He felt something was off. John couldn't place it, but the feeling remained as he sat at the kitchen table, watching Cameron pour pancake batter into the frying pan, the perfect consistency allowing it to flow easily from the bowl. His face twitched in confusion when the thick liquid didn't stop flowing. It continued pouring over the sides of the frying pan until it had completely covered the stove top.
"Don't you think that's a bit too much batter for one pancake?" He inquires with a smirk. Turning to him, head tilted ever so slightly, she offers a faint smile in response. Staring silently in confusion, he recoils in terror as the pale liquid atop the stove formed into silvery spear, quickly shooting through Cameron's chest, impaling her against the wall. She slowly goes limp, a trail of blood pouring from the corner of her mouth as her eyes glaze over.
Thrashing in the sheets, he looks up through bleary eyes, finding Cameron sitting at the edge of the bed, staring down at him, her head tilted in curiosity. He opens his mouth, coughing from the painful dryness in his throat. "I told you I hate that." He rubs his eyes as he sits up, then falls back into the pillows.
"Yes, you did. You do." She pauses, eyes widening slightly as the corners of her mouth rise almost imperceptibly. "But I will continue regardless."
"Well, if you're going to be that close while you're staring, at least climb in with me, then." He mumbles, rubbing his eyes again before pulling the blanket over his head. His stomach rumbles as he's about to close his eyes. "Actually, forget that right now." He throws the covers back, gets up and stretches as she continues to stare at him, head tilted, a glazed-over sheen in her eyes. She approaches him, her right hand slowly rising for his throat.
Her hand continues slowly as he backs further away, stopping when he collides with the door. He tries to fumble for the knob, but it's too late. Her soft fingers curl around his throat. Closing his eyes, he waits for the end. They slowly open when he feels her thumb brush across his windpipe before joining the rest of her fingers as they move along his jaw to cup his cheek.
"Fooled you again." She whispers, a slight smile on her lips as she pulls her hand away.
He exhales, trembling slightly. "Not funny, Cameron." He pauses, still backed against the door. "You've been watching Christopher Walken movies again."
She looks away briefly before returning her eyes to his gaze. "Have I?" He looks at her pointedly. "Dark humor, huh?"
"Not the right situation?" She asks quietly.
"No, but... it's the... thought that counts." He chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. Her eyes brighten at the sentiment, watching as he opens the door and ventures downstairs in the dark. He hears the floorboards creak under him as he enters the kitchen.
"I'll make you a sandwich." He jumps slightly at the voice. 'How does she always manage to be so quiet?'
"We'll make a sandwich. Sometimes..."
"It's nice to have help." The corners of her mouth upturn slightly. Pulling open the fridge door, he skims the contents.
"Where's the damn turkey, it was here the last time I looked."
Using Sarah's voice and intonation she responds. "Move the contents of the fridge around and the turkey will reveal itself to you."
He smirks over his shoulder. "Stop doing that, you're freaking me out." He turns back to the fridge.
"Sorry." Again in Sarah's voice. He smiles to himself.
Retrieving the turkey, hidden behind a plate piled high with pancakes, he turns to place the package on the table. She's gone. Looking away, he finds her staring out the backdoor window.
"I hear something out there." She deadpans.
"What is it?"
"I don't know." She pulls her modified full-auto Glock 17 from the back of her jeans, opening the door as she steps out into the darkness behind the house.
He turns to follow her out the door when he hears the sudden high-pitched squealing of an unidentified mammalian creature as it hurls itself out of the shadows, latching onto his head. He falls to the ground rolling as he tries to extricate himself from its grasp. Screaming in terror as the creature claws at his head, he beats its back with his fists. "Christ! Get it off me!." He continues beating at the creature as he flails on the ground.
"Cameron!" He beats the creature once more before he feels a great force tear it from his cranium, its claws exacting one last scrape on his scalp. He groans in pain as he watches her toss the still squealing creature off into the darkness before firing a burst of 9mm FMJ in its direction. The squealing fades to a quiet hissing before she empties the rest of the mag into the creature.
Rising to his feet, he watches as she crouches to inspect the decimated remains of what used to be a raccoon, splattered across the ground, tufts of fur and an occasional giblet all that remain of his most terrifying attacker. "Normally, I'd say that was overkill, but... I can make an exception."
He feels the warmth of blood on his face as he turns to walk back in, sitting down at the kitchen table. He grimaces as he feels Cameron's fingers comb through his hair, inspecting the wounds. "Not a word of this to my mom. Or Derek. Especially not Derek."
She smirks in response.