RoseBlood

Watching And Waiting

I was stupid enough to let myself fall asleep.

After Brunsley had tried to explain everything as well as he could to Lizzie and left, she was determined to make the most out of the rest of the evening, ordering food and watching old movies, just talking. It was quite a good distraction, and really, Lizzie is now the closest person I've got left. Mia's moving away to Oxford, my parents are gone, and any other relatives I have are out of the country or gone too. I'm absolutely fine with Lizzie, though. She understands me, doesn't try to change me or my thinking, and has always been there. I don't usually ask to be heard, but it's nice knowing she's there all the same.

That's why I wanted to stay up. Make sure this RoseBlood Killer didn't try to get to her in a way of getting to me, or anything like that. Brunsley was reluctant to leave us here anyway, reminding me at least three times about sending that Trust over first thing in the morning. So, until this morning, all I had to do was stay alert and think about putting some cameras up. I've watched videos where cameras are disguised as things like Coca-Cola cans, or are just hidden in ingenious places, so I've got a good idea of what I'm doing.

But anything could have happened last night. All I know, as I wake up groggily in an uncomfortable heap on my bed, is I'm still alive. But I've missed the opportunity of keeping a lookout, no matter how worn out I've been. This case is hard work, and it's only just starting. Even if I haven't, the murderer's been watching and waiting patiently, and that patience could run out at any minute.

I pull on a jumper and leggings, then check on Lizzie in the guest room next to my parent's room. She's sleeping soundly, and her breathing's fine, so she's unharmed so far, too.

Well, one opportunity's gone, so let's make the most of the rest of them, before we're being bribed to move out for a while.

My eyes drift to the stairs, then to the spot where the basement door is. I should really give it a going-over, check if anything's been missed or if anything's in there that I don't recognise. My best clue so far is the poetry book, but apart from that, the rest of the stuff down there should just be old boxes of clothes and unused furniture or whatever. Still, it's a good idea to check thoroughly, since that's where the murderer decided to strike.

I go downstairs, glaring at the basement door when I reach it, already hating the sight of it.

And then I hear it.

Faint banging, scratching, like a dog or something, coming from near the kitchen. It's muffled, so it can't be in the house...

Which means it's in the back garden.

I stay standing still for a long moment, trying to think of the best way to handle it. I've already decided it's the RoseBlood Killer, and that leaves me to either wake up Lizzie, call the police and ask for Brunsley, or do something else that won't leave me with a bloody rose and no pulse.

I rush upstairs, grabbing the bat from my room once again, before going back downstairs, my jaw clenched. I'm not afraid or wary like yesterday. I'm absolutely fed up.

I try to stick to the shadowy areas of the living room, easing forward by stepping behind furniture and avoiding the middle of the room. I walk into the kitchen, peeking out of the back door's window to the garden.

The fence is wobbling ever so slightly, and I'm certain it's not because of the morning breeze. I can't see anyone, but that doesn't mean anything. There are a couple of small trees out there, and the three garden chairs and small, round table in the middle all make it harder to detect someone, especially if that someone is hiding from me.

Come out, you bloody coward.

I push open the door with one hand, the other clutching the bat. The rough idea of what I'm doing is that if I see them, I'll hit them as hard as I can, then call Lizzie and the police. I don't want anyone else hurt. As stupid as this might seem, I need to do this myself, like this.

The cool, light breeze ruffles my jumper and hair as I put one foot out onto the grass, then another. There's only one lock to the back garden door, and I've made sure I've got it on me, so I won't be locked out.

My eyes scan the area, suspicious of everything. They trace the table and chairs, then shift to inspect the trees, and I crane my neck to see if I can spot skin behind the rough, brown trunks. But they aren't tall or strong enough to climb.

I stay near the side, my hand letting go of the door handle as I edge further out into the garden, examining one of the trees from all angles, then glancing at the gate, looking for any marks or dents from shoes. It's hard to tell-

The bat's suddenly yanked from my hold, and I'm kicked down onto the grass, scuffing the knees of my leggings. I immediately try to get back up, my hands clawing for the bat or anything else I can use, but I'm grabbed from behind, one black glove smothering my mouth, the other finding my neck and squeezing hard.

I choke and gasp a short breath, my ears starting to ring as the tight hold digs into my flesh. I lash out with all my strength, kicking and jabbing them with my elbows as hard as I can. They grip my neck tighter then, pushing their bodyweight onto me so that I'm stomach-down into the grass, mud staining my skin and clothes as I writhe helplessly, regretting the choice of not going to call someone first. I can't make any noise, and spot the bat kicked about five feet away, out of my reach. My trembling hands reach up to try to grab something, yank their hair, but my head's pounding with the lack of oxygen and my vision's blurry.

Not like this. Please, not like this, not-

And then the weight and choking hand is gone all of a sudden, and I gasp and cough in mad relief as three sets of footsteps rush towards me, and towards the slender, hooded figure on the other side of the garden. I struggle to sit up, but the killer's already standing, dodging the person that runs at them and managing to clumsily jump on top of the gate, falling down the other side. The person instantly follows, climbing over much more expertly, and the pounding steps grow quieter as they sprint down the street.

One of the two people left is right in front of me, and I look up to see a girl I don't recognise, around my age, her murky green eyes wide and horrified as she grabs hold of my shoulders and meets my eye.

"Breathe, that's it, you're okay... my god," she whispers, looking up at the other person.

Another set of footsteps come, and adrenaline racks through my body. It's them, the killer, they've come straight back.

But it's not. It's Lizzie, crying out in alarm as her voice breaks, and soon she's beside me, tilting my chin up and exclaiming when she sees my bruised neck. I'm still finding it hard to breathe, my body boiling and freezing at the same time, and I can't hang onto their words, Lizzie's mouth moving, but the sound is almost delayed, growing quieter and quieter.

Then a strong arm curls around my legs and another is firmly at my back, and I'm hoisted up off the ground in one swift move as the garden blurs and blotches. The last thing I see is the face of a boy, and his deep, dark brown eyes that stare right into mine, as if he's known me forever.