Alexander Plansky - Arcadia

The Ford Fusion came to a halt across the hillside street from 329 Cedarvale Lane. Cautiously, Lewis stepped out of the car. Sunlight streamed through tree branches, casting shadows of leaves down on the sloping asphalt as they rustled gently in the breeze. He squinted up at the empty, periwinkle blue sky. It was a beautiful day; he was surprised not to see anyone outside.

A few cars were parked in front of houses or in driveways up and down the street, and in front of 329 was a FedEx truck. Lewis looked past it to the house itself. It was an average sized lot for the neighborhood, a bungalow painted grayish-green with white frames around the windows. The curtains were all drawn shut. Since it stood on a hill, Lewis could see that the left side of the house went down farther than the right. It might even have a basement, a rarity in the Golden State.

The front door stood ajar.

Lewis walked across the street and up the stone path to the entrance, a strange feeling coming over him. Something about the whole scene felt off. It wasn’t until he got to the door that he understood why. At first, he was about to gently rap on the wood and call Charlie’s name, but he looked down just as he began extending his arm.

Blood pooled around the doorstep, a dark crimson trail leading off into the dimly-lit interior of the house.

Immediately, Lewis took several steps back. He pulled out his phone and rapidly dialed three digits.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“I’m at 329 Cedarvale Lane, Pasadena,” he said. “My friend called a few minutes ago from inside the house, saying someone was trying to get in. There’s blood around the front door and a trail of it going into the house.”

“The door is still open?”

“Yes.”

A moment’s pause. “I’m dispatching a squad car to investigate. They should be there in about five minutes. Please stand by, and step away from the house.”

“Please hurry,” he said, and hung up.

Suddenly, a cry erupted from beyond the door.

Lewis froze. He wasn’t sure if it sounded like Charlie or not.

Then a voice: “Hello? Is someone there? Please help!”

“Charlie?” he called out.

“Dear God, please help me!” It sounded like they were in pain.

Lewis looked around. Nobody else was around to assist.

Slowly, he edged toward the door and softly pushed it open. Directly in front of him was a wall with a coat rack. To the right was a living room and to the left was a dining room and a corridor branching off deeper into the house. The blood trail went that way.

“Hello?!” the voice called.

Lewis moved closer, one careful step after the next. He wished the police were nearer, but if Charlie was hurt, he might need his help right now. Around the corner, he saw that the short hall emerged into an area with a breakfast table and what appeared to be an open kitchen off to the left; Lewis wasn’t sure, he couldn’t see all of it yet. At the back was a sliding glass door leading out into a small backyard with a BBQ and a brick patio. Daylight shone through the glass, illuminating the table and the body of a man lying on the floor in a pool of blood.

He was still alive, dressed in a FedEx uniform, clutching a wound in his abdomen, and looking pale. He feebly reached his arm out toward Lewis, blood dripping from his fingers. At first Lewis, frozen in shock, thought he was going to beg for help again. Then the words escaped his lips: “Watch… out…”

A large shape lunged out from behind the corner, moving like a wraith. Lewis saw a kitchen knife slash through the air and somehow caught the large arm that wielded it, the blade mere inches from his face. For a moment it remained there, slightly wobbling as the attacker was unable to overcome Lewis’s determination. Then the assailant grabbed his shoulder with their other arm, turned, and threw him toward the kitchen.

Lewis tumbled to the floor. His shoulder hurt, but the pain vaporized in his mind’s frantic resolve to figure out what the fuck was going on. He spun over onto his back to get a good look at the maniac.

The silhouetted, hulking figure stepped into the light, brandishing the steel blade. Charlie appeared torn between fright and rage as he raised the knife. “Get away from me,” he said, stepping closer.

Lewis raised his hands. “Jesus Charlie, put the knife down!” He blinked multiple times, half expecting the man to disappear. But he stayed there, his hair mangled and his shirt drenched in the delivery man’s blood.

“You’re not gonna hurt me anymore!” Charlie shouted, then lunged for him.

Lewis scrambled to his feet and dove behind the island countertop of the kitchen. He surfaced on the other side just as Charlie swung the blade across. It cut across his left forearm and he jumped back.

Charlie snorted like a bull, narrowing his eyes. He edged to the right, then the left, unsure of which way around the counter would best bring him to his target.

Lewis raised his hands. “Charlie, it’s me. Desmond. You called me.” Very slowly, he began moving his right hand behind him to pull open a cupboard door and feel around inside it.

Charlie shook his head. “Not gonna get me, not gonna get me…”

Moving with surprising speed, he slid around the island corner on the left and lunged for Lewis, whose fingers had just curled around a drinking glass, which he hurled at Charlie. His assailant brought up his arm to cover his face just before the projectile hit his elbow and shattered.

Lewis ran around the other side of the island, running toward the hall, the front door, and safety. He remembered the blood on the floor a split second too late. His feet slipped out from underneath him and he crashed face-first to the ground.

Get up, get up.

He’d just managed to get back to his feet when Charlie grabbed him by the shoulder, opened a door beside him, and violently shoved him in. Lewis suddenly felt himself briefly soar through the air, then tumble painfully down step after carpeted step, his entire body battered from every angle as the world spun around him.

Then it ended, pain jolting through his body as he sprawled out onto smooth flooring. Wearily, he glanced back up. It was dark down here, save for the light drifting down from the top of the staircase. A darkened figure descended like a hawk down the steps, blocking out the light. He could see a knife wielded in the attacker’s hand.

Lewis was lying prone. He pressed his palms onto the cool, hard tile and forced himself back up in spite of the pain. Behind him stood a maze of radiators, heaters, and boxes. Directly in front of him was a door.

He threw it open, slid through, and slammed it shut just as Charlie reached the bottom of the stairs. Lewis turned the lock into place just as he heard the pursuer yell and the knife blade stuck its way through the wooden door. Lewis jumped back, feeling as if his heart were in his throat. On the other side of the barrier, Charlie roared and stabbed the knife through several more times. He began aggressively jiggling the knob, and when that didn’t work, resorted to kicking. The door shook violently in its frame.

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.