Joe stretched, his eyes aching from staring at the computer screen for so long. Stupid history.
WHAM!
Joe leapt from his desk as his window shade flew up out of nowhere. His heart was pounding wildly as he remembered the brick crashing through the glass.
Calm down, geeze Hardy, you're worse than Frank!
Joe took a deep breath and moved toward the shade to lower it.
The window was open; Joe knew he hadn't left it that way.
"Fra—" he started, but the name never finished.
The dart hit him first; it flew through the open gap straight into Joe's shoulder. He took a single step back, but not fast enough; a Molotov cocktail soared through and struck Joe straight tin the chest, exploding gasoline and fire over his body.
Joe screamed, but before he could even raise his arms to try and put his clothes out his body went numb, and he sank to the floor in a helpless heap, his clothes still burning. His scream cut off, and though his terror stayed strong he could no longer voice it.
Oh my God I'm going to die I'm going to burn to death, I'm being burnt alive and I can't move I can't even scream oh help me God help me someone anyone help me!
Joe felt tears streaming from the sides of his eyes; he hadn't cried in years, but he couldn't help it now, as the smell of burning cotton and skin reached and choked his mouth and nose and there was nothing he could do to save himself.
He was about to pass out when wool scratched his face and filled his mouth; someone had covered him and was furiously beating at the flames, putting him out, smothering the biting stinging pain.
"Joe!" Frank ripped the covers off to expose his brother's smoldering t-shirt—it had burned his sweatshirt away—and singed hair. "Are you okay? Can you move?"
Joe wanted to scream, or at least say his older brother's name, but he couldn't get his mouth to move. Frank reached down and caught sight of the dart embedded in his brother's shoulder and hastily pulled it loose.
"Oh my God…okay. Okay, stay calm, all right? I'm gonna get you an ambulance and the police—"
No! Frank don't leave, don't leave me here something's coming I feel it I sense it Frank don't leave, don't leave!
The lights went out.
Frank gasped and leapt to his feet, rushing out into the hall and fumbling for the phone.
"Dead," he whispered, turning back to his paralyzed brother. Joe's eyes widened in terror.
This can't be happening it's like something out of a horror movie this isn't real I've got to move so we can get out of here my God he's coming for us, the Reaper's coming, the real one and the criminal, move Joe, MOVE!
Glass exploded downstairs, and the brothers heard the door fling open and slam into the wall. Heavy, deliberate footsteps fell along the hardwood floor approaching the stairs.
Joe whimpered, fighting the chemicals that had frozen his muscles. Frank slowly inched back into the room, slid to the floor and gathered his younger brother against him.
That's how the man that had stared up at him from the folder found them; Joe still and paralyzed in Frank's arms, feeling the warmth and strength and power of his older brother, knowing Frank would protect him to the end.
To the bitter, bitter end.
