Final Destination: Chapter 3 Edited

Previously on Final Destination: Wyatt has left the house, that all his friends died in, and heads for town in need of help. But no one's around, except a dog...? 

“Can't you hear me?” Wyatt growls behind the doubled-doors. The howling wind sidles with a soft touch to his ear and he jumps. He feels a jaw clamp onto his calf and Wyatt hurdles onto the platform. He trembles, wrapping his arms around his body on the stone cross walk. The dog looks down at him, nostrils flaring, perfectly fitting into the curve of Wyatt's pixie nose. The dog exhales from out his nose and Wyatt flinches at the storming heat exhaling out from its nostrils.

Wyatt hollers, “Mutt, there's a mutt out of its cage! What the hell is that thing?” He focuses his eyes of the burning eye looking down at him along with the other two eyes. He forks over the horse like body of the dog and sees no one looking for it. Wyatt grunts while the dog impales its paws into Wyatts side. Wyatt cups his palms over the dogs chest and thrust it off his body. The dog heaves back, understanding what Wyatt wants. Wyatt brushes off the hairs of the dog and goes back to the position of holding his side. He exhales out his breath heavily, hunching over. Wyatt grasp for breath and says, “What are you?”

It tilts its head, “Alright. I know, mutts can't speak.” He wafts his hand at it, sighing. The dog lifts its nose to the air, getting a good whiff. Till it poises his posture of its body, elegantly rising. Till its body rises so high, Wyatt has to look up. The dog clears its throat, almost sounding human when it did that.

“Give us what we want and we will go away,” Wyatt flinches at the canines voice. He blinks hysterically, eyes bulging out his head. He reaches in for his pocket for a metallic cone, and checks to see it's secure. The dog barks again and he pulls his hand from out his pocket. Wyatt's so startled by the howl, he elbows the dog as it falls back. The dog begins crouching; preparing to lunge again at Wyatt. As it's ready to jump, it hovers over Wyatt's body and Wyatt ducks. Stiffing his head in between his legs, the dog fades through the dark, disintegrating into ashes.

His steady footsteps echoes, compacting the angry pitter-patter of soles of his shoes onto the stone cross-walk. Gut-wrenching, heart pumping from the exhaustion he felt. His legs were shaking rapidly, while the cold night air course through his lungs. Squeezed in tightly between rows of project apartment buildings, Wyatt's home lies at the end of the street. Wyatt pulls up to his complex and hammers his fist against the screen doors.

“Louise, open the door!” Wyatt commands his wife. He drums his hands up and down the door, till lights flicker on down through the stairway. His wife, Louise, comes curving around the stairwell fluttering her eyes open.

“Stay awake,” Wyatt replies with a gruff. She carelessly sighs and opens the door.

“Sweetie, why are you yelling? The neighbors will hear you,” she scoots to the side, letting him enter. He disrespectfully pushes her further aside as if the room she gave him wasn't big enough.

Wyatt jumps to conclusions about Louise, “Who have you spoken with today?” He paces through the halls keeping a steady eye on her.

“Just a friend,” a very close friend of Louise. She stops fluttering her eyes, and lets her bottom lip droop. Louise had been visiting her friend Nicholas Harris, a common enemy through the town. Wyatt noticed Louise liked wooing over him when he visited or at community events. She'd lose focus of Wyatt and catch glimpses of Nicholas Harris and he would do the same. Wyatt had seen her do it for himself.

Like last night.

He passes through the honey arches that lead like an entrance to the living room and stumbles in his favorite chair. His wife designed the room with royal red curtains, matching royal red seating covers except for Wyatt's favorite chair. A vintage chair made of wood, colored gold and gray leather cushions with a heart center for a backrest. The curtains close and fire pit is on, the room has a medieval look to it. He slants his body in his seat and the reflection of the flames from the fire runs along his face.

“Only Nicholas Harris you spoke with today?” He crosses his legs and tangle his scrappy fingers together.

“I didn't say who,” she rejects the mans name she knew she was with and crouches down at Wyatt's feet. She begins loosening Wyatt's shoelaces and scuffing off his shoes from off both his feet. “Hannah came by,” Louise adds. She sets the shoes aside and lifts herself up. Wyatt knew she was lying, it is well-known prostitutes were never loyal.

“I got us this far and you can't stay loyal. I should have kept you on the streets, maybe Nicholas would have noticed you then! If it wasn't for my money no man would look at you for a lady but a twit. Where I come from women like you, sew A's on their clothing.” He barks, beady eyes that wish to smack her across her face.

She bites at the scab of her lip till she couldn't hold back any longer, "I am tired of this." She lobs his dress shoes across the room. “What about you? You lying dog, Marie Laveau is just your partner?” Louise barks, her slithering tongue bites back a cuss, but Wyatt could tell she was ready to call him worse. Wyatt leans forward out his seat and watches this 'twit' he called a wife, to see what she would do next. But nothing seems to come out, that's what he was waiting for. To see if she would carry on with her foolish words.

“It shouldn't matter to you anymore, Marie was murdered.”