The doorbell rang, but he was too busy in the middle of our routine to notice.

“Get her out of here!” I said, but he continued folding up the bloody bed linens. “Get her OUT!”

“Max Wellings!” Someone yelled my—our name from the other side of our apartment door. He continued struggling with the giant, blood-stained sheets.

“The bed needs to be cleaned!” He screamed.

“They’re gonna take us away if we don’t hide her body!”

Aggressive pounding came from the door.

Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam…

We stood, paralyzed; our eyes blinking after each repetitive knock. Unable to do anything, neither of us took control of our body.

…Bam! Bam! Crash!