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Right? It's the truth."
"It's not any better!"
He cried out, aggravated, "What do you want me to say? I'm pouring out my heart here because you think I'm some killer, but I'm just trying to tell the truth. This is new territory, Sheldon. We're not exactly emotional people."
On the contrary…
"Okay," Bryce corrected himself. "We're emotional, but we don't talk about that crap. Up until three days ago, I think the most emotional conversation that we had was when you told me that white bread makes you angry."
My lips quirked at that. Wheat bread was the real deal, white bread was the fake bread.
"I just…" Bryce hung his head. "Go get the gun, Sheldon. Please. Go get the gun so that you feel safe and I can look at you and you can see that I'm telling the truth."
I still didn't move. I wanted to believe him. I wanted so badly…
"Please," his plea was weaker.
"I can't."
"Then…call the police. Take your phone and call them. Just—open this goddamn door."
"You call them."
"I don't have my phone. I left it at home because I was in such a rush to get here after Corrigan's mom called me. I'm sorry."
I pulled out my phone and felt it's smooth contours. I didn't press the buttons, but I didn't turn my eyes from the door. I called out, "If you're lying to me and you're the psycho, I'm going to kill you."
"Deal," Bryce sighed in relief and I opened the door.
His smile was decorated with a few tears, but he swept me up and I didn't see the tears. I just felt everything that he had told me. Bryce pulled away swiftly, grabbed my hand, and dragged me upstairs.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"We're going to get that gun," Bryce said firmly. "I'm not taking anymore chances. We don't know what's going on and I'm not…we're getting that gun." He pushed open the office door. Bryce quickly strode towards the couch. He bent and lifted the cushions as I wandered around to the computer screen.
"Are we…?" I let the question hang.
Bryce paused and glanced up. Our eyes met and he said slowly, "We'll talk about it, but not now. There's more important things to do."
I frowned, confused, and I saw the computer screen. It had stopped blinking and an address stood prominently against the screen. I saw the address and realized I knew the address. That was when I looked up and said softly, "It says a lot when I did think you were the killer and…I wanted to stay with you."
Bryce froze, the gun now in hand, and he stood. His eyes lifted and met mine.
I felt the punch and added, "I even understood a little, and I wasn't actually…I must be pretty sick to still love you even when I thought what I thought."
"You're not sick, Sheldon," he whispered.
"I'm not?"
"No. You're just…human," he finished, saddened.
I bit back the tears and watched the computer screen. I professed, "I don't feel like a girl. I don't feel anything half the time."
"Well…" Bryce laughed, incredulous. "Are we supposed to? I mean, I don't care what you feel as long as you're feeling it with me."
"You're such a guy." And my words were out-of-sync as I watched the address blare at me. Finally, I said faintly, "There's an address…"
"What?!" Bryce rushed towards me.
But I stopped him as I murmured, "It's Corrigan's."
We both stood. Bryce froze and it was weird, like I was watching a blurry movie in slow motion as the office door opened to reveal a furious Corrigan.
Bryce lifted his hand, cocked the gun, and our best friend froze.
I sat down in the desk chair.
Chapter 32
"What. The. Hell."
Those were Corrigan's first words as he gaped at us.
Bryce sighed, but held his arm steady.
"Seriously. Get the gun out of my face," Corrigan snapped.
"I can't," Bryce merely said, firm.
"Bryce. Sheldon. Gun needs to be gone, now!"
The alarm hadn't gone off, but the door had been opened from the inside. I opened the door and it hadn't shut. The only door that could be opened from the inside, without the alarm going off was the front door.
I opened it and it hadn't been shut. That was how Corrigan got in, but…the alarm should've gone off before I had coded it off…I had told him to go out the back. I had waited for the alarm to go off…
And yet…
"It's not you, dude," Bryce clipped out and I looked up to realize there was a fourth presence in the room, a fourth person that had been there the whole time.
He was supposed to have left, but he hadn't…he'd been there the whole time.
Marcus stood behind Corrigan and as I shifted to the side—he brandished a lethal knife in his hand and an insane glint in his eyes.
It wasn't Corrigan. It wasn't Bryce.
It had been Marcus the entire time.
And the knowledge that he had put doubts between me and my friends—that pushed me past the brink. I shoved off the chair, up and fighting, and I snarled, "You little bastard!"
"Sheldon," Bryce urged, quickly, and tightened his hold on the gun again.
"What?!" Corrigan exclaimed, hands still in the air. He jumped from the force of my voice, but he saw that I was intent on something behind, someone behind, and he whirled around.
Marcus grabbed him and warned, "Put the gun away, Scout, or your buddy's insides are going to get spilled."
"Corrigan will live. Shoot him," I ordered.
Bryce's eyes widened, but he didn't say or do anything.
"No! Don't shoot, man! Please—don't shoot!" Corrigan said frantically.
"Shoot him!" I barked with clenched fists.
"Don't shoot!" Corrigan cried out.
Marcus' laugh halted everything and it was a heinous evil sound. It sounded unnatural, but then again—he was insane. I saw it, plain as day, and I wondered how I hadn't noticed it before.
"You didn't come for the Party Packs this morning, did you?" I asked.
Marcus turned his attention towards me and pretended to slice and dice the air. He still held Corrigan as a shield.
Bryce distracted him, "You have no chance, man. It's three to one and I've got a gun to your knife."
"And I've got a back to my knife." Marcus nudged Corrigan ahead, a jerking step. "I think you might have some penance to pay, you know, since you thought he was the killer."
"I didn't—"
"What?!" Corrigan asked sharply.
"Well—I didn't know," Bryce said just as sharp.
"I'm your best friend!" Corrigan cried out.
"I know!"
"And you thought…" Corrigan glanced at me and cursed. "That's low, dude. That's really…messed up."
"There were reasons." Bryce gestured towards the computer screen.
I stepped closer and murmured, cautious and dangerous, "You were here last night."
Marcus held my gaze.
"And you saw what we were doing."
"It was pretty ingenious," Marcus admitted, but smiled victoriously. "I have to admit that. Finding the feeds in the first place was your lucky break."
