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“I, um, well…this one says, ‘Sometimes I feel like because I’ve read so many dark stories about terrible things that I could get away with murder.’” He pauses, still staring at the paper. “‘And sometimes, I kind of want to try.’”
A block of ice slides down my spine as chills spiderweb across my arms. Next to me, Mara’s hand slides across the couch to grip my wrist.
“What the hell?” Memphis asks, leaning forward over his knees.
Austin holds it out, showing us what’s written. “Who wrote this?”
Our eyes search each other’s, but to no one’s surprise, the confession isn’t claimed.
“It’s not funny, guys,” Mara says. “Don’t joke about stuff like that.” She’s staring at Memphis, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed.
“Seriously, not cool,” Paulette agrees.
“Someone’s probably just making a joke,” Logan says softly, still studying us.
“Well, it’s a dumb one.” Austin wads up the paper and gathers the rest, standing to take the bowl into the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Paulette asks, joining him on her feet.
“Game’s over,” he says. “Apparently someone has had a little bit too much to drink.”
With that, Memphis grabs his coffee and heads from the room, and I drain the wine in my glass, disappearing in the opposite direction.
No one tries to stop either of us.
CHAPTEREIGHT
After the game, my social battery is drained. I’m exhausted, confused about what happened, and need a moment alone. I consider going to my room, but somehow that feels colder than I want it to. It was just a stupid game, and someone was obviously trying to shake us all up. I won’t let it get to me. I don’t want them to think anything is wrong or that I’m really mad or upset over what happened. So, instead, while everyone is trying to figure out what to do next and recovering from the chilling confession, I sneak back outside to the porch to read.
Of course, this also gives me the perfect opportunity to keep an eye on the house next door, but that’s mostly coincidental.
The night air is cool and crisp, and a hint of smoke from somewhere in the distance bites at my nose. When the wind blows, I hear the soft hum of the breeze through the leaves, and I get the sense a storm might be on its way.
Try as I might, I can’t stop myself from looking over at the house next door. It’s dark there. I don’t see a single light on, but their black sedan is in the driveway. Could they have already gone to bed?
It’s just after eight, so it’s not impossible, but it seems strange. I can’t explain why I’m so invested in this couple except to say that while my ex never laid a finger on me in that way, I know the look in her eyes well. The fear was palpable. She was clearly afraid of him, or uncomfortable at the very least, and I can’t help feeling solidarity with her.
As if I’m her only hope.
I just wish I could catch her outside alone to let her know I’m here and will help if there’s any way I can.
I pull out my tablet and open the book I’ve been reading, folding my legs up in the rocking chair to get comfortable.
I rock back and forth slowly with the chair, its wooden legs groaning against the floor of the porch.
Creeeeeaak.
Creeeeeaak.
Creeeeeaak.
Creeeeeaak.
Creeeeeaak.
I don’t know how long I’ve been reading when I hear the noise that interrupts the silence. The softcrunch, crunchof leaves underfoot.
Someone is outside.
