Page 53 of Fatally Yours
My eyes fell upon a curtained back door, and a small thrill temporarily replaced my negative emotions. That was our key. Finally, he pointed to a yellowed phone affixed to the wall. Bowing my head, I strolled up to it, giving him one final glance before I pulled it from the hook.
“Can I get some privacy?” I placed it to my ear. “My dad is totally gonna yell at me for bugging him.” I tried to fake a smile, but it felt like torture to do so. It was agony seeing the person who took August away from me and caused all this misery.
“Course, sweetheart.” Randy left the kitchen and wandered into the living room, surely to watch the TV and plot what he was going to do with me while I was vulnerable. Little did he know someone was lurking outside his home. A predator just as powerful and remorseless as he was—the man I loved.
I tapped my fingers along the buttons, hoping it sounded like I was pressing them, before I set the phone atop the cradle and made my way to the back door, pulling open the curtain. Taking another unnecessary breath, I pressedmy finger to the lock and pushed down, hoping the click wouldn’t catch his attention.
Thankfully, I could hear Randy chuckling at the show, and I habitually wiped my brow with the back of my hand. Then, ever so carefully, I pried open the door as I held my breath. It slid on the track without a sound, as if the universe were paving the way for our revenge.
Poking my head out into the warm air, I spotted August standing against the back of the home and ushered him inside. There was a hint of a smirk on his face, almost like he was proud of me.
“Good job, baby,” he smirked, stepping inside. “Who could’ve known you were so good at being bad?” I shook my head silently. I couldn’t accept his praise until the deed was finalized and Randy was in the same state as we were, except without the reanimation. Noticing my stoic mood, he spoke again. “Is it him?”
“Yeah, it’s him, but he has a gun.”
“So what?” he said. “That won’t stop us.” I gave him a steely look but remained silent. After I sealed the door again and clicked the lock and curtain back into place, I turned to him.
“What do I say to him?” My voice was barely a whisper.
“Anything. Make something up. Tell him someone’s going to come get you.”
“How are you so good at this?”
“I’ve had a lot of experience bullshitting people,” he said, breaking his stern expression. The hint of a smile crossed my lips—the only joy I felt in the moment.
“Not me.”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Everyone except you.” He gave me another devilish, dimpled smirk as I returned to the phone. Picking it up, I hung it up more aggressively than normal, hoping it would sound like I was upset after an argument. After that, I made my way to the living room.
Randy was standing in front of the TV with his arms at his sides, his rugged expression and dark hair accentuated by the glow of the screen. I set my hand on the back of my neck to feign bashfulness, just like I had seen Augustdo so many times before. That simple action had helped him worm his way out of so many speeding tickets.
“So, um, my dad is going to come get me. Do you mind if I—”
“You can cut the shit, my love,” August said darkly, stepping in from the kitchen. Randy’s hand shot for the gun poking out of his waistband, and I flinched, taking a step back. August stood defiantly, even walking forward, unfazed by the man drawing his weapon and pointing it at him. And why wouldn’t he be? He had already faced death once before. I only wished I had the same strength. Maybe after tonight, I would.
“The hell is going on here?” he questioned, standing firm.
“Do you remember me?”
Randy shook his head. “I think I’d remember some pale freak with mismatched eyes,” he growled. “I didn’t touch your girl if that’s what you’re pissed about.” A smirk crawled across August’s face—almost like relief.
He better be damn relieved.
“You should really try to remember who I am. Without the pale skin or the crazy eyes,” he said. “It could save your life.” Randy held the gun steady. He was trained. Confident. Experienced. It was too bad for him that the two of us couldn’t die, even if the idea of someone pointing a gun at me still made my insides liquefy.
“Are you threatening me, fucker?” he challenged.
“If I have to.” Between blinks, a knife appeared in August’s hand. My heart soared as a wicked part of me desired to watch him pounce and plunge the blade into his soft flesh, just as he did with me. But before he could do that, Randy looped his finger into the trigger and pulled it, sending a shot ricocheting through the air.
Despite our undead status, a cry ripped from my throat as August stumbled back. His hair fell in front of his pinched face as he held his shoulder and groaned. For a moment, I forgot he couldn’t die, and I ran towards him, taking his hand in mine. All I could think about was that day I held him in my arms as he died, and the taste of his metallic blood on my lips.
“Your turn, bitch,” Randy snarled, aiming the weapon at me. “Let’s see how far you can get.”
“August!” I cried, digging my nails into his dead flesh. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Randy’s ugly face twist with confusion.
“August?” he asked. The gun dropped just for a moment as he recalled the name that should’ve been burned into his memory for the remainder of his days. A groan slipped from August’s mouth, and I turned my attention to him. From between strands of hair, I caught him smirking.
He’s faking. Of course.
