. Cindy was still screaming. Monica was screaming now, too. “CINDY. OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR! CIIIINNNDDYYY!”

Monica backed up and rammed into the door.

“OW! FUCK!”

Solid.

She stood up straight and breathed deep. Her friend’s screams were getting louder. The flashlight she dropped on the floor flickered and died.

Her shoulder hit the door again. It shook, but stood. Monica slid to the floor, crying. She was hurt.

“FUCK! I’m going to get help,” she said and tried to stand. “Ow.” Her skin scraped a nail that snagged her back and caught her shirt, tearing it.

Her friend had stopped crying. Monica ran for the stairs and down, taking them two at a time. She came to a screeching halt at the bottom, where her brother lay twisted.

She knelt beside him. He was naked and covered in blood.

“Steve?”

Nothing.

“Stevie, answer me.” Tears were pouring down her face.

He lay still. His leg was underneath him, crooked. She didn’t know how to check for a pulse. Whenever she had tried it on herself after watching a cop drama on TV, she could never find it. She put her ear to his mouth. His breath was raspy, but it was there.

I can’t leave him here, she thought. But I need to find help.

“CINDY! I’m downstairs! If you can hear me, Steve is hurt! I am coming back up! Please come out if you can and let’s go find the cops! PLEASE!”

She looked at her brother again. She took off what was left of her shirt and put it under his head. Her hand came back covered in blood. She moaned.

“God, please let us live. I swear I’ll never do anything like this again.”

She stood up and remembered her brother’s flashlight lying next to him. She grabbed it up, taking another look at him, and went slowly up the stairs.

She jerked her light back and forth. She stopped at the top, breathing deeply, her breasts heaving and glistening. She walked toward the now-open door.

“Cindy?”

The sound of her voice made her jump. She swallowed hard.

“Cindy? Are you in there?”

Monica was almost there. Shaking, she stood in front of the door and pushed it open slowly. It was a once-white bathroom covered in dust. Her best friend lay on the floor, blood circling her. All thoughts of wanting to be like Cindy vanished.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, too afraid to go inside. Cindy’s head was close to the door. Monica could see the fresh bruises forming around her eyes and cheeks. One eye was swollen nearly shut, and blood was leaking from the corner.

Her breath hitched as Monica tried to hold back tears. Cindy was almost naked, her skirt hiked up, her underwear missing. Bloody wounds marred her chest and legs. Her throat was slit.

Monica kneeled inside the room and put her ear to her friend’s mouth, praying for breath, but there was nothing. Her hand slid in the blood and Monica’s face slammed into Cindy’s. Her hands and face coated in blood, she ran out of the room.

They came from behind her.

“Catch her!”

Monica looked back and saw them coming. They were too close. She would never make it down the stairs.

“Shit. Catch her.”

The smaller one ran ahead, but slipped in the bloody tracks Monica left behind. “FUCK.”