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Chris checked the watch around her wrist for what must've been the tenth time.
She had gotten there a little earlier than the time they had agreed upon, and she wasn't expecting Bev to show up for another ten minutes or so. But it had been a little over 20 minutes since then, and a knot of too many bad feelings to name continued to grow in her gut. She twirled the cigarette between her teeth, crossing one leg over the other as she lay on the grass by the standpipe.
Beverly hadn't stood her up, had she? No, she could just be busy, she reminded herself. She could always just call her later, just to check. No, stop being clingy, it's not that big of a deal.
But it felt like one. Maybe it was just something as simple as paranoia, but something felt..wrong. In the time that she had known her Beverly was never one to show up late, and if she did it was never by such a large margin.
Just then, a child walked past her, string in hand. She jolted up before realizing it was attached to a kite, one in the shape of a turtle.
She didn't know what possessed her then, but something like a voice in the back of her mind told her to get off her ass and run. Something was wrong, she could feel it.
_____
By the time she reached Beverly's apartment, Chris felt nauseous.
She didn't want to admit that she was afraid, but there was no denying that something was up. As she walked through the front door to the apartment complex, a feeling of something overwhelmingly bad washed over her. It almost made her want to turn tail and run, but she couldn't. Not until she knew that Beverly was okay.
Her heart sank deeper when she found that her door was ajar - and not in the way it would be if one forgot to close it all the way, this was forced open. Like someone had kicked it down with an incredible amount of strength. There was no sign of a break-in despite the lock's bolt still jutting out. Gulping, she stepped inside.
There wasn't any sign anyone was there, not anymore at least. The lights were off, and as she walked through the joined kitchen and living room, she noticed a small coffee table looked a little crooked. And as she went further, she spied an ironing board flipped on its side.
"Beverly?" she called, not caring if her father was present or not.
Eventually, Chris found herself wandering down the hallway that led to the bathroom. 'Turn around' and 'keep going' warred in her mind, yet she kept going. Turning around the corner, her blood turned to ice.
There was a hand on the floor.
She couldn't tell whose it belonged to, but as she drew closer - each step painfully slow and cautious - she saw that it was a man's arm. Her heart beat like a hammer against her chest, almost feeling dizzy from how much she heaved. She didn't dare peek further into the bathroom than the edge of its entrance. She didn't need to in order to see Mr. Marsh lying flat on the floor, his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he twitched and groaned in pain. Blood had pooled under his head and spread through the cracks in the tile. She felt her throat tighten, threatening to go through with her nausea. But she held it in, breathing sharply through her nose as she backed away from the bathroom.
