I quickly called my driver. Something is not right—I have a feeling that someone is following me, following the car.
"Thank you for taking time out of your freedom tonight to pick me up," I try to apologize.
"No worries, mademoiselle," he replies. "May I have the rest of the night off, then?"
"Most certainly."
I am halfway to the door to my own house, thinking I am safe inside my own walls. Almost too late, my ears hear a click, like that of a gun. It takes several seconds, although it seems like hours, before my mind process the diminutive sound. In a panic, I start to run towards the safety of my granpere's home.
A loud crack breaks the stillness of the night air as a bullet that barely missed me slams into the door's wooden frame. A shower of splinters rains down upon the topmost steps. The last things I hear before the darkness consumes me (again) is a muffled pop and the sickening crunch of ripped flesh and shattered bone…