I was twelve when my cousin Rob bought an apartment a few towns over from ours.

Hed moved to New York City after finishing graduate school, and bought the little apartment here so that hed have somewhere local to stay when he came home for holidays or vacations. Rob was a busy stockbroker in his twenties, but he always seemed to make time for me. I remember sitting on the floor in his new, empty apartment, helping him set out paint samples and carpet swatches.

"Which of these colors do you like best for the walls?" he asked me. "This one might be a little too yellow... this one seems too green... and this one has a touch too much orange in it. I just cant decide."

I squinted hard at the four samples in his hand, but they all looked like the exact same shade of gray to me. "Maybe this one," I said hesitantly, pointing at the only one that Rob hadnt complained about. "I like how... um... how gray it is."

"Sold." Rob flipped the card into a bowl, where it landed perfectly. "Ill get coordinating carpeting for the two bedrooms. But for the living room, Ill want to keep the hardwood floors and just add a nice area rug. Which of these do you prefer?" He laid out a series of magazine clippings, showing different rugs with gray-and-white patterns.

We debated between two rugs in particular, but ending up settling on a thick wool one with a geometric pattern on it. The day we helped Rob move in, he sneaked me my own copy of the key.

"Whats this for?" I asked.

"I keep reading about all the pressures that kids like you are under these days." He glanced over his shoulder, making sure that my parents were still in the dining room, out of earshot. "I thought maybe itd help if you had a place that you could go to when you needed to get away."

"Away from my parents?"

"Away from anything. And I dont mind if you... if you bring someone over, either."

I blinked, my eyes wide. "You mean... like a girl?"

"No, kiddo. I dont mean like a girl."

It was only then that I realized why Rob had asked for my opinions about decorating the apartment. This wasnt a home for him after all.

Time is standing very, very still. Time is perfectly still, and Robs rug is ruined.

I watch as the red liquid drip-drops off the crowbar, seeping slowly into the gray and white fibers of the rug.

As if the blood werent bad enough, someone vomited on the rug in front of me. From the taste in my mouth and the sticky feeling on my lips, I suspect it was probably me.

"Just get over here... No, youve got to get over here now. I... I started hitting him and then I couldnt stop. I think I might have killed him." Someone is pacing back and forth across the kitchen, talking in a fast, choked voice. It sounds as though hes crying. "Please, man, I need your help. I need you to check on him and see if hes dead. Please."

Im not dead. At least, I dont think I am.

Im lying on my side, partially under the coffee table, facing the door. My head is killing me. So is my shoulder.

This is not how things were supposed to go. I was supposed to be safe here, in my little haven that Rob created to protect me from the outside world.

I force myself to breathe in and out, in and out. Breathing is important. If Im breathing, Im still alive.

The crowbar is covered with blood — so much blood that I start to wonder how badly Im hurt. Holding my breath against the pain in my head, I run my hand slowly over my body, but it doesnt seem like Im injured anywhere else. Feels like he hit me in the head and I went down. Jammed my shoulder on the edge of the coffee table. Dislocated it, maybe.

I should probably try to stop the bleeding from my head, though. So much blood on that crowbar. So much blood pooling on Robs rug. I sweep my eyes from side to side, looking for something nearby to use. My gaze lands on the blanket folded on the couch, and my breathing turns unsteady. It was just last night that Kurt and I were on that couch together, kissing and moving hard against each other, laughing and loving—

Someone is pacing again in the kitchen. I wonder what hell he do when he finds out Im not dead after all.

He comes into the living room, picking up the crowbar and choking back a sob before dropping it with a dull clatter: "This isnt happening. This is not happening."

Its Sebastians friend. The one with the mole on his face. The one who hooks up with Sebastian when hes drunk, and does bojutsu, and... I close my eyes. Shit. Bojutsu.

Its easier to just keep my eyes closed. The light hurts my head, and when I close my eyes, I can pretend this is just another one of the migraines I used to get. I can imagine that Mom is boiling water for tea, and Dad is laying another cool washcloth on my forehead.

Its easier.

Morgan dials his phone again, sounding frantic when the call connects. "What the fuck, man, where are you?" A knock comes on the door just then. I crack my eyes open to watch as he drops the phone on an armchair and hurries over to check the peephole before pulling the door open. "About time, Ive been waiting here forever."

His other friend — Lawrence — comes through the door quickly, pulling it closed behind him and setting the locks. He turns toward us, looking down at me. My eyes clamp shut at once, but Im pretty sure he saw me watching him. "Morgan, what the hell."

"Please, please, I need you to check and see if... if hes dead... if I killed him..." Morgan starts to cry again. "I dont know what to do. I keep washing my hands, but I cant get his blood off them." He heads over to the kitchen again, turning on the water full blast.

When I open my eyes again, Lawrence is looking at me. I cant read his expression.

"Jesus, are you still standing there?" Morgan calls out over the sound of the water. "I need you to check on him!"

I wait for Lawrence to tell him that Im not dead, but he doesnt. Instead, he turns and leaves the apartment.

The blood on the crowbar is darkening. So is the blood on the rug. So much blood, everywhere. An old Michael Jackson song starts to play in my head, for some reason: Annie are you okay, are you okay Annie? I swallow thickly, trying to keep myself from vomiting again.

She ran underneath the table

He could see she wasnt able

Why didnt Lawrence tell Morgan that Im alive? He definitely saw me watching him. Maybe he went to get help. Maybe he called 9-1-1, and an ambulance is already on the way.

I hope so. The pain in my head is getting worse.

I should probably do something to stop the bleeding, before I lose too much blood. Gingerly, I lift my hand and run my fingertips gently over my head. Theres a nasty goose egg on the left side, just above my ear, but when I pull my hand back and peek at it, theres no blood on my fingers.

You were struck down, it was your doom

Sometimes its a good thing to have your head bleed. Because it relieves the pressure. I almost wonder if I should try to find something to pierce the goose egg, to help with the swelling. The pain is getting unbearable as I close my eyes, trying to breathe quietly.

Theres a sign in the window that he struck you, a crescendo Annie

Stupid song. Stupid Michael Jackson with his stupid creepy songs.

You were struck down, it was your doom

Morgan is crying again in the kitchen, big heaving sobs. Seems almost cruel that Lawrence didnt just put him out of his misery and tell him he didnt kill me.

A crescendo Annie

He came into your apartment, he left the bloodstains on the carpet

Wait.

He left the bloodstains—

My eyes fly open, my breaths coming faster.

If Im not bleeding... then whose blood is all over the crowbar?

My gaze swings over to the DVD player, and I cant stifle my groan of horror when I see the time display. Its almost five forty-five. Kurt should have been back ages ago.

Oh, god.

Kurt.

Im vomiting again, big gagging heaves that bring up nothing but yellow bile. He should be here by now. The last time I talked to him was nearly an hour ago, and he said then that a tow truck had arrived to take away the toppled tractor trailer. He must have run into Morgan on his way in, and—

I spit out the last of the vomit, trying to force myself to think. Kurt is somewhere in this building, and if Morgans state of hysteria is anything to go by, hes injured badly. I have to save him.

I look around the room again. Cant look at the crowbar, cant look at the blood on the carpet. Cant think about the warmth of Kurts smile or the soft lilt of his voice. I have to focus on getting help.

Wheres my cell phone? I pat down the front of my jeans with my free hand, but my pockets are empty. Where did I put it after Kurt and I last spoke? I have a vague recollection of putting it on the charger in my room, but I dont know if that was today or yesterday. Time seems hazy and indistinct.

My eyes swing over to the armchair by the couch, and my pulse quickens. Morgans phone is laying on the seat. Im roughly six feet away from it.

On a normal day, it would take me two strides to reach it.

This isnt a normal day.

I try rolling off my bad shoulder, and cant help crying out softly at the pain that shoots through it. Luckily Morgan is washing his hands again and doesnt appear to hear me. I manage to get onto my back, catching my breath and gritting my teeth. I have to do this. I have to make it to that phone. Ive got to save Kurt.

I hold my breath before pushing myself up with my good arm. The motion makes my head pound, but at least Im sitting up now. The phone doesnt seem as far away now. I ease myself toward it slowly, balancing unsteadily on my knees. For a brief moment, I consider using the crowbar to bridge the last distance, but I cant bring myself to touch it. Its too easy to picture Kurts ashen face, contorted in fear as Morgan approaches him with his crowbar at his side. Another few feet and I reach the phone, swallowing a cry of relief when my fingers grasp it.

Morgan shuts off the water, and I freeze in horror. If he comes to the corner of the kitchen and looks over here, hell see me. I crouch down slowly, crawling back toward the table. Hes pacing again, and his footfalls help drown out the faint whimpers of pain I cant suppress.

Finally I make it back to my spot under the coffee table. I cradle the cell phone like a lifeline. I did it, I got it, and Im going to save him. I press the power button and my heart sinks.

Theres a password to unlock the phone.

I enter 1-2-3-4. Then 0-0-0-0, then 1-1-1-1. Then I just start pressing random numbers, my chest gasping for air. This cant be happening. I cant have come so close, only to fail him. My vision grows blurry with tears of frustration as I press every combination I can think of. Then I hear the ping of the elevator, and heavy footfalls coming down the hall. I shove the phone in my pocket and lie still, hot tears trickling down my cheeks.

The footsteps stop outside the apartment, before the doorknob turns slowly. Lawrence enters the apartment, closing the door behind him and setting the locks. When he turns toward me, he looks as though hes seen a ghost.

I cant bring myself to play dead. Its not like I could hide my shuddering breaths at this point. I catch his eye, pleading with him silently, but he just scowls.

"All you had to do was stay away from him," he whispers fiercely, his jaw tight. "You act like you dont even like him; why couldnt you have just stayed away?" He rubs his face with his palms before walking toward the kitchen. I hear Morgan stop pacing abruptly, and theres a moment of pregnant silence.

"Well?" Morgan says finally, his voice thick with tears.

"Hes alive," Lawrence responds, and I feel my chest expand with relief. Theres still time to save Kurt. I just have to think of a way. I pull out the phone again, trying more random combinations of numbers. "He... he doesnt look good, Morgan."

"I know he doesnt look good, why do you think I called you?" The pacing begins again.

"He needs a doctor," Lawrence murmurs.

"Theres got to be a way out of this," Morgan says. "We have to find a way to fix this."

"Fix this?" comes the incredulous reply. "Our best friend is lying in a pool of his own blood in the stairwell. How exactly are we supposed to fix him?"

My thumb stills on the keypad. I can hear the pounding of my heartbeat in my ears.

Its not Kurt.

Its Sebastian.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight, gasping with relief. Its not Kurt. Theres no way Lawrence would let his friend die, Im sure of it. Hell talk Morgan into calling an ambulance, and theyll save us both, and the police will arrest Morgan. And Kurt and I, we can finally stop looking over our shoulders. We can finally start living our lives together.

My head hurts worse than ever, but the relief is so palpable, I barely notice. I barely notice Morgan and Lawrence arguing in the kitchen, and I barely notice the ping of the elevator down the hall, and I barely notice the footsteps approaching the door.

But then I hear a sound that cuts through the pain, and the fog, and terrifies me to my core.

Knock knock knock-knock knock-knock knock knock knock.