KILLED

Chapter Seven

"Pineapples are on the ceiling, Tyler", I laugh. "They're having a party. I wanna join it, Tyler, take me to dah party."
"Your mom won't go for that."
"Then ask Daddy. Daddy! Daddy!", I shout. "Daddy, where are you?"
I hear a crash downstairs and sit up, launching myself into Tyler's arms.
"Don't let them get me", I whisper. "I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die!"
My chest rises and falls rapidly with each panting breath as my heart pounds, and I squeeze my eyes shut, rocking my body back and forth in the analyst's lap.
Wow. What a great time to have a panic attack.
The next thing that happens just makes everything worse.
The sound of gunfire echoes in my ears, then the sound of my mother's piercing scream, joined by Sara's mom's terrified shriek.
Before this has all completely sunk in, Tyler is in motion, carrying me over to the window, and opening it, swinging us both out onto the roof, shutting the glass behind him.
I look down, seeing the van. The van I was in. The van that got away.
Oh shiiiit.
I blink my eyes, my head already starting to clear. I don't know if it's a survival instinct, but it is definitely great timing.
"Tyler", I whisper. "What's happening?"
"I don't know", he answers softly. "Do you have your phone on you?"
"Yeah." I pull it out of my pocket.
"Good. Now call 911." I dial, holding the phone up to my ear as Tyler makes his way to the ladder that is connected to the side of the house.
"Hello?", a woman says.
"Someone's in my house", I say quickly. "They have a gun, and I'm pretty sure they shot my mom."
"Don't worry, hon, we got your location, there are officers on the way as we speak. Are you alone?"
"No. Tyler Roberts, the forensic analyst is with me. Just please, hurry." I hang up and tuck my device away. "Where are we going?", I ask my friend as his feet touch earth, and he starts running into the woods.
"Getting out of here so I can call Patrick and McCormick. "
"Give me your phone", I command. "I'll do it."
As he runs, Tyler fishes in his coat pocket before drawing out his cell phone and carefully handing it over.
I turn it on and go to contacts, clicking on Detective Patrick's number.
A second later, he answers.
"Tyler?"
"No, it's Tess. Please, there are people in my house with guns. I think they shot my mom. Tyler is taking me somewhere through the woods."
"We're on our way." 
I hear sirens in the distance, and I let go of Tyler's neck, allowing myself to fall into the snow. I don't care that I'm barefoot; I don't care that it feels like I'm on fire as I force myself to stand up and half run, half limp back in the direction that we came.
"Tess!", my friend calls after me. "Tess!"
But even the sound of his voice can't drown out the sound of my mom's scream ringing in my ears as I push on, reaching my house just as the sound of firing weapons stops.
I burst inside through the backdoor, into the house where a group of police officers waits, stumbling as I call, "Mom? Mom, are you okay?"
One of them turns and asks, "Tess Furlen?"
"Yes, that's me", I answer breathlessly. "Where's my mom?"
"I'm sorry."
I just stare at the woman, my heart beat quickening as I ask the most feared question on earth. "Is my mother dead?"
"No." I sigh in relief. "But she was shot in the chest. To be perfectly straight with you, she's lucky to be alive."
"Tess." I turn around. Tyler looks at me with sad eyes, kneeling down on the floor with his arms open.
I dash into them, too numb, too scared to care that I'm on fire. For once, I relish it. I need this pain, because now, without it, I will have to accept what I'd rather put off: Sara is dead, and now I might be next. And now my mother, the only family I have left, could die.
My phone rings just then, and I answer the call without speaking.
"This is what you get for not staying true to your word. It hurts, doesn't it." The line goes dead and I close my eyes, dropping the device onto the floor, not caring as I hear the tiniest crack as the screen breaks.
Now for the question that everyone asks themselves when something horrible happens, something that makes them think. The question that is always this simple: Why me?