Page 18 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

The wooden spoon slid from my fingers and clattered onto the floor.

"Why?"

No answer.

"What's wrong?"

My heart had already decided before my mind had.

"Please," I said, hearing my own voice crack. "Just tell me."

The officer exhaled slowly.

"Your parents were involved in a motor vehicle collision approximately twenty minutes ago."

I couldn't breathe.

"Are they okay? I’ll be right over."

Another silence. It lasted forever.

"Officer..." My voice cracks further, my eyes blurry.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Reed."

The words landed like stones.

"Despite the efforts of the paramedics... your mother and father died at the scene."

I stared at the bubbling pot on the stove. The water kept boiling. The onions kept sizzling. Somewhere, a timer began beeping because dinner was ready. My knees gave out before I even realized I'd stopped standing. The kitchen floor rushed up to meet me.

"No…" I whispered. The word sounded foreign. Small. Useless.

"No, you have the wrong family."

"Mr. Reed…"

"No!" My voice cracked so hard it barely sounded human.

"I just talked to her."

Five minutes ago, she'd been laughing. Dad had probably been pretending not to hear her tease him. They couldn't…They couldn't just…

"I'm very sorry for your loss."

Blinking back the memory I see a faded welcome sign emerging through the mist.

WELCOME TO BLACKRIDGE

Someone had painted cheerful flowers beneath the town’s name. Someone else had scratched profanity across the bottom before it’d been painted over. I wasn’t sure which version felt more honest. Small towns fascinated people. Movies loved them and books romanticized them. The quiet streets, friendly neighbours and the old bakery where everyone knew your name.

Reality was less charming. Small towns didn’t have fewer secrets. They just had fewer places to hide them. People noticed when your curtains stayed closed or when your routine changed. They noticed if you skipped church, missed the weekly market, or came home with someone new and yet, somehow… They never fucking notice the things that matter. Well, not until it was too late.

The GPS chimed softly from the dashboard.

In three hundred metres, continue straight.

“I was planning on it,” I muttered.