A/N: Alright, thank you for the reviews. And if you really like this, I have another story, wich I think is better and it's called "The Begginings" so if you get time, I would love it if you could read it. Well, I'm not going to ramble, so here's chapter 3.
Part Three
I gulped, this guy was bent on getting me to where he was going next.
"Jackie, come out come out wherever you are!" The man called through gritted teeth. "You can't hide! I WILL find you!"
I had to do something to get away from him. Who knew what he could- would- do to me! I looked around the cupboard; Towels, pipes, toilet paper, a plunger. Nothing of use. I slid my leg to where it was stretched out, I just about hit the other side of the cupboard when I stubbed my toe on something really hard. I bit my lip to keep from saying something. I pulled the thing up, it turned out to be an iron bar. Boy, was I lucky!
I heard him moving the shower curtains, like I would hide there!
I crawled out of the cupboard, not closing it because it would ruin my cover. I slowly made my way over to the man. Once I was within arms length I started to raise the bar. Then an extra shot of adrenaline came, he turned around.
"Well Jackie!" He said chuckling. "Looks like you've decided to come out and play!"
"Shut up!" I yelled.
"Ohhhh, stop! You're sooooooo mean!" He said with mock sadness.
"Go. To. Hell." I said in a low but steady voice.
"What did you say?" He asked, pulling out his gun and amind it at my head.(A/N: sorry if that doesn't make sense, but he just got P.O.ed that she said that to him LOL)
"GO TO HELL!" I yelled and slammed the bar down on his head. The man fell to the floor, limp. Blood began to seep out of his head and onto the linoleum floor. He was dead.
I sprung into action, I didn't know what I was doing, or how I knew to do it. I grabbed his gun, wallet, pocket knife and cell phone and stuffed it into a backpack. Then I froze. Realization hit me. 'I killed him! oh my God!' I thought. 'Don't worry about it now,' I told myself, 'You need to get out of here!' I rushed down the stairs and into the garage. I grabbed the Porche's keys and rushed across the garage. 'Dad's gonna kill me for this' I thought. I jumped into the driver seat. The leather was cold from inactivity. The car looked and smelled brand new. Dad called it his baby. But mom disagreed. She told me when I was 8 that Dad's Chicago Cubs mug was his baby. She said he had had it since they first meet, and that he called it "Cubby". I had laughed at this when my Mom told me. I had laughed because when I was 8, I believed they still cared about me.
I sighed, pushed the garage door button and speed out onto the road...