Chapter 7
Unfortunately, that was just fine because my door was ajar. Well, it was still a door, but an open one, and glancing inside I could see someone had redecorated. Every piece of furniture was upside down and the stuffings ripped out of it. Tables lay on their sides and every piece of china was broken. I tripped inside and gaped at the mess. "What the hell-?" I whispered.
I stumbled over the ruins of my belongings and my life. Nothing was untouched by the destructive hands. I reached the television and my foot crunched down on glass. I glanced down and saw I'd stepped on a wooden frame. It's glass covering was broken, and when I picked it up I saw the image was torn. It was a picture of Tim and me smiling. We'd convinced Vincent to take it a few years ago because he didn't want to be in it. I imagined a lack of reflection had something to do with that.
Tears sprang into my eyes and I stumbled back to sit on the overturned front end of the couch. I wasn't sure who'd done this, but I had a feeling it was those two cops. My free hand balled into a fist and I smashed it against the bottom of the couch. I regretted it when the hard wood frame beat out my soft, squishy hand, and to make matters worse I was still mad. I took the picture out of the frame and tucked it safely inside my jeans pocket.
As for the rest of the place, I opted to leave it until I was sure what I wanted to do. Calling the cops would probably bring Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, and they'd make the same mess of me as they had of my apartment. I did right the living room chair and an end table to make the crime scene a little more homey. I'd just plopped down for a really long nap when my stomach growled. I hadn't had anything to eat in a few terrifying, adrenaline-draining hours.
At my stomach's bidding I walked over to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I glanced inside and my stomach churned at the various states of decomposing vegetables and spoiled milk. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I wasn't peckish for any of that and shut the door. A scouring of the cupboards succeeded in making me hungrier, but I still didn't find something I wanted to munch on.
I growled and turned away from the cupboards just in time to see a shadow flash by the fire escape that stood outside one of the living room windows. My eyes widened and I waited for something epic and terrifying to happen. A minute ticked by and I decided waiting for something epic was boring, so I slunk over to the side of the window. I peeked my head around the edge of the frame.
A large shadow loomed on the metal grate, and our eyes met. My bright blue ones widened and its yellow-orange ones narrowed. The thing jumped at the window, and I ducked as shards of glass rained down on me. I heard a growl and whipped my head up. Standing in my living room was another one of those wolf beasts, and this time I was close enough to catch a whiff of its breath. It smelled like it'd just ate somebody for dinner, and I was the dessert. The creature's orange eyes gazed at me and I scrambled back on my hands and rear. The thing quickly followed and reached out one of its clawed hands to grab me.
My savior shadow swooped in through the broken window and knocked into it. The werewolf slammed to the floor, and Vincent jumped off its back and deftly landed beside me. He grabbed my shirt collar and yanked me to my feet. "You are doing an admirable job of staying alive," he quipped.
I scowled at him and poked a finger into his chest. "Don't you dare tell me I can't-ah!" I yelped when Vincent grabbed my head and shoved it down to avoid a wide swipe of the creature's claws.
"Your survival skills are impressive," he quipped. I tried to reply, but he shoved me out of the way as the werewolf lunged at us, and he himself dove to the left. The beast hit air and dug his claws into the carpet. I never liked that color, anyway.
I rolled over the floor and hit the side of my chair. I was quick to recover, and glared at Vincent who stood across the room. "All right, so I can't take care of myself! You want me to give you a bone for being right?" The werewolf swung its head around and snarled at me. I held up my hands in front of me and nervously smiled. "No, doggy. I don't really have any bones."
The beast leapt at me, and I screamed and rolled out of the way. Its claws were buried into the side of my chair and tore most of its stuffing from the arm. I tried to stand, but it grabbed my foot and yanked me toward it. My hands clawed at the carpet, but the werewolf dragged me back. Vincent flew by me and knocked into the werewolf. He slammed the beast into the wall, and I heard the screams of my frightened neighbors on the other side. I could just imagine them dialing 911, and that meant we only had a few hours until the police arrived, too late and undermanned.
Apparently Vincent thought the same because he jumped back from the wolf thing and picked up a large shard of glass from the window. The beast pulled itself from its crater in the wall and roared. It was reckless with anger and lunged at Vincent without seeing what he was holding. Unfortunately, I saw everything, including when Vincent coolly sliced the air with the shard of glass. The sharp, homemade blade cut clear through the beast's head, and its blood splattered the entire room. I wasn't spared from the blood shower, and my filthy clothes were further filthed by the disgusting red dye of life fluid.
Vincent tossed aside the glass and strode over to me. He knelt in front of me and looked me over. "Are you all right?" he asked me.
I replied in the only sensible way a girl could. I fainted.