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Evan didn’t mean to leave the door unlocked.
Usually, his anxiety would tell him to immediately flip the lock the moment he got inside, so the nonexistent stalker couldn't follow him in and shove a knife into his chest. Though today, somehow, it is stagnant. No thoughts of horrible scenarios plague his mind as he kicks the door closed and shuffles up to his room, ignoring the 20 dollar bill his mom left on the counter.
He isn't exactly sure what caused this lethargy. Nothing too tiring happened during the day that would've warranted this much drowsiness. Maybe the short presentation he was required to do caused it, but Connor had aided him before any panic attack could arise.
Evan sets his backpack down somewhere next to his bed before settling in the sheets, deciding to take a short nap to regain his energy. He quickly texts Connor before shoving the phone under his pillow and pulls the blanket up. Evan turns to his side and easily drifts off with not one thought.
A door creaks open.
-
Connor's stuck in his room, scrolling aimlessly through some celebrity's instagram profile. Well, he's not stuck per se, it's more like bored, but Evan had decided to take a nap and he refuses to spend his evening talking to Kleinman. And he couldn't annoy Zoe when she's out on a date with Alana (she had said it would just be a study session, but he knew how his sister looked at the other).
He leaves his room, opting to steal a quick snack from the pantry. Connor manages to avoid conversing with his mother as he steps towards the kitchen. It takes a few minutes of searching to find one that would suit his current cravings. He returns to his room with a whole box of Krave cereal in his clutches.
And a phone that's buzzing wildly.
Connor raises a brow and sets the box down and is greeted with Evan frantically spamming him with messages. It's not unusual for Evan to send more than one text, but definitely never to this degree.
Connor unlocks his phone.
Connor Ithibk i might be in trouble
I think someones in my house and itsnot my mom cause I know she woulf text me when she gets home
Fuck fuck im hiding in my room
i cant even get tge windows open
Im so scared
pleasd
ev? what the fuck have you
called the police
I did but they wouldnt pick up???
All i heard was static on the other side
Connor pleasd help
i cant breatyf
hold on ev im driving over
are you alright with me calling you?
yes
Connor's phone immediately starts ringing, almost making him jump. The classic Samsung alarm is interrupted when he answers. Evan’s distraught breathing greets him.
He rushes downstairs in a hurry, not answering Cynthia when she asks what's got him so riled up. He's climbing into his car while also attempting to calm Evan down. The other sounds like he's on the verge of crying.
He shoves the key in and twists it. The seat is still sticky from the time he spilled a slushie. A lone baseball bat sits in the backseat. His chipped nails trace along the side of the steering wheel while the car sputters. It's an old model, which he bought for the sole reason of pissing Larry off. It was amusing at first, but the annoyingly long waits for the car to start up had gotten to him.
Especially now. It was not a good time to be waiting for this.
When the car finally starts up, he slams his foot onto the pedal with Evan still on the line.
"Ev, I'm driving over now."
The sun is going down quickly. He can practically hear Evan shake. Connor tries his best to soothe him.
He's memorized the way to Evan’s house. It takes around eight minutes to drive from his own house to Evan's. Though, that's when Connor follows the traffic laws.
"Connor, it's at my door," Evan stutters quietly, "Connor– what do I do– I-"
Evan cuts himself off. His breath hitches. Something feels incredibly off. He's about to ask what's wrong, before Evan begins to chant no's on the other side.
Connor's foot presses the gas harder.
He calls out to Evan, who’s now gone quiet, excluding his heavy breaths. He can hear the tension.
"It's–"
Evan ends the call. Connor stares at the red phone icon glaring at him. Five minutes and twenty three seconds is how long he had been on call with Evan. Five minutes and twenty three seconds of witnessing Evan in peril.
"God– fucking damn it," he swears as he tosses the phone to the other seat. "Fucking hell, you better be okay Evan."
He's lucky there's barely anyone on the road. His throat is dry while his teeth clench so hard they ache.
After what felt like years, Connor finally arrives at Evan's home. He reaches back over to grasp the baseball bat, its cold metal sends a shiver down his spine.
The front door is wide open, leading him into a corridor of darkness. It's almost comparable to a doorway to hell itself, waiting to swallow him whole. Even with how terrifying it looks, he can't waste any more time.
Connor enters the house.
The television is on. A strange cartoon about the bible plays on it. Which is strange, considering the Hansen's are Jewish. He pays no mind to it, after all, Evan’s in trouble.
Connor races upstairs. If he stayed a minute longer, he would have witnessed an angel send a deceiving message.
Once he reaches the top, he notices Evan’s room is shut. He does not call out to him and instead cautiously approaches the room. A dark pit worms his way into his stomach.
He knocks a couple of times.
No response. Where is Evan?
He calls out his name.
No response. Where is Evan?
His free hand lands on the doorknob.
Where is Evan?
He opens the door.
Evan is on the floor, laying near the end of his bed. His hand is wrapped around a bloodied knife. Red gushes out of a heavy wound in his stomach.
Connor holds in the urge to vomit.
In the corner of the room, a figure identical to the one on the floor– stands still.