I Tried to Tell You In Chat But Chat's Funny Like That Because it Never Works

-3- Dead Girl Walking

~Frankie's P.O.V~

The moment I heard I was in the car.

Now I'm standing on the front porch of Alfie's house, where she is weeping uncontrollably and sorrowfully over the death of her beloved German shepherd, Sam- named after the dog in I Am Legend. I have my arm around her whilst I'm surveying the ground for clues.

Stupid Frankie. What are you going to find, that the police can't, hey? A bloody foot print? Paw print? A bloody dagger with fingerprints all over it?

Then it hits me. I turn to a crest-fallen Alfie, quizzically. "You did call 911, right?" I ask, slightly suspecting her answer.

She whimpers, tears still streaming down her cheeks, and she bends down to stroke Sam's motionless ear. The sobs echo through the silence. She's stalling. She hasn't called them. "No-o. I c-cal-led y-y... you first."

There's a thrill inside of me because she called me before the police, but it's stupid. I don't want her to be in danger. I shake my head and stare at my feet for a moment, listening to Alfie's mourning. I wish I could help her. Instead, I ask, "Then did you call 911?"

Alfie glances at me with water blue eyes, and it reminds me of the horrible situation she'd been in when I found her. She was lying on the floor, covered in Sam's blood and writhing, screaming, not even able to speak she was so broken. Now, roughly two hours later, it's like everything is slowly turning to numbness around her. "No," she says, and before I can answer, she adds, "But I called Bells and Dan and Ash and Darcy."

It disappoints me a little bit that she didn't just ca me, but if friends are what will reassure her, I guess I can't argue. But I still ask, confused; "Why haven't you called 911. The killer could still be out here, you know."

Alfie thinks about it for a few moments. "If I called the police, they would take her body away. She'd never be properly buried and respected." Her. Sam's motionless body would be shipped off to some lab so they could look for clues. It makes sense. But then Alfie says something that stills me cold. "I found an article at the library today. News.  news article, I mean. The front page said 'Dead dogs calling card'."

I laugh manically at her utter stupidity- of course, I'll never tell her that,- and say; "You're not going to die. Just because your dogs dead doesn't mean- oh. Shit." I suddenly remember what calling card means. It's my turn to whimper, and Alfie knows I've just figured it out. "Is the killer even in the area? Could the deaths just be freak accidents?"

"You mean the death of the dogs or the death of the owners?" She confirms, and I swear. Loudly. And then I punch something. I'm not entirely sure of which, in my rage, and I fumble for my phone. I have no signal. Damn Alfie's house for being so freakin' far up this darned hill! Screw it! I can't remember the number to call when you have no signal, so I slam it close and shove it back in my pocket. I wonder vaguely if they have a phone with signal inside. It wouldn't surprise me- Alfie's Mom is as rich as the President of the United States. Probably owns her own version of the White House somewhere in the world. 

I step over Sam's dead body and stride towards the door, then freeze. I turn to Alfie cautiously, trying to maintain a straight face, and ask; "Did you go inside at all?" She shakes her head feebly. Dah, F. She doesn't want to call the police because she doesn't want them to take her dog's body away. Like she'd turn her back on Sam for even a second. She barely even looks at you when she's talking.

"So the door should be locked?" I ask, and Alfie nods wildly, ombre curls flying everywhere, brows furrowed in confusion.

I gesture towards the door, swaying gently in the breeze. Open. Unlocked. I laugh uncontrollably, like I'm insane. It takes over me and soon there are tears in my eyes from laughing to much. I double over and continue laughing.

Then I straighten, a glint in my eyes, trying to stifle the laughter as I walk backwards down the porch steps towards my car parked in the driveway, and say in a booming voice as I clap my hands together in a 'what can you do' gesture;

"Then you're a dead girl walking, Al. A dead girl walking."