I knocked on the door in front of my face. Tim's voice answered, "Yeah, come in."

"Hey, it's Allen," I said as I opened the door. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing much," he said, which was quite obvious as he had a super bowl recording on TV and a Coors Light in his hand. "How 'bout you?" he asked as I stepped inside.

"Lookin' for Eric."

"Yeah, he's pretty pissed at you, man," Tim said over his shoulder.

"Shit. Where is he?"

"I dunno. Said he was going somewhere, and he left. Want a beer?" He gestured towards the fridge.

"Nah, thanks."

"More for me, then. Why're you looking for Eric?"

"Why do you think?" I asked, very impatient.

"Point taken," he said, still watching the seven-month-old game.

"Welp," I decided, "I'm going to look at his house. Tell me if you see him." My hand was on the doorknob when I spotted a blood stain on the door. "How'd that get there?"

Tim looked over his shoulder. "Oh, Eric scared the shit outta me when he came in without knocking, so I whacked him on the head real hard with my beer."

"That's bullshit." I spotted more drops of blood leading down the hall. "Why is there blood down the hall?"

"He went to patch himself up down there," said Tim.

I walked down the hall, following the blood spots.

"Hey! Don't you go down that hall!" cried Tim. I continued down the hall. "I'm fucking warning you!"

The blood drops got closer together until it became a streak of blood. It turned in to Tim's room and I followed it. It led under the bed.

I lay down and looked under the bed and started as I saw a pair of dead eyes staring back at me.

"Shit," I mumbled. "Eric. You're dead." I grabbed his arm and dragged his lifeless body out back down the hall. Eventually, after travelling about ten feet, I decided to carry him.

I decided to call 9-1-1.

"Yes, my friend. . . Allen. . . No, I want the police. . . My friend. . . He murdered my other. . . My other friend. . . No, he used a beer bottle, supposedly. . . He's a real close friend, yeah. . . Twelve minutes? Okay. . ." I sighed.

"Hey, Tim! Good news! Eric ' dead, and you are wanted!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. "Cops'll be here in eleven minutes!" I sighed.

"You called 9-1-1, you fucker? What the fuck!" Tim finally got off his lazy, fat ass and came towards me.

"What are you gonna do, murder me? The cops are coming! That'll just be more proof!" I laughed. If I had to fight a ten minute fight to get Tim arrested, I would do it. He raised his beer above his head, and as it came down I thwacked it out of his grip.