He Said He'd Follow
I own none of the characters that I'm using in this story. If I did, I'd not be trying to manually fix my printer.
“Jonathan.” Debbie paused at the door to Vic’s old bedroom. “You have to come out of there sometime.”
He’d arrived on the 8pm train from Los Angeles, his eyes dark with worry, and had taken a cab to the house, after calling her there. There’d been bruising on his face, and he’d limped as he walked, but he looked well, other than that.
“Is Andrew there?” Debbie wondered who Andrew was.
“No.” She was the only person there, though her Michael was on his way.
“Then I don’t have to come out.” He whined. “You’re sure he’s not there?”
“Yes.” Jonathan flew to the door, opening it wide, it nearly slamming against the wall, and downstairs to the door, to look outside. “Jonathan, honey, what are you doing?”
“He said he’d follow me, Debbie.” His voice was stark, deep and cracked and worried. “He said he’d follow me here.”