Let's see if I can win this thread with one roll.
NYE house party. Friend of mine lived there and while the night started just fine, after a couple of hours my buddy "Frank" and his girlfriend "Francine" start fighting with each other. Soon enough she storms down into the furnished basement where Frank's bedroom is at. After a lot of bad noise and a couple of tequila shots...Frank goes down after her.
Time passes and more alcohol is consumed. When someone asks me where Frank is at...I make the assumption he is "making up" with Francine downstairs. Shortly after, I am coming out of the bathroom near the basement stairs and I can hear Frank just yelling "Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!" I just innocently assume he knocked something over and casually hop down the stairs asking Frank if he broke anything expensive.
There stands Frank breathing much too heavily and holding a three foot pipe wrench that is just soaked on the head piece with very dark and very thick blood. He meets my eyes and just says, "I think I killed her."
And so we both stood there frozen staring at each other. It felt like an hour, but I am sure it did not even last sixty seconds before I finally had the sense to start moving to his bedroom.
"WHOA! WHOA! WHOA!" yells Frank and he starts moving towards me with too tight of a grip on that bloody wrench, "What are you doing?!?!?"
"Dude, we have to go see Francine. We just have to."
Frank's whole face clenches and I can see out of the corner of my eye that he his raising his arm with the wrench, but I am too wrecked on whiskey to do anything other than watch him raise that wrench up and then throw it across the room. Frank then drops to his knees and starts crying like a baby.
Frank is still a friend and part of me wants to console him, but the adrenaline is sobering me up enough to move for that bedroom. Francine is face down in a pool of blood, but I can hear her trying to cry...so not dead. To this day I am really impressed with myself at this moment because when I turn her over, I really should have just gone to the corner of the room and vomited for a few days. Just straight up holes in his girl's head and face. Instead of flipping out, I get her up on the bed using every pillow in sight to prop her head up. I was told much later that doing all of that is the only reason she survived that night.
I turn to go back for Frank and there are three other party people standing in the doorway completely frozen. Finally one of them has the sense to say they are calling 911, I peek out of the room and see no Frank. The other two run back upstairs to find him after my 20 second recap of what happened and my dumb ass goes right back into the bedroom to wait for help with Francine.
Too much time passes.
I finally leave her and wander back upstairs to find that I am the only one in the house. No party people. No cars in the driveway. They all just bailed...especially Frank. I am looking around for the cordless phone to call 911 myself and find a pack of Marlboros. Deciding I really need a smoke...I light up...take a few puffs and BANG BANG BANG goes the knocking of what sure sounds like the police at the front door. I run to the front door and open it.
What the four police officers see on the other side of the door, is a very disheveled looking Vu that is covered in blood and has a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
I don't blame them for drawing their guns or four man tackling me. The hog tie seemed a little much, but the whole experience was kind of blurry by now and maybe I resisted or tried to fight back. So Francine finally gets taken to the hospital while your humble narrator is taken directly to jail by a bunch of cops that think I just tried to beat a girl half my size to death with a wrench. They would not even let me wash off the blood before they threw me in a cell to rot.
Eventually party people make some phone calls and it gets out that they did not have Frank locked up...they had Vu locked up. Frank was found ten hours later, thirty miles away after he crashed Francine's car into a traffic light and busted his leg. He was charged with attempted murder and got twelve years in prison...although I think he only did eight.
Still not sure which part was scarriest...dealing with Frank, dealing with Francine or dealing with the Police, but I just stay home on New Years Eve now.
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