I Won't Be A Murder Victim (Again)!

My heart skidded to a halt. I turned and bolted for the emergency stairwell.

I was not fast. I had slipped on those stairs earlier and injured my foot. Even now, it had not fully recovered, and each step sent a sharp reminder up my leg. Running drained what little strength I had left.

The door to the stairwell swung shut behind me.

A second later, the elevator doors opened. Heavy footsteps rang through the corridor, loud in the dead of night.

I pressed myself against the wall inside the stairwell, shaking and slick with cold sweat.

I remembered Chad asking me to pick up his food.

"Just help me out this time, man," he had said. "I promise I'll buy you a drink next time."

Even then, his eyes had darted around. He had looked like he was hiding something.

Now I knew exactly what that was. He had robbed his financially struggling roommate, Teddy Krueger, of his scholarship. And Teddy had come back for revenge.

I clenched my jaw and pressed my ear to the door. I forced myself to focus on the faintest sound.

There was nothing.

The thick, suffocating silence stretched. It scared the hell out of me. Who knew what was waiting on the other side?

The livestream comments kept scrolling.

[That freaked me out, chat. Teddy's checking every door in the corridor. He's staying quiet so he can catch him off guard.]

[I don't know what would've happened to J if he hadn't run.]

[Wasn't he doomed last time? He didn't know Teddy Terror existed. His injury slowed him down. Then he got stabbed to death. And his shitty little bro never opened the door while he screamed for help.]

[We've got two killers in this story, chat. If you enable a murder, you're a murderer.]

[Justice for J. He treats his little bro like gold. That piece of shit brother has to go.]

[Justice for J. Disown that ungrateful little shit after this.]

I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Who had taken the fall for every rotten thing Chad had ever done? Me.

When he was eight, he played with fire and set the furniture ablaze. I tried to put it out. He shoved me toward the flames instead. I almost died. Then he told our parents I had started the fire.

After that, every mistake I made carried the same accusation. My parents dragged up the fire like a brand they could press into me whenever they pleased.

When Chad was 16, he ran away because our parents disapproved of his relationship. He did not even have the courage to leave alone. He demanded that I go with him.