“Logan, come here. Sit with me.”
“I can’t do that baby. Cortez might need my help.”
“No, no, you aren’t going out there!” I yelled, scrambling to get up and to him.
With a pained expression, he grabbed the handle. “I love you. I’ll be back.” With a groan of the metal hinges, he slammed the door closed.
“Logan!” I screamed his name, choking on the emotion in my throat. “Please, Logan. Open the door. Come back,” I begged. I pulled the handle with every ounce of strength I had, but it wouldn’t budge. I didn’t understand; how was I supposed to get out?
He locked me in.
I ran toward the monitors and studied all of them. Everything was in black and white, but the picture was clear. “Logan,” I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw him walking down the hall, alive.
He had two guns, one in each hand. He checked all the doors to make sure they were locked, and when he was satisfied, he looked up toward the camera and blew me a kiss.
“I’m going to kill him when this is done,” I growled through clenched teeth. My eyes lifted to another monitor and saw one cop behind the house, speaking into his radio. I wasn’t sure how Logan got this to work when the power went out, but I was thankful.
An arm wrapped around the cop’s throat. “Oh god,” I yelled, banging against the monitor in hopes he could hear me, even when I knew he couldn’t.
He’s here.
I watched in horror as the blade drove through the man’s back and out through his chest. He fell onto his knees, and the man that killed my parents gripped the man by his hair and pulled his head back, slicing his throat. Silent tears fell down my cheeks, and I watched another cop come around the house, gun drawn.
Steven Kirkland threw a small knife into the cop’s head and turned his head over his shoulder. It was as if he knew I was watching him.
He killed two cops in a matter of seconds.
He wore regular clothes, jeans, and a flannel shirt. Big boots, like biker boots, and he had knife holders along his belt.
“Logan. Cortez,” I whispered to myself and searched for a phone in this room. “Come on. Come on,” I shouted at myself, frustrated that I didn’t know where anything was. I dug through the drawers, but all they held it were little things like matches and lights. There wasn’t a phone. No, there had to be. He wouldn’t install a panic room without the ability of us being able to reach someone in a damn panic.
I couldn’t find it.
I hurried back toward the screens and watched as the lumbering man walked around the house, knife dripping with an innocent man’s blood. I looked for the screen that showed the bastard and saw him fighting with another cop.
It didn’t take long for five cops to drop to one.
And the only one left was Cortez.
“No, no, no,” I cried, staring at the dead bodies on the lawn. The man truly didn’t care. More cops were probably called right now; one could only hope.
Something on the screen next to the one I stared at grabbed my attention. It was Logan. He stood and opened the front door, and Cortez came in. He looked good. Alive. Uninjured. He had his weapon drawn and spoke into his radio. This had to have audio, but I didn’t know how to work anything, and if I touched something and lost the picture, I’d be devastated. I needed to know they were okay.
“We are going to be okay,” I said to myself. I watched as Logan and Officer Cortez stood with their backs against each other, just waiting.
Officer Cortez handed something to Logan, something that looked like a sheet of paper. Logan took it, shoved it in his pocket, and shook his head like he didn’t agree. They weren’t focused, and I wanted to yell at them for not paying attention.
“Where are you?” I muttered, looking for Steven. I checked all the screens and didn’t see him. I sat back, confused, and my head ached at the same time I saw him coming through the bedroom window.
The power was off.
The alarm.
I looked toward the door, waiting for the handle to move. He was here. He was in my bedroom. I covered my mouth with my hands to muffle my breathing and turned my head back toward the screen as he strolled through the room. He looked comfortable like he had done it before, and the thought had bile rising in my throat.
The man smirked as he brought my pillow to his face and inhaled. He palmed his cock, stroking himself to the smell of me, and I turned away. I was going to be sick. After a few seconds, I gathered the courage to look at the screen again, and he placed the pillow down, fluffing it before turning his attention toward the opened bedroom door.