Friend
The first blow caught Edgar completely off guard. Cindy’s head exploded and her body careened into him, sending them both over the back of the couch. He lay there with the sack of meat that was his co-worker a moment ago lying on top of him, blinking bits of skull out of his eyes and wiping blood off his face.
From back where they were Marcia was screaming. The door closed. Her screaming stopped and a moment later began again even louder. There was another loud “thunk” followed by a thick spraying sound and she was quiet.
Edgar thought he should be more panicked. They were both dead and the killer was in here still. He looked around, but his vision was still blurry. He didn’t see anyone.
There was someone standing over him.
Edgar twisted his head around to see the work boots just above him. He flopped Cindy’s body up against the couch to get a better look and felt something cold, wet and large press up against his cheek.
He held very still, feeling nothing but his heartbeat and the large metal thing the killer had used to smash Cindy and Marcia’s heads on the side of his face.
“You don’t have to do this.” He sounded much too calm. He should have been begging, pleading, but this foreign monotonous voice he’d never spoken with before was the only thing that would come out of him. “I can help you.”
Everything more than two feet away was blurry, but it looked like the killer cocked his head.
“Look, they–they had it coming. I work with them everyday–I’d know. You just did what you had to do. But me? No, you don’t need to do that. I can be your friend.”
The killer knelt.
There was a gray mask. Edgar couldn’t see a seam or anything where it was affixed, like it was a part of the face. But there were only two gaping black eye holes and a bigger one for the mouth. Kind of like an outlet.
Everything else looked normal. Blue plaid shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, revealing well-muscled forearms on an otherwise thin frame and khaki pants with a sharp, ironed-in crease.
“You could use a friend, couldn’t you?” Edgar’s pulse slowed as Cindy’s blood soaking into the carpet cooled beneath him. He put his hand to the handle of the killer’s weapon and gentled it away. “I could.” He rolled over onto his stomach and saw the killer’s shoulders tense up.
“Hey, we’re all friends here. It’s cool.” He brought his knees up, slicking across saturated carpet, and stared into the eye holes of the killer’s mask.
“I’m Edgar.” He held out his hand. The killer looked at it. “So what do we–”
The killer stood up, walked around the couch and sat down.
Edgar looked at the back of his head, a wild mass of hair, and then to the door. If he were quick he might be able to make it. He stood and just then those empty eyeholes turned to Edgar as the killer patted the back of the couch.
Edgar joined him, almost spilling over Marcia’s half-headless body, splayed across the floor. An arc of red went from the coffee table to the loveseat across from them.
“I can help you clean this up.” The killer cocked his head again.
“So is this your last thing for today?” The killer checked his watch. “I mean, after this you wanna grab a beer… or something?”
No answer. Edgar was beginning to worry when the killer stood up.
“So where we goin’?” The killer looked at him. He shook his head. Edgar crawled backwards on the couch, curling his legs up like a loaded spring.
“But I thought we were–”
The killer didn’t move.
“Yeah. You’re right. Hurry. You need to get out of here.” Edgar lay on the floor. He heard the weapon whip through the air just before it hit.
