Jennifer's Murderer — William Tedford

Jennifer Renee Wessner paused at Cathy's car in a frenzy of panic and indecision. With Dimitri crashing his way through the kitchen, she didn't have time to check the ignition for the keys. Instead, she threw herself over the five-foot, chain-link fence bordering the manicured lawns and raced down the tree-covered hill toward the main gate below. Sandaled feet pounded the smooth grass. Wind stirred her hair. For an instant, she thought that she might escape after all, until she caught sight of gleaming black muscle bounding across lawns lit in patches of stark moonlight. She dropped to her knees rather than be dragged to the ground by the onrushing Doberman snarling a liquid sound deep in its chest. She covered her head with her arms and shrieked with despair.

The Doberman rushed up to her with lips curled back from teeth like white daggers. Claws of black ivory dug into the grass and sent dirt spraying in her face. The dog circled her once, dancing in agitation. Twice. It sniffed at her. She cried out her final terror as its wet nose pressed into her crotch. She went rigid with tension, prepared for the drawn out agony of a horrible death.

The animal whined and dropped to its belly before her. Its stubby tail wagged furiously, and the hot stench of its breath panted against her face. She opened her eyes to a lolling tongue drooling dog goo and a pair of friendly brown eyes on level with her own. “Oh, thank God!” She held the back of her shaking hand out to the animal and wept profusely for a frantic moment.

Dimitri's mad cry of anger echoed through the night from somewhere behind her, propelling her to her feet. She put her hand absently on the dog's head, kneading behind the ear. “Man's best friend like hell,” she muttered defiantly. “Nice doggy.”

Dimitri didn't come after her on foot. Instead, he circled the house and vanished into the garage. A car engine whooshed quietly, warning that he would beat her to the gate to block her only escape route. So be it. Jennifer doubled back to Cathy's Dodge.
A second Doberman joined the first, a female growling in displeasure at her mate's human companion, but no more inclined to violence than he when she went back over the fence.

Cathy had left the keys in the ignition. She should have guessed as much and saved herself the ten years off her lifespan the dogs had taken. She closed and locked the car door behind her and took a shuddering breath of air in the quiet behind the wheel. She resisted the temptation to rush back into the house to help and console Cathy. The wounds had been so small. Cathy had to be okay. Hardly injured at all even.

She twisted the ignition key and eased the car into motion thinking that the police and ambulance paramedics would be far more capable of handling the crisis, including whatever was left of herself and Dimitri when she rammed his car at the base of drive in a catastrophic explosion of noise and violence, because one way or another, she was getting the hell away from this place and these monsters that called it home.