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Reaching forward, my fingers wrap around the familiar skull mask, and I lift it out, gasping out a breath when I realize it’s him.
It’s his. My fingers brush along the faded blood droplets, stains barely visible to the naked eye, yet I see them clearly. I remember when they happened, the energy exuding from him as he created these stains. I bring it forward, brushing the hard plastic against the skin of my jaw. My eyes shutter closed at the familiar sensation, at the lingering scent of danger.
My eyes spring open.
"Holy shit. He’s here.”
I quickly set it back underneath the cupboard, my eyes falling to the gloves, knife, and black sweatshirt.
Too much of a chickenshit to touch the rest of his things, I grab the singular toilet paper roll in the corner. I wipe quickly, tossing the toilet paper into the bowl and flushing.
My heart pounds in my chest as I quickly open the door, racing through the dark and up the stairs, gasping as the fresh air kisses my face once I get to the top deck.
There’s a heaviness on the back of my head, a weight of familiar eyes. I glance over my shoulder, expecting to see him, maskless, standing there and watching me. But he’s not. There isn’t anyone watching me.
Though I feel it, as if he’s waiting for me.
And something is infinitely more terrifying about him without his mask on.
The gasping and screaming of everyone on the boat snaps me out of my spiraling, and I follow the screams, bumping into Posie as I move through the hoard of scrambling bodies.
“What’s going on?” I shout, still feeling out of sorts.
She turns to me, and her face is pale, nearly translucent. Her bloodshot, wide eyes stare at me in terror, and all she can do is shake her head.
“Posie?” I grip her arm, giving her a small shake. “What’s wrong?”
She nods her head over the edge of the boat.
My jaw clenches, and dread sinks into my stomach as my fingers grip the rotted, wooden ledge, leaning over and glancing into the water.
I feel a twist of nausea and terror hit me as I stare at the detective we dropped into the ocean. The rope still connects to his ankles, but the rock is absent from the other end.
A few guys have a large stick, pushing the detective’s soggy back toward the shore.
“Oh, my God,” I choke out, staring as he floats face down in the water. Posie slides up beside me, her eyes wide.
“This is really bad,” she whispers.
I nod. “My fingerprints are all over him. I helped carry him.”
We sit there, watching our worst nightmare come true.Again. Though this time, we didn’t kill this body. We only covered up the tracks.
His body slowly shifts to the shoreline, and we all move with him, making our way off the boat. They push his body to the rocky shore, his top half on land, while the bottom half of him still floats and bobs in the small waves.
“Ugh, he stinks!” someone barks, twisting his face away from the body.
The guy with the stick digs it underneath him, slipping the toe of his shoe against his chest. He shoves, and the detective flops onto his back.
My mouth goes bone dry, and the image of him burns into my mind, while I listen to people around me begin to gag, the sound of them running away from the horror.
He looks…bad.
The fluid from the ocean has seeped into his skin, bloating him, making his skin even more discolored than it was. His eyes are still open, though now his face is puffy, putting pressure on the back of his eyes, making them nearly bulge from the sockets.
The markings around his neck are dark, nearly black from the rope, and his clothing has become threadbare and soggy as it suctions to his wet body, shifted up to the top of his chest, revealing his lower half. The stab marks prominent in the middle of his stomach, gaping open, though no blood seeps from them.
“Holy shit,” Archer mumbles, walking up to me. “Where the fuck was this guy found?” He’s trying to sound nonchalant, but I can tell he wants to erupt in rage. I think we all do.
