Miscellaneous

The Third Message

Our apartment door wasn't opening. Again. I sigh, and push all of my force against the dumb old thing. It opens, and I smile in victory. I sit down, and my tattered tennis shoes practically fell off of my feet.

I pull out my old flip phone. Mom says her daughter don't need a phone when she's only 15, and Dad barely has enough money to pay for his own bills, let alone 30$ more a month for a daughter he barely sees, so I have to pay for my own phone with babysitting money. I sighed. Three new messages, my phone beeped.

I called the voice-mail and rest my head on the armrest, the phone pressed up against my ear. I close my eyes.

First message, the automated voice practically screamed into my ear. I cursed loudly. I had accidentally turned the phone on speaker with my ear.

"Hey, 'Mandi, it's me, Bettie. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the mall, you know, do a little shopping, then see that new Chris Hemsworth movie. It's on me. Call me back with the deets!"

Ugh. No way am I letting her drag me to the mall and see some movie I don't want to see. I loved Bettie, but she made it her personal project to make me act more girly.

No, thank you.

"Hey, 'Mandi, it's your dad. Tell your mother to call me back." he was obviously drunk; he was slurring his words and practically screaming into the phone. I wasn't surprised. Dad was an alcoholic, which is one of the many reasons my mom and him got a divorce. "This week is supposed to be my week with you!" he cursed, then screamed. My mother had been ignoring him so I wouldn't have to go deal with him.

I'm glad she did that.

Third message.

"Hello." No. Not him. Anyone but him. Memories of that night flashed through my mind; the blood, the screams, Josh looking at me, pleading for me to save him.

I didn't save Josh.

"Amanda, we both know you were there that night," he hissed. It was true. Right before I had ran away, he screamed, "I'll kill you!" I had called the cops. They said they couldn't find him.

But then I started getting the phone calls. They were drunk calls, threatening calls, calls of him just screaming in the phone.

"I said I'd kill you." I couldn't finish the voice-mail. But, I couldn't hang up, either.

"You know I'm a man of my word." I couldn't breathe.

"I'm coming, Amanda."

Dial tone.

What was I going to do? Mom wasn't home, Dad was drunk off his butt, and I couldn't call the police, not after what he said he'd do to me.

A noise came from the kitchen.

I'm dead.

I sat up and listened closely. I heard footsteps, slowly going towards the couch. I screamed and ran into my room. I locked the door.

I whipped open my phone. I used so much force, I'm surprised the screen didn't fall off.

9-1-1, I dialed.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?" how could these operaters always be so calm? They're talking to potentially dying people, but they almost sound as if they don't even care!

"Yes, there's a ma-" I'm inturreupted by my own scream. I ignore the woman's pleas to calm down. He was in my bedroom. He was holding a knife. And he was going to kill me, just like he did to Josh.

"Hang up," he demanded. "Hang up and turn off the phone." What else could I do but comply?

I closed my eyes. I felt the sharp pain of metal on my neck, then blood on my shirt.

"Open your eyes."

No.

"What did you say?"

I didn't mean to say that aloud, to defy him. Now I was really going to die

"Open. Your. Eyes," he hisses. Hedug the knife deeper into my throat. I screamed.

"Shut up!" black spots danced across my line of sight. So this is what death feels like.

The last thing I ever see are his eyes.

Josh's eyes.