Neighbor Boy (BoyxBoy)

Part 16

We were back at Frank’s house in what seemed like just a couple of hours. Frank never lifted his foot off of the gas, and when he did, it was because he saw a police car somewhere. I, however, didn’t see a darn thing. I had my eyes closed the entire time, wishing that I would die first by a serial killer than a car accident.

I mean, just think of what could happen to you while you were inside of it. You could be shredded to pieces by flying metal, burned alive by the oil catching on fire, suffocated by the fumes, crushed by the car, your neck snapped by the air bag, or even gunned from your seat (unless you were wearing your seatbelt like me). The possibilities were endless.

I vowed to myself never to drive with Frank ever again. Like, ever. That’s okay, though, because we were there sooner than I could say ‘slow down!’. Granted, I wouldn’t have been able to say that anyway, because I was holding back the urge to bring my lunch forth from the depths of my body.

And, before I even knew what was happening, Frank had taken a hand gun out of the glove compartment, flitted over to my side of the car, and all of a sudden my door was open and Frank was offering his hand, not like I needed it.

I took it anyway, just to be courteous, and hopped out of the truck. He softly closed the door behind me, as if he were trying to be quiet, but the roar of his car would have certainly given us away. It was pretty futile. Still, I didn’t reprimand him. There was no use in that, either. I just let him do his thing.

Clutching his gun firmly in his hand, he moved towards the house. I glanced once at the ground, and then at Frank. For some odd reason, I would rather be laying on Frank than dead on the ground, so I followed warily after him.

He pushed the door open quickly with his foot, as it was already ajar, and pointed his gun in, first pointing left, and then pointing right. He put it down like they do in the police movies and listened a little, waiting for some kind of noise to lead him to where he needed to go.

There was a soft muffled cry of what sounded like pain and anger, and then a grunt. I assumed Joe was taking on pain and made noise, so he was kicked or punched to punish him for making noise. Anyone’ guess, of course.

Frank bobbed his head to the right, and I figured that meant for me to follow him. I wondered why he was being like this all of a sudden. He seemed like a trained cop, but he was only in his twenties. At that age he would still be in training. Odd. Maybe his uncle just taught him a few tricks in case he needed it.

Regardless of why he seemed so official, I followed him, bending my knees slightly, in case I would have to jump one way or the other. Frank seemed to be doing something similar, bending his knees and keeping the gun angled towards the ground a thirty degree angle. I almost expected him to yell “Come out with your hands up!” but after waiting in heated anticipation, he never did.

He did, however, kick a door down, which I found strange because it led to the family room, which was by the living room but walled off. Perhaps he thought that Nora might be expecting us to come from the most direct angle possible, but there was only one way in anyway. Oh well.

He pointed the gun straight at Nora as she lifted her gun at Frank. I gasped, and slammed my body against the wall, and I swore I could hear dry wall breaking behind me. The two seemed perfectly calm with weapons trained at each other, but I was freaking out, and I wasn’t even being aimed at.