Page 62 of Bad Intentions

“Who is in the trunk?” Rika asks, staring at me.

My hands trembling, I pop the trunk open again. I hold the trunk lid halfway up, gagging at the smell, then shine my phone on the face of the body. It’s blue-white, condensation gathering on it, and I hold my breath in horror.

“It’s him,” I say, horrified. “The man from the news.”

“James Derek Sickler,” Rika says.

“Yes,” I breathe out. “Oh my god. It can’t… It’s… Oh, god. That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Wait, he’s dead? Who’s texting you then?”

I look at the phone. “I don’t know. I thought it was him.”

My phone screen flashes with an incoming message, and it is an unknown number, but when I double-check, it’s a different number than the one from before.

Unknown: If you call the police, they’ll find out how you killed your daddy. And you probably did it with that big knife from the butcher’s block in your kitchen. Bad girl, Josie.

My stomach drops. The knife, the missing knife from the kitchen⁠—

But how?

Then all the pieces start coming together. Grandma wasn’t confused when she said she heard someone come in yesterday. What if the missing knife⁠—

“Let me see.” Rika yanks the phone out of my hand. “What knife is he talking about?”

“There’s a knife missing from my kitchen.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how. But it is.”

“Girl… And it has your fingerprints on it?”

I meet her eyes.

“Who is this person?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I say in a forced whisper, my voice shaking. “I don’t know, Rika. I don’t know what to do. It’s not me. I swear. It’s some sick setup. What if the police find the knife and it has my fingerprints and…”

My phone beeps again.

Unknown: You are in trouble, Josie Boots. Just like your mother once was. Is your grandmother going to cover it up again?

Rika stares at the message. “They’re watching us.” She looks around. It’s dark, no one in sight, but she might be right. “Okay, we need to go elsewhere.”

“What? With this?” I point at the trunk.

Rika slams it shut and looks around. “What else?” She turns back to me. “Call the police? We will. We just need another option.”

“Another option? What option, Rika? There are no options. I didn’t do it. I didn’t do it. I swear, I didn’t do it!”

I start shaking. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe, panic clogging my throat. I close my eyes and try to focus on breathing.

“Josie! Josie, look at me!” Rika shakes me. “Get your shit together! We’ll go to a different place, talk about this, figure out what to do. I’m driving. Come on! Giddyap! We don’t have all night.”

Rika walks around my car and gets in the driver’s seat. “Come on!” she urges me, and I get in the passenger seat. “Keys.” I pass her the keys. “Buckle up,” she orders.

We pull out of the parking lot, and only a minute into the drive, there’s a pair of headlights following us.