And continuing from Thursday's story prompt...
The scene before me was not what I had expected, based on the phone conversation and the sounds I had heard moments before. There was a woman lying on a bare mattress, her hands and feet bound with what looked like stockings. She wasn't naked, as I had expected, but her polka-dotted blouse was unbuttoned, and her skirt was hiked up around her waists. A man stood at the end of the mattress, but I could only see the back of his head, a balding crown glinting in the light from a bare bulb in the ceiling.
I heard his voice rumble out something, but I couldn't make out the words.
"Yes, yes!" she called out again, but despite the sound of passion in her voice, the look on her face was pure terror. "Anything!"
I couldn't turn away - I had no idea what was going on, but it certainly didn't seem like the playful encounter that I had heard on the phone. I debated about what I should do. Neither of them had seemed to notice my presence yet. It almost seemed like a good idea to just turn around and go. At the same time, I had an awful feeling that something bad was going to happen. Of course, that might just have come from watching CSI all night...
"Bitch!" I heard that quite clearly, and I saw the man lean over and stuff something into her mouth. She made a whimpering sound, and I knew that this wasn't just some kinky game. I took a deep breath, trying to steel my nerves, hoping I could intervene without getting myself beaten to a pulp by the guy, but before I could even get up off the floor, he had pulled out a gun.
"You're never cheating on me again!" he yelled, lifting the weapon to aim at the woman's head.
"Holy shit!" I exclaimed as the gun went off, jumping to my feet. I couldn't take my eyes away from the poor woman, a gaping wound in her head and dark blood flowing into her blonde hair.
"Who's there?" the man demanded, looking around. He caught sight of me and aimed the gun once more. "Get your ass down here."
Who was I to argue with a guy holding a gun? I kept my hands in front of me, showing him that I had no weapons, as I walked down the stairs.
"On the bed," he snarled. I looked down at the dead woman - I really didn't want to sit that close to a corpse, but since it looked like becoming another corpse was my other choice, I sat. "You the bastard she's screwing?" he demanded. His eyes were beady and dark, and his scruffy chin seemed to have more hair than the top of his head. I didn't like the look of him.
"No, I just, I brought back the dog? I called earlier?" I said, hating how everything came out sounding like a question. "The door was unlocked, so I brought her inside."
"Right. Where's the bitch now?"
"Um, upstairs? She ran off when I took off the leash." I glanced at the gun. I was born and raised in the South, so I had seen guns before, and I had shot pistols, rifles, lots of 'em, but it was a very different thing to be looking at a gun from this angle. "Look, I didn't see anything, I swear. Can't I just go?"
"Right. Nothing. I can get rid of two of ya just as easily as one," he muttered, cocking the gun. I closed my eyes, unwilling to believe that I was about to die in some stranger's basement next to a half-naked dead woman. I have never been one for bravery, but there's something to be said for survival instinct. To this day, I don't know why I did it, but before he could pull the trigger, I opened my eyes.
Tucking my legs under my body, I rolled off the bed and stood up, a bit to the guy's side.
"Wha?" he turned his body, aiming for me once more, but I reached out and grabbed his hands with my own, forcing his arms upwards with a strength I didn't know I had. He fired twice into the ceiling, and I heard the scrabbling of the dog's claws against the floor upstairs. Despite the gravity of my situation, I found myself hoping that the poor dog managed to get away unscathed.
The guy turned to the side, trying to twist away, but I held tight. His arms folded back, and suddenly the gun was trapped between our bodies. I could feel my panic rising, but the guy just grinned. It was a truly evil expression - his eyes looked vacant but menacing. His grin widened briefly, and I felt his hands contract beneath mine. I closed my eyes as the shot rang out, and waited for the blackness to overcome me.
I opened my eyes again, and found myself staring into his dark, beady eyes once more. They looked confused, and a moment later, he stumbled back from me, releasing the pistol with a loud clatter before he also hit the floor. A crimson pool spread beneath him, and I stared at yet another fresh bullet wound.
The cops would never believe me.