Page 12 of Rules of Engagement

Something loud hit the doorframe before heavy footsteps hurried away.

"Solomon?" I called again. This time, I got up and walked over to the door, a tense sensation building in my stomach.

Solomon leaned against the doorframe, his back to me. "Did he bring the wrong pizza?" I asked. "Not again!"

Solomon turned, his pain-filled eyes fixing on me.

"John?" I asked in a softer tone. A motorcycle squealed past the house.

He looked down, and I followed his gaze to his hand, where he was clutching his chest. He slid down the doorframe, his legs crumpling under him like rubber. Something dark and wet oozed between his fingers. Fat droplets hit the floor, like red dye. His other hand reached for me and I grabbed it, sinking next to him before he hit the floor.

"Sh..." he stammered. "Sh..."

"John?"

"Shot," he groaned.

My head snapped up as I began searching the open doorway. No one was there. I looked back at Solomon, and down at the red liquid soaking his gray shirt. No, not liquid. Blood! Spurting blood. I clasped my hand over his, pressing down, attempting to staunch the flow of red as I screamed for help.

"Le... Lexi," Solomon heaved, his hand curling around my wrist.

"You're okay," I told him. "You're going to be okay."

His eyes closed. I screamed out, crying for help as loudly as I could from where I sat on the floor. Lights flicked on in the windows of the house opposite us.

"Go... go..." He heaved, his breath coming short and fast. "Go to Maddox," he said, his voice barely a whisper. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped against me, a dead weight.

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