Beautiful Disaster

Chapter 14: Unwanted Savior

Unwanted Savior

Bonnie and I walked slowly out of the room, both of us armed with baseball bats I now kept in my closet. My heart thudded as we walked hand-in-clutching-hand down the spiraling stairs.

Shards of glass laid haphazardly on the ground of the dimly lit entrance hall in front of one of the windows. A cold sweat broke across my forehead. Someone was definitely here.

“Chlo?” Bonnie whispered.

“Yeah, Bon?”

“It’s the man, isn’t it?” she asked with timid fear. I wanted so badly to believe it wasn’t, but I knew it was. The man was here and he wanted to kill me, maybe even Bonnie.

Bonnie and I crept to the door and slowly I reached for the handle. The door was locked and the keys were back in the kitchen, where he may be.

I considered going through the window but the thought was quickly shoved away. There was no way Bonnie and I would be able to get through there together without making a noise that would attract the killer. But whatever, it’s not like we had other options.

Bonnie crept through first, her unconventional exit making shards of glass crash on the floor. My heart thudded harder in its nervous, fearful rampage. Well, if the killer came for us, at least Bonnie would be safe. And so far that was all I was asking. After all, it’s me he wants.

When Bonnie had exited another sound caught my attention. It was the sound clicking. It was a sound I’d know anywhere because as a child I’d been captivated by the thing it produced – fire.

I turned around to see Mr. I'm About To Kill You (long name) flicking a silver lighter over and over again. The flame illuminating the dark surroundings he was in.

I was right. My killer was here in my house covered in black, with dashes of darkened crimson from his blood here and there, staining his attire. And to crown it all, he wasn’t just okay with stabbing or shooting. No, because that was too easy for him. What my killer wanted to was much more menacing. He wanted to burn me to death, like I was a Salem witch.

He stepped closer into the light, close enough to see that same ghastly scar on his face that I’d seen the night I bumped him, the night that the collision was supposed to have killed him.

He was nice enough without the scar. He had dashing deep-set blue eyes, cream colored skin and a beautiful bone structure, jet black hair framed his face. A smile spread across his face.

I turned around and in the heat of the moment, crawled through the manmade opening that he’d made not too long ago. The glass that had fallen had made the window full with sharp, pointed glass that dug into my skin, releasing an unfavorable amount of blood and pain.

I was crying in pain as I tried getting out of the hole in the window when I heard the clicking of the lighter once again, then suddenly I was on fire.

The heat of the flame was awful, burning inch by inch through the little clothes I wore before it seeped into my skin, burning me nerve by nerve. But the fire had brought on good because it released a powerful surge of adrenaline coupled with fear that allowed me to crawl through the opening and drop onto the porch.

Okay now that I was out, what to do next?

Oh yeah. Stop. Drop. Roll.

The heat of the flame sent a surge of pain through me like no other physical pain I’d felt in my life. If hell was real, there was no way I was going there.