Fear: Ch. 13

With all of my strength, I slid from underneath Stan Peter's lifeless body. I whimpered, gritting my teeth and them howling in pain as I unforked my hand from the tile.

"Jamie…"

I turned to see Adrian in the kitchen doorway, pistol in his tense hand. His hair was wild and he wore his black uniform. A rough five o' clock shadow told me he'd had a long night, too.

"Jamie, oh my god."

He raced over to me and fell to his knees. His face had gone pale, mouth open in shock. His eyes, wide with disbelief, scanned the bloody kitchen scene and then fell on the body of Stan Peters, which was bleeding out onto the floor like a wet mop.

A grim expression appeared on his face, and he looked as though he had trouble averting his eyes from the dead clown corpse.

"Let's get you out of here." he said, firmness in his eyes, "I'm gonna call an ambulance."

"Drake…" I whispered, "He killed Drake. And Roscoe."

I began to sob uncontrollably and Adrian made a move to lift me, but I stopped him. Stan Peter's bleeding head was staring right at me.

"What about…?"

"He's dead, Jamie." Adrian said, "Don't worry. I took care of him."

He carried me into the living room and gingerly deposited me on the couch. I glanced at the clock. 3 a.m. The darkest hour of the night.

I closed my eyes.

"Jamie."

Rough hands were shaking me. I felt disoriented, having just barely drifted off. I blinked up at Adrian.

He looked scared as he uttered one sentence.

"He's gone."