—the worst case scenario. Taylor is missing, her phone is dead, she's most likely dead. John Doe is on the loose, and—

The doorbell rings. Just once, breaking the slight distress cementing all of us to the floor. Brendon's whole body freezes like a deer in headlights the second he latches on to my arm for dear life. Ryan and Jake share one look and tentatively head for the door, glancing back once or twice to make sure I stick with Brendon.

I regret not keeping any type of weapon in the house. Despite the absence, I could have tossed them a steak knife from the block in the kitchen, or I could've broken off the iron curtain rods. Instead, the two new officers creep up to the front door, alone and unarmed. My heart is pounding in my throat. They don't even know about the full extent of John Doe's capabilities yet. None of us know truly what they're capable of. We'd most likely be fighting a losing battle.

The rusty hinges of the door slowly creak open. My right hand fumbles for the fork on the table and my left hand grasps at Brendon's sleeve to push him behind me. In my peripheral vision I see him grab the serving spoon from the stir fry bowl and wield it like it's a medieval sword.

"Oh shit, it's Swift! Lieutenant Swift!" Jake yells and the front door swings wide open at the speed of light. I leave Brendon behind and race down the hallway.

Sure enough, it's Taylor. Ryan swoops down and hooks his arm around her shoulders to help lift her off the cement. Jake shuts the door once she's inside and turns the lock. He checks the peephole before running to Taylor's side.

Brendon sets down the serving spoon and backs away down the hallway. "I-I'm going to call an ambulance. I think we keep one of the first aid kits in the front room."

"I think we moved it. It's behind the photos on the shelf." I drop the fork and slide down the hall as fast as I can to grab the kit. Every piece of first aid information has exited my brain.

Ryan peels off her bloody sweatshirt and takes the white box from me while I kneel down to ease Taylor down to the cool tile. She's breathing and very much awake and alive, but she's bleeding heavily. There are bruises forming all over her body, and there's a large and concerning bump on the side of her right calf that's turning every color of the rainbow.

Ryan rips open an antibacterial wipe packet and starts to clear away some of the blood to reveal the injuries. The majority of it spills from her hairline and her nose, smearing over the side of her face like war paint. The rest is minimal and scattered all over her body in rough scrapes and small lacerations. She's certainly not on the verge of death but she should be taken to the hospital as soon as humanly possible.

Her hand grasps at my wrist hanging over her shoulder. "Bring me your cat."

"I'm not bringing you the cat. What the hell happened? Where have you been? We've been trying to get ahold of you and you never responded."

Brendon comes sprinting down the hallway with two bottles of water and a clean dish towel. He skids on the floor and lands at her side, immediately dousing the towel in water and trying to clean up some of the more obvious cuts with Ryan. Jake digs into the kit and tries to pick apart the gauze with little luck.

"Someone t-boned my car. I left work a few hours ago. I should never have taken the back way." She screws her eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath.

Brendon's hand shake as they hover over the dark bump on her leg where cracked bone threatens to puncture the skin. His dark brown eyes are wide and scarred for life. "I think it's broken. It's so broken. Oh god, I should have taken that first aid class in high school."

"Is the ambulance on the way?"

He nods. "She'll be okay, right? She's not going to bleed out and die?"

Taylor grunts. "I'm not gonna die. Whoever hit my car will."

"Where is it?" Jake stands to peer out of the peephole again. "You didn't drive it here, did you?"

"What should I have done? Was I supposed to crawl my way over here on my hands and knees? Call the police? I am the police."

"You could have called us," I take the towel and try to dab at her hairline, "we would've dropped everything to come get you. Or you should've just driven straight to the hospital."

"Don't you think I tried? My phone is destroyed. I can't call anybody let alone get service. Please don't get me started about OnStar either. I'm filing for a refund." A shiver runs down my spine. It couldn't have been John Doe, right? Could they have the audacity to go after the authority figure of the authorities?

"You couldn't have driven straight to the hospital?" I repeat and she glares at me.

"I make bad decisions sometimes, okay? Why don't you sue me?"

Ryan takes her hand and turns her palm up. It's scraped to hell and embedded with small stones from the asphalt. I'm sure her other hand is in the same state, steadily dripping blood all over my arm. "What hurts?"

"Everything."

"Let me simplify that; what hurts the most?"

"My head," she pulls her hand away and lets it fall on her lap, "I think I might have a concussion. I hit the steering wheel. My chest kind of hurts too. And my brain. And my pride."

Brendon cracks open the second bottle of water. He tries to hand it to her but pauses once he takes a look at the spots of blood. "I thought airbags were supposed to prevent you from hitting the steering wheel."

"Obviously. Someone's been fucking with my car. The airbags never deployed. My OnStar was shut off. I couldn't find the second pair of keys I keep in the glove box. I had to hot-wire my own vehicle in the middle of nowhere."

The mental image is the most badass thing I've ever thought of. "I'll help you file a report later."

"I can do it perfectly fine. Is my hand broken? I don't think so. Did someone cut out my vocal cords? No they did not." Her fingers twitch and she eases into Brendon's grip. He cringes at the feeling of pebbles and blood. "I have to ask you something. It's really important."

He scoots closer. "What is it? I'm listening."

"Where is your cat?"

"She's upstairs, I think. Probably taking a nap. Maybe going through our drawers and destroying Dallon's prized possessions."

Jake finally tears the gauze apart and passes a long strip to Ryan. He folds it into a thick rectangle and presses it to Taylor's hairline with one hand while he tears off a piece of white medical tape. "Prized possessions? Like the stick he keeps up his ass or, like, a soccer trophy?"

"...My diplomas, maybe?"

"Ah," Ryan nods, "the stick."

I turn to Brendon and wait for him to defend me but he just shrugs.

Jake starts to dig through the kit again. He frowns as he pulls out a small bottle of Fireball buried underneath the bandages. "I do have a question, Lieutenant."

"If you insult me or my Animal Crossing villagers, I will terminate your position immediately."

"I... I wasn't planning on insulting you or your Animal Crossing villagers. I wasn't aware that you played until now. I'm sorry I guess?" Jake glances to me for help but I can't give him any. She's woozy and appears to have lost a fair amount of blood, all over my tile flooring. All she speaks is the truth.

Ryan takes the bottle of Fireball and shoots it back in one gulp. "I think we're on the same page. What were you doing? It doesn't sound like you were headed out here."

"I was, eventually. I left after you two did but I wanted to go visit Pete first. He's sick."

"We talked this morning. He's fine." I say. "Maybe he's got a little cold, but it's nothing to worry about."

Taylor leans back against me and we lock eyes. She wasn't visiting him just because he was sick. John Doe was involved somehow and they knew where she was going and why. "I was bringing him the food he left in the kitchen. I took the back way out to go see him."

The back streets to Pete's house are paved with dirt and void of light. You depend on the stars to direct you and the headlights to keep the animals out of the way. I asked him if he was ever planning on moving out of his hand-me-down mansion, but I realized that was a dumb question as soon as the word 'mansion' left my lips. I know he was seeing someone when I inquired, and that was months ago. I wonder if they even talk still. I wonder if someone is there to watch over him.

"...Did you ever make it out there?" I ask quietly. Everyone falls silent to listen. The faint siren of an ambulance echoes from a few streets over.

"No." She says.

I take the water bottle from Brendon and I squeeze his hand. "Love, could you go flag down the ambulance? It sounds like they're nearby."

He nods. He takes another glance at the cuts and scrapes to affirm his absence won't cause any issues. "Yeah. I can do that. I'll be right back. It won't be long."

As soon as Brendon shuts the door behind him, Taylor breaks the silence. "They both know, Dallon, but I hadn't briefed them on how extensive it is."

"Nobody knows who it is? No ideas, no suspects, no leads or anything?" Jake glances between us like we have the all the answers to the universe. "They're coming after you now, it seems like. Are Ryan and I in danger too?"

"Hold on, I have another issue with this whole shebang," Ryan points at me, "your fiancé doesn't know? What the hell, man? You know when the serial killers go after whoever their target cares about? This is that situation. Why haven't you told him? What a piece of shit move. He's probably in danger too."

The sound of the ambulance grows louder. It must be turning into the neighborhood soon, maybe in a few minutes. "It's my decision whether or not I tell him. He has absolutely no connection to my line of work and he never has, so there's no reason to target him that we know of. I keep him safe and I would never let anything bad happen to him. Maybe I'll tell him when we know more about what the hell is happening around here. For now, it's just a crazy and coincidental accident. Got it?"

"His name was in the note—"

"His existence is briefly mentioned in the note. He's called my fiancé and that's it. They're coming after us, not him. Mentioning him was just a fear tactic. Don't ever let his name leave your mouth in this context ever again. I said he has nothing to do with this. Don't fucking bring him up again like this."

Jake and Ryan bite their tongues. They don't know me well enough to lecture me on my decisions, and even if they did, I work well above them. I have the last word for now.

The front door creaks open slightly and Brendon lets in a pair of EMT's. There's a few more people standing on the porch with a stretcher, and the nosy neighbors hanging out on the lawn so they can catch a glimpse of the action. We haven't spoken to them in years. I'd stand up and tell them to scram if I wasn't preoccupied.

They bring the stretcher halfway in the door and help her on to it. She's not too beat up, but there's no reason behind trying to make everything worse.

One of the EMT's stays behind while the rest go to load her in the back of the ambulance. "We're taking her to Hudson Hospital and Clinic. You're more than welcome to visit her in a bit, but it looks like she's coherent and can answer the questions we need her to."

"Yeah," I say as Brendon clings to my side, "she's pretty tough. Do you know what wing she'd be in if we were to visit?"

"Not sure yet. If you inquire at the emergency services desk, I'm sure they could look it up."

"Alright. Also, er, I'm not too sure who her emergency contact is. I guess my question is if one of us could be contacted if anything happens. We work together and we've been close for a while."

The ambulance siren starts back up again and the EMT glances out the front door. "Her emergency contact was actually already informed of the current situation. We'll discuss the near steps with her on the way to the hospital. That decision is up to her."

Jake steps up and ushers them out the door. His grip lingers on the door frame until the ambulance pulls away and the flashing lights leave the nosy family in darkness.

Ryan leans over Jake's shoulder once he sees them too. "Who's that?"

"The neighbors," Brendon sighs, "we don't talk to them."

Ryan nods. Then he ducks under Jake's arm to storm on to the porch with his arms crossed. "Last time I checked, Jordan Peele isn't remaking Us. Get the fuck off the property."

That catches the neighbors off guard and also greatly offends them. "H-Hey, you can't tell us what to do. Don't think we won't call the cops on you!"

"Go ahead. I'll pick up." He shouts and steps back inside to slam the door. The tension in the air is palpable. I can't believe all of that just happened.

Brendon pats my shoulder and meanders back down the hallway. He lets out a long sigh. "That's enough excitement for a very long time. Do you think you could get that extra mop down from the closet?"

"Don't worry about it. I'll clean it up. Go take a minute to yourself." I call after him. He doesn't argue; he marches upstairs and I don't hear another peep.

Jake and Ryan stare at Taylor's sweatshirt and the small pool of blood spread all over the tile. It's soaked into almost every article of clothing. "Well, that was interesting."

"Very."

"Maybe we're just a beacon for danger. No more dinner parties with all three of us." Jake runs a hand through his hair. Despite what just happened, it still looks perfect.

"Regardless, you're both more than welcome to stay the night. I understand if you're freaked out."

"Thank you very much. I think we'll take you up on that offer, but we'll make the decision right after I finish the stir fry." Ryan says. He heads off to grab the dish and Jake follows close behind him.

I kneel down and pick Taylor's sweatshirt off the floor. It's drenched from sitting in the pool for so long. The pool of blood, coagulating on the floor of my house. My house, where I live with the one person I cherish more than anyone else on the planet.

I pray that her crash was just an accident, but the feeling deep in my bones says otherwise. She never visited Pete either, and with every second that passes I doubt his safety. He was sick earlier, out of the blue. If John Doe intercepted Taylor, there's no reason why they wouldn't have come into direct contact with Pete. I can't just rush out to check on him, and if he doesn't answer his phone then I'm screwed. I can't risk going out at a time like this, but I also fear for his safety.

I check the street through the peephole to ensure there are no creepy white vans parked along the curb, then I set the alarm system and head upstairs.