His uncle, soaked in something’s life blood, slipped in a viscous, already coagulating smear, his worn smooth real leather shoe sole causing his foot to fly out from underneath him, sending his ungainly form crashing.
Hs grip on Justin lost, the young man flung himself through the door, out into the street, dusk coming on.
He screamed, unintelligble at first, but gaining sense as others ran up, seeing the bloody hand print on him.
“Oh Jesus! Sweet Christ!” cried a woman. “Call 911!”
But Justin’s uncle staggered out into the street, grinning, holding the pipe, a madman’s purpose in his eye.