Blood, a dark crimson, spread across the floor.
Bokke's eyes bulged.
He probably couldn't fathom it.
Why could someone's shooting Speed be so fast!
Perhaps when the bullets pierced his brain, his neurons hadn't completely died; he may have even experienced a flashback at the moment of death.
But all that no longer mattered to him.
BANG!
The front door was kicked open!
Leslie, guns in both hands, looked tensely inside the house, only to see Dean standing calmly, Harry lying on the ground in a gun-drawing pose, and Bokke, shot in the head, dead with his eyes wide open.
"PHEW." Leslie sighed in relief. "Hearing the gunfire, I thought Bokke suddenly drew a gun."
"He did draw a gun," Dean said, patting his holster. "But in front of me, he was as slow as an eighty-year-old man."
Having said that, Dean kicked Harry. "Buddy, stop scrubbing the floor. Let's go check out that doghouse. I have a feeling there might be a surprise waiting for us!"
