Page 60 of Stranger Danger

That’s when I hear another creak—

And it’s not from us this time.

A fourth.

“Cat?” Dave calls from the bedroom, his voice gruffer than it was in the grocery store. “That you, sweetheart?”

I listen to him shuffle around from the end of the dark hall. The light in the bedroom comes on, and he yawns loud enough to make me yawn.

“Skyler’s party was terrible,” he says. “Tina’s good-for-shit ex showed up and made it all about him. She won’t get a restraining order.”

Beckett puts down his thumb.

“Tell you what, if my grandson comes over with bruises, I’m getting the police chief to arrest him.”

Beckett puts down his pointer finger.

Dave’s footsteps stop.

For a solid minute, I’m trying to convince myself he went back to bed and it’s going to be easy for us. Super quick. Maybe we can go to Denny’s after, and Beckett can help me with my Statistics homework.

Until something scrapes against the ground and the talking stops.

Dave steps into the hallway, wrapped in a robe.

Carrying a bat.

Beckett doesn’t hesitate. He charges forward and slams the flat of his palm into Dave’s throat, but Dave doesn’t go down as we planned. He swings the bat hard into the black ski mask, and I feel the crack more than I hear it.

Panic rushes through my whole body so hot that I swear to God I’m going to fucking puke.

I’m over in less than half a second.

My shoulder connects with Dave’s side hard enough to spin him, but he’s a brick wall—way broader up close and solid enough to make my whole arm tingle.

The bat swings wild, grazing the side of my bunny ear as I duck. I grab for it, palms searing worse than rug-burn, and Dave wrenches back with a grunt.

I stumble backwards and trip over something on the ground.

Beckett’s on his ass next to me. One glove pressed to his mask, and I can’t see if there’s blood, can’t tell if he’s seeing straight, but he’s making this weird, wet sound. My insides turn to mush.

“Stay there,” Dave pants. “Don’t—don’t move. I’m getting my handcuffs.”

Beckett’s hand grips my ankle sharp enough to squeeze my bones together. He doesn’t let go when I try to jerk away, even as his head lolls to one side like he’s fighting to stay conscious. The wet sound comes again—breathing through fluid, maybe, or trying not to vomit from the impact. I can’t tell. I—I can’t fucking tell, and Dave is already turning toward his nightstand where he said handcuffs, where there’s probably a gun, or probably a radio where he’s going to call for backup.

The rest of our fucking life is going to end here, and I don’t—

I don’t want that.

“Run,” Beckett whispers, barely audible.

Tears drown out my vision. “Hell no!”

He rips off the black mask, red hair plastered against the side of his head. I almost wish the light was still off. That way, I wouldn’t have to look at the crushed side of his face. The blood pouring from a gash in his temple and nose.

This isn’t the Eunice Strangler or my pen pal or best friend right now.

This is my roommate.