Arabelle Vine, a 22 year old photographer in Seattle Washington, is happy with her current life. She has friends, a great family, and a job she loves. But Arabelle wants to be more than just content with her life. She wants excitement, and she wants...
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"Come on, pick up." The phone rings for the last time before ending. I've tried calling her twice already to let her know I am on my way, but she hasn't answered either call. She always picks up.
I toss my phone onto the passengers seat, pulling up to a red light. I run my hand through my hair, my other hand gripping the steering wheel tightly.
I have a feeling that something isn't right. Something is wrong with my girl. My gut is telling me she is in danger.
The light changes to green, my car jerks forward as I make my way down the street of her apartment building.
I put on my turning signal as I pull up to the parking garage. I wave my hand signaling the other driver pulling out of the parking garage to go.
I drum my fingers against the steering wheel as I search for a spot to park. I finally find one, and I don't even bother to see if I park in the lines before I am hopping out of the car.
I quickly make my way over to the elevator, locking my car behind me. The feeling I have is getting worse as I wait for the insanely slow elevator to arrive. Arabelle told me the elevator that leads directly to the parking garage is incredibly slow.
"I'm not waiting for this shit." I shove my car keys into my jacket pocket. I swing the door that leads to the stairs open and I make my way up them.
"Floor 7," I mumble as I pass another door, I climb another flight of stairs,"floor 8." I open the door, hearing it bang against the wall. The door spits me out right by the elevators, and I make a right. I come to the very end of the hallway and stop at the last apartment door, apartment H44.
I knock twice on the door waiting to see her beautiful self open the door, but she doesn't. "Arabelle!" I bang on her door. "Arabelle! Are you in there?"
Again, she doesn't answer. I pull out my phone and click on her contact. I put my ear up to the door and wait. Seconds later I hear her phone ring from through the door. So she is home. "Arabelle, come on, baby. Answer me please."
The phone stops ringing and I grip the doorknob praying that for once she might of forgotten to lock it. I should have known better than to think she would forget. I grip the doorknob tightly in one hand and begin to ram my body into the door.
"Excuse me? What are you doing?" I pause and turn to the apartment next door. An older women is standing outside her apartment, in her hand she grips a dish towel and her phone.
"Call 911." I tell her.
"Why, what is going on."
"Your neighbor, Arabelle Vine, she is my girlfriend and she is inside but she's not answering her phone or door. I spoke to her earlier and something has happened I just know it. Please call 911, please." I plead.
