I woke up to the phone ringing.
At first I thought it was the phone that was in the apartment that Kyle owned, but the ringtone was all wrong.
As I slowly woke up, I remembered what was going on. Why I was lying on bubble wrap, and why I should have said "The apartment Kyle used to own.
He was gone.
I sat up and rubbed the sleep- and the tears- out of my eyes. When I opened them, I saw Emma standing up, staring at the ringing cell phone like it was a ghost.
"What's the problem?" I sleepily asked.
She pointed to the phone.
"God, Emma, it's a friggin' phone. Not a grenade," My voice caught on the word grenade, but I hurriedly finished my sentence. I knew that if I started crying again I would never be able to stop. "What I mean is, what's the big deal?"
"Who would be calling here?" She demanded. "Who else besides- him?!"
I stood up quickly. The phone had momentarily stopped ringing as the phone went to voicemail, but it started again immediately.
"What are we going to do?" Emma whispered.
"Answer it of course." I lunged for the cell phone and clicked the green button before Emma could talk some sense into me.
"Hello?"
"Hello, Kaytlin." It was a deep, psychotic voice. Just like our old, good friend, Mr. Maniac himself.
"Whaddya want, psyco! You already killed half a dozen people! What more could you do!" I yelled.
"I just thought you and your sister might be interested in knowing that the gas station you're staying in is about to blow up."
"She's not my sister stup-"My face went pale. "Wait, what?" I demanded. Whaddya mean it's gonna blow-"
"Sorry, no time for chit-chat, I have many people I need to speak to. Goodbye."
"Hey!" I shouted "You can't just-" The phone gave a click, and I knew that he had hung up.
"Well?" Emma demanded. "What did he say?"
It was then that the weight of the words of the psychotic man hit me. I clutched the cell phone.
"We have to get out of here. Now."
YOU ARE READING
Never Look Back
Pertualangan"You won't kill anyone else! I'll stop you!" "We'll see about that." Then he picks up his gun...
