Pitch

CHAPTER TWO

“Did you hear that?” I asked Travis.

“We have to c-call the police,” he stuttered, looking physically ill. I didn’t blame him. I was feeling a little queasy myself. A human being doesn’t make a noise like that unless they’re in some serious pain.

“And tell them what? We were about to steal some guy’s car when we heard him scream? No way,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s dumb.”

Travis staggered over to the side of the driveway and sank down on his haunches. “Bad idea,” he said to himself. “I knew this was a bad, bad idea. Lame, man. Really lame.”

“What if we call your mom?” I suggested.

Genuine terror filled Travis’s eyes. “No way. Absolutely not. I would rather go in the house myself.”

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s do it. Let’s go. I’ll knock on the front door and you go around back and look in the windows. We can’t just leave without doing anything.”

Travis might have been a chicken, but he was a chicken who knew right from wrong. “I would rather steal the car,” he said glumly.

“Saving a guy’s life from a psycho axe murderer is so much cooler than stealing a car. We’ll be famous. Mr. Livingston will probably give us a reward or something.” With one hundred dollar bills dancing in from of my eyes I started walking towards the front door. It wasn’t far from the driveway and the stone walkway was illuminated with ground lights, making it easy navigate. I heard a loud sigh and then the noisy shuffle of Travis’s sneakers as he caught up to me.

“This is such a bad idea,” he said. “What if there really is an axe murderer or you know, a robber or something?”

“Then I’ll use my cell phone and call the police.”

“Why not call the police now?”

“Because we’re right here.” And we were. The front door loomed in front of me, a silent taunt to go ahead and prove my mettle. I raised my fist to knock. Hesitated. Glanced at Travis. “Go around back and see if you can see anything.”

He looked at me like I was nuts. “Don’t you know the first rule of not getting killed by a crazy axe murderer? You never split up.”

Since Travis was the horror movie guru, I decided to take his word for it. “If someone opens this door,” I said out of the corner of my mouth, “and pulls me inside you better have my back. Got it?”

“Got it.”

I felt his hand press reassuringly against my shoulder and I took a deep breath.

Why are you knocking on a stranger’s door after you just heard screaming coming from inside, Lola? asked the rational side of my brain.

Because I can, said the reckless part.

I knocked on the door.