The Last One Home

Part 3

It wasn't until someone asked what time it was, and he patted his empty pocket, that he realized he had left his phone in the kitchen.

He hadn't actually meant to leave it and suddenly felt very conscious of the missing phone. He had the sudden irrational worry that someone may have taken it while he was preoccupied with the redhead.

When he returned to the kitchen he spotted his previous drink and even the small plate the red-head had been carrying around earlier, but his phone was gone. With a little luck, he spotted it face down on the floor, just inches from a puddle of spilled beer. When he turned the phone over he saw that he had several missed messages. He smiled when he read his twin sisters name. It took a few tries to open the first message because his fingers felt heavy and entirely too large. His palms were slick with sweat. Finally he was able to see the missed messages.

We MISS you! Are you coming home tonight!!?

He smiled at his sisters enthusiasm. Even a text couldn't contain her bubbly personality. The truth was he had no intention of coming home until tomorrow night. The night before Thanksgiving was a prime party night and he planned to spend it with friends. Still, he hated the thought of disappointing his sister.

It was the next three messages that caused his heart to pound and his skin to go cold. They were sent just three minutes after the first one. He read them over and over trying to make sense of the jumbled letters. Unconsciously his hand holding the phone began to tremble, his knuckles white from gripping it so tightly. He bolted for the door hoping that the cold night air would help clear his head. Standing in the yard, his breath was visible as he stared at the phone once again. The messages were still there.

He must've drawn attention to himself because he heard a mumbled "Are you allright man? Do you need to sit down?" He paid no attention to the concerned partier.

He was vaguely aware of the house music thumping at the base of his skull as he peered down the street at the long line of cars, struggling to remember where he had parked.

Max resented the happy faces that seemed to float by in slow motion as he began to jog in the direction he had come from just a few hours ago. His vision blurred in the stinging air. It was incredibly cold for November. The tree branches rattled in the wind like dry bones.

His phone was still clutched in his hand, the backlit screen stared accusingly at him. The three short messages from his twin sister were still there.

Someone's coming in the house

Just clled teh police

Hel