Salted Caramel

Chapter Three

When we make it home, Landon unlocks the car and starts heading into the garage. He twists the doorknob, and when the door swings open, we both freeze.

"Did you lock the door when you left?" I ask quietly.

He nods, and I hesitate, before slowly walking to my tool bench, and grabbing a carving knife. It won't do much, but it makes me feel safer. I hand an axe to Landon, and he pushes me behind him while he walks to the front door.

"Stay out here until I say you can come in." He whispers, and before I can stop him, he slams the door open, and everything starts to go in slow motion.

His eyes go wide, and he turns to me.

My dog barrels out to the garage and tackles me.

The milkshakes I was carrying fall, and spill all over.

Landon lunges for the door.

There's a deafening bang, and Landon's hand goes to his chest.

I hear him scream, and try to get up, but Lilac is heavy and weighing down my chest.

I struggle to shove her off.

Landon has fallen to the ground, and multiple more shots ring out, and there's blood everywhere.

I collapse next to him, and pull my jacket off, and push it on top of as many of the wounds as I can, but I can't move fast enough. I know I can't do anything to help him now. I pull him to my chest, and I feel sobs shaking my whole body. I clutch him close, and cradle his head to my shoulder. He looks up at me, eyes glossy with tears, and I can see he won't last much longer.

"I-I'm going to call 911. You're going to be okay. Don't leave me, Landon. Please." I whisper. I clutch his hand tightly, and he hoarsely mumbles, "no, there's no reason. It's not worth it."

I sit with him, stroking his head, and gently caressing his cheek. Despite him saying it wasn't worth it, I dial 911 anyway. I can't say anything, but I hear the operator say that police are coming. I watch as my best friend, the man who went through so much with me the last fifteen years, loses the very thing that drew so many to him. As the light in his eyes dim, and he goes limp in my arms, I slowly come back to my surroundings.

There is still someone in my house.

Someone who killed my best friend.

I stand up, gently laying Landon back down. I grab the knife, and take a step into my foyer. In the kitchen is a tall, pale, lean man, with a gun, aimed right at me.

I loosen my grip on the knife, and throw.

A sharp scream echoes through my house. Later, the police will tell me that this is when they came in- when I'm falling to the floor with bullet lodged in both my knee, and my hip.

But this is when I black out.

The funeral was a week later. I was in a wheelchair, released for the day, on heavy drugs. I sat through the long, cold, painful ceremony. I watched as he was lowered into the ground, and his mother, Amber, helped me throw the first handful of dirt into the ground with her. She fell to her knees beside me, and I let her rest her face against my knees, holding her hand and combing her hair with my fingers. She and I were all he had as family.

His father left when he was born, and his mother never remarried. She was fine with her son, and me.

After the reception, Amber sinks into a chair beside me, and leans her head on my shoulder. She clasps my hand, and says softly, "I know you did everything you could. You made him so happy, Cara. He loved you so much."

I close my eyes, and swallow.

"He loved you too, mama," I murmur, before looking at her. "We were planning a road trip for Christmas, to come see you."

Amber's eyes glaze over, and fresh tears drip down her cheeks. "Really?" She asks.

I nod, and look at our hands, intertwined, like it's the only thing keeping either of us from breaking apart all together. I don't know what to do now. I have nowhere to go that doesn't remind me of him.

Amber sniffs and wipes her eyes, leaning in and planting a kiss on my forehead.

"Cara, your nurses are here. I'll come by soon, okay?"

"Yeah... Okay. I'll see you... Soon..."

I feel Amber watch me for another minute, before she squeezes my shoulder, and lets go of my hand. I don't watch her walk away, because I know I'll start crying again. Instead, I sit and wait for the nursemaid to come and wheel me into the hospital van, ignoring her small attempts to make small talk.

Eventually she stops all together, and I stare out the window, wishing this was all just a awful dream.