(Thanks to Skye Wander who snuck in with one last draft pick! The new draft 12! Sequel to Please Let Me In. That was my 100th writing so you can see how long ago this was sitting in my drafts.)

——

With the lights and internet out, Lance is panicking. He has a missing man in his house and no way to call for help.

“There’s something on your window,” Dally points out, voice trembling. His whole body is actually.

“Leave your home now” is written in red on his living room window. He can’t tell if it’s in blood or paint which makes Lance want to puke. When did she even do that?

Dally limps to Lance’s kitchen and throws open the drawers, slamming them when he doesn’t see anything useful. “Where are your knives?”

“My knives?” Lance asks, not really believing the situation he is now in.

The injured man gives him a bewildered look, briefly pausing his search. “Yes, for protection. Like from the madwoman after me. Did you forget?”

His tone would kind of be funny if not for the life threatening haze that has blanketed them.

“The drawer on your far right,” he answers, gestures towards the correct placement. Dally takes out a large butcher knife that Lance never uses.

Seeing the shine of the blade in the moonlight scares the living crap out of Lance. He shifts nervously on the balls of his feet. “Shouldn’t we leave and find help?”

While he feels like that’s a reasonable suggestion, Dally adamantly shakes his head. Those green eyes pierce Lance’s soul.

“No. She obviously knows I came in here. She’ll just attack either one of us if we try to leave. Don’t believe her message. She’ll kill you too.”

Geez. What the hell happened to make this person hate him so much?

“Who is the woman after you?” He asks, somehow mustering up an even tone. Something tells him that Dally knows her. Not just a random serial killer. Not at the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe with the wrong person.

Gazing into the reflection of the knife, Dally glares into it. “A freaking black widow. The date and kill kind.”

“Her name is Kat Hadesty. You know, in case I die and you live. You can tell my tale.”

Lance sears that name in his mind. If he remembers nothing else, he’ll know her name.

“If it makes you feel better, I’ve also got bad luck in the dating department,” he tries to joke to lift the mood. That gets a startled laugh from Dally. “I would hope you have more than me at the moment.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. The last guy I dated didn’t want anything to do with me. At last she wants you.” Dally gives another dry chuckle at Lance’s poor attempt at humor.

“Wants to dice me up, if that’s what you mean.”

Hobbling to a chair in the kitchen, Dally collapses down and holds the knife tightly, knuckles turning white.

With the dire situation at hand, Lance grabs the metal bowl that he almost used as self defense against Dally.

It’s like Dally is in his own world. Aware of every creak in Lance’s house but not seeing what’s actually in front of him. “I used to think I wasn’t afraid of dying. When my sister died, I told myself that the worst has happened to me. Nothing could top that. Though Kat is certainly trying,” he reveals, eyes watering.

This poor guy. Lance can’t help but feel sorry for this man. He knows he has to finish this out with him. He won’t let him do this alone. “You’re going to live. We both are.”

“You can’t promise that,” Dally warns.

Lance is an optimist…sometimes and this happens to be a time that he is. There’s just something about this terrifying night that tells him they’ll live. “I can promise that we’ll try.”

Maybe he’s acting like a foolish person in a horror movie. The one that dies ironically after they give a pep talk.

“You don’t have to be apart of this,” he says, gesturing to the general vicinity. But Lance shakes his head at that. “I think I already am.”

“I’m sorry.” Lance knows he’s being sincere. It’s all over his tensed face.

Shrugging his shoulders, he gives a smile, not a joyous one but an upturn of the corner of his lips in understanding. “I’m not. I opened my door to help you. I still want to help.”

“You are really something, Lance.”

“So are you, Dally.”

Getting up, weilding their weapons of choice, they open the door to face whatever she had for them.