Pitch

I Knock on a Door

“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.

CHAPTER THREE

Travis Doesn’t Listen Very Well

The door swung silently open under the weight of my fist. I jumped back like a scalded cat and bumped into Travis who went flying into a flowerbed. He must have landed on one of the creepy garden gnomes because he released a totally embarrassing high pitched squeal before he got to his feet and staggered back over to me. From the dim overhead light I could see dirt smeared his left cheek and pieces of grass clung to his hair. Reaching out I plucked half a petunia from behind his ear and rolled my eyes.

“You would never make a good spy,” I told him.

“That’s because I don’t want to be a spy,” he gritted out. “I want to be an accountant!”

“Same thing.” I shrugged.

“It is not the same thing at all! It is the furthest thing… from… oh.” Travis’s voice trailed away. “Hello,” he finished weakly.

I whirled around and tried not to stare. There, standing in the open doorway, was the largest man I had ever seen.

He wasn’t large width wise. Rather, he was large all over in the way those wrestlers were on TV, the ones that hit each other with chairs and made lots of grunting noises. His hair was white blond and slicked back from his face with some kind of oil. A leather jacket, totally not PETA approved, enveloped his upper body and came all the way down to his knees. Gold rings flashed on his hands when he crossed his arms in front of his barrel sized chest and said, “Can I help you?”

Surprisingly it was Travis who recovered first. “We – uh – heard a weird – uh – noise and we’re just – uh – ”

“Why are you not in your houses?” The man interjected, narrowing blue eyes that were only a few shades darker than ice.

When Travis’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish gasping for air, I took over. “Where is Mr. Livingston?” I asked loudly.

“I am Mr. Livingston,” said the man. He grinned, revealing gleaming white teeth that I instinctively flinched away from. I was trying to look him in the eyes, to show him I wasn’t afraid even though his ham sized fists could do some serious damage to my internal organs, but for some reason it physically wasn’t working. I could gaze into those ice blue eyes for half a second before something in my brain short wired and I had to look away. Within seconds my head was throbbing to beat the band and my stomach was doing greasy flips. The man’s smile widened.

“Would you like to come in the house?” he asked, gesturing broadly with one tree trunk sized arm. “You and your companion are not looking well.”

“What?” I gasped. “Of course we’re not going inside, who do you take us for complete -”

“We would love to come in,” said Travis.

“What?” I said again, although this time it came out as more of a strangled yelp. I tried to grab Travis’s arm but he shook free with surprising force and walked straight through the door.

“Travis Robert Callahan, you get out here THIS MINUTE!” I yelled after him.

The man in the leather jacket laughed and winked one blue eye at me and said, “He is gone now, little girl.”

I didn’t like the way he said ‘gone’. It wasn’t a ‘gone to the store and he’ll be right back’ kind of gone. It was a ‘he has moved to a different country and you’ll never see him again’ kind of gone. I took a wary step backwards. The man’s eyes narrowed. It was a faint movement, almost imperceptible. I retreated another step. His upper lip curled.

“You do not want to come in the house with your friend?” he said.

I noticed his grin was a little more forced now. He almost looked… confused. As if he couldn’t understand why I had not followed Travis into the house. “You come out here,” I challenged, spreading my arms wide. “You want me? Come and get me.”

He didn’t like that. One booted foot stepped across the doorway. I braced myself, ready to run, but with a hiss of pain he snatched his foot back. Tiny curls of smoke swirled up from the leather