Lewis looked around, trying to remain calm. Light shone into the room from a small window near the ceiling, which appeared to be at ground level outside. There was a tiny bathroom off to the right, a bed to the left, and an assortment of gaming equipment on a desk before him. There was also a sofa behind him next to the door. He recalled a comment Jenna had once made about Charlie living in his parent’s basement, but other concerns quickly overrode the thought.
Diving for the sofa, he pushed it from one end with all his might to slide it in front of the rattling door as fast as he could.
“They’re everywhere!” Charlie screamed from the other side of the cracking wood. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”
The door broke just as Lewis took a step back, but his assailant had barely enough space to get his arm into the room. The knife swung through the air wildly while its wielder shrieked in rage.
Lewis turned back, looking from the desk to the window. He had no other choice.
Pushing aside the monitor for Charlie’s Alienware desktop, he scrambled up onto the desk and reached for the window sill. He fumbled with the latch, but he couldn’t get it to slide across. It appeared to be stuck.
He swore under his breath.
Charlie delivered one powerful kick after another to the door, the couch shifting forward with each blow.
Lewis looked left and right. He had only two choices for a hiding spot: the bathroom or under the bed. But as soon as Charlie figured out he was under there, there’d be no escape. He leaped off the desk and dashed into the bathroom, sliding around behind the door.
He heard several more crashing noises, then heavy footsteps as Charlie stormed his way into the room. “I know you’re in here,” his voice boomed. “You’re not gonna get me!”
Lewis leaned around the door to look at the sink counter, searching for a weapon. The metal soap dispenser looked heavy enough. He inched back into the crevasse between the door and the wall, squinting through the tiny gap by the hinges.
He saw Charlie bending down to look under his bed. Now was his chance.
Lewis slipped out, snatched the dispenser, and swiftly returned to his hiding spot. Through the gap, he watched as Charlie spun around toward the bathroom. Red anger swelled in his face, the knife trembling in his hand.
“I won’t let you hurt me,” he hissed.
Lewis’s heart was pounding so quickly he wondered if Charlie could hear it. His hulking figure stomped closer, a growl rising in the back of his throat. He had to know Lewis was behind the door.
It was now or never.
Lewis raised the soap dispenser. It weighed at least a few pounds. As Charlie entered the bathroom, he swung around and smashed it against the man’s forehead. Charlie reeled back, the blade nearly slipping from his fingers, as he clutched the bleeding gash above his left eyebrow with his other hand. Lewis didn’t hesitate; he gave another adrenaline-powered swing, this time stronger. It connected with the center of Charlie’s face with an audible crunch.
Charlie fell back against the counter, both of his hands clasping his broken nose. The knife clattered to the floor, but for some reason, Lewis didn’t think to grab it. Fight or flight instinct had chosen flight, and he found himself dashing past his attacker, past the knocked-aside couch, and out the door. He swung around the pole at the base of the steps, using his momentum to launch himself up the stairs.
Somewhere below, Charlie bellowed in anger and came thundering after him. Lewis climbed the steps on all fours to reach the top faster. It sounded like his pursuer was right behind him. He reached the top landing, scrambled to his feet, and slammed the door shut after him. There was nothing to block it this time; it would only momentarily slow him down.
Lewis stepped back from it and was about to sprint for the front door when something caught his eye off to the left. The delivery man lay still in a pool of his own blood, his open eyes gazing emptily at the ceiling.
He wanted to grimace, to turn away, but his shock was interrupted by a tremendous crash as Charlie smashed through the door. His inertia carried him straight over to the slick trail of red, and he slipped in the same liquid that had stained his shirt. Lewis didn’t wait for him to get back up. He ran straight down the hall, skirted the corner, and dashed through the front door and out into the daylight.
A police car had pulled up beside the FedEx truck and two officers were climbing out, one male and one female. They spotted Lewis and immediately drew their guns.
“Hold it right there!” the man said, aiming his pistol at him and stepping closer onto the lawn.
“Put your hands up!” yelled the other.
Lewis did so, realizing his jacket must have blood on it from when he slipped and fell in it. Also, frantically running out of the house where a 9-1-1 call had emerged had to look a bit suspicious. He gestured back toward the house with one hand.
“The killer’s still in there,” he said.
“Just get on your knees and stay put,” the female officer said. Both of them were coming closer now.
Lewis did as he was told. Suddenly, they froze in their tracks and aimed their weapons somewhere past him. “Hey freeze!” the male officer barked.
He threw a look over his shoulder. Charlie stumbled out the front door and stormed toward the three of them down the stone path. His eyes were deadlocked onto Lewis in a menacing glare, his mouth contorted in a snarl. His face was badly banged up from the soap dispenser and blood seeped from each nostril.
“Sir, drop the knife and put your hands up!” one of the officers shouted.
But Charlie didn’t stop. Lewis twisted around and fell on his backside and began scurrying back as the attacker drew nearer. His intent was evident in his eyes even before he raised the knife up high. He lunged forward, his mouth open in a scream.
A sharp crack resounded behind Lewis off to the left and Charlie’s body jerked back, a red geyser sprouting from the center of his chest. His charge became a stumble and he collapsed onto the grass a few feet down the hill from Lewis.
For several seconds, Charlie lay there, his widened eyes staring off blankly. Words escaped his lips, barely louder than a whisper: “Arcadia… awaits…”
And then he went very still.
09
The room was cold and grey. A single strip of fluorescent lighting hung from the ceiling and the only amenities were a steel table with three chairs, two on one side and one on the other where he was sitting. On the wall before him was a mirror, which he knew was a two-way.
Lewis brought the glass of water up to his lips and took a sip. His fingers weren’t trembling anymore; that was a good sign. Detectives had been in and out all afternoon asking questions and then more questions as others outside the room analyzed new bits of evidence collected from the house.
Everything backed up his version of events, so there was no question of him having committed any sort of crime. Charlie, in some kind of hyper-paranoid trance, had stabbed the FedEx delivery man at the doorstep and dragged him all the way to the back of the house, where he had bled to death by the time the police arrived. Given the phrases he’d used on the phone with Lewis, as well as his cries while assaulting him, the cops guessed that Charlie thought the delivery man and Lewis were agents of some conspiracy out to get him. Once he’d brought the man over to the kitchen table, he’d waited around the corner for the next “enemy” to come through. That just happened to be Lewis, and in his delirious state, Charlie must not have recognized him.