Get Out If You Can

One Year Ago

Caitlyn Tejada pulled the drawstrings of her black hoodie tighter around her neck, ignoring the chill of the evening. She brushed her dark bangs behind her eyes, blue eyes darting left to right.

The bushes rustled, and a chill ran up her spine. Not now, she thought. I've got work to do.

She crouched down a little, her elbows brushing the loose brown soil on the ground. She stared around, ears perked for any movement.

There was nothing. Must've been a stray insect or something, or simply the wind. She looked up at the street camera she'd positioned herself under. It gave her a bit of relief to know she knew who was behind it. One half of her plan had worked. She'd managed to convince Adrian she knew what she was doing — and he listened to her. She didn't know if she could be more grateful.

She got up from her place, and, half bent down, sprinted across the unusually quiet Main Street. The house she was looking for was right opposite — painted in fairy lights and mellow sweetness.

All fake. Caitlyn smirked when she set her eyes on it. Houses make for very wrong representations of people. Especially this one.

She stood up to full height, and, in what she thought was a confident stride, walked to the front porch.

She took a deep breath, the cold, almost-winter air chilling her throat.

She knocked firmly on the door.

***

"Who is it?" A very drunken voice called from the inside, fiddling with the doorknob. Caitlyn steadied herself, clutching her phone in her clammy, sweaty hand. Just in case.

The door opened a crack, and Caitlyn could see why it had been closed. A rave was going on at full blast, with badly remastered EDM and very unique smells to add to the package. The person who had opened the door had largely incoherent eyes, but Caitlyn didn't care.

"Lana," Caitlyn started, staring right into her eyes.

"Tejada?"

Caitlyn nodded. "Look, I know what you've been doing."

Lana lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow. "And that might be?"

"You know what," Caitlyn said, hot blood coursing through her veins. "Stop. Now."

Lana's face showed no recognition — or it was probably the lack of remorse.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Argh!" Caitlyn stamped the ground hard, engraving the prints of the sole of her battered, old sneaker into the hard soil. "The Instagram account! The spray painting!"

Caitlyn's breath stalled in her chest as Lana's eyes flashed.

She knew.

"Um," Lana said, shuffling her feet wildly. "I...I have no idea what you're referring to."

Caitlyn opened her mouth to retort, but Lana got there first.

"Derek?" She called, leaning inside the room. "Der-eeeek?"

No, not him, Caitlyn thought. Not Lana's boyfriend. Not the guy himself. Not now — though, in truth, he was the one she'd come to see. She just wasn't sure if she was ready.

There were drunken stomps behind Lana, and Caitlyn spotted very large, alcohol-stained sneakers approaching where they stood.

The burly face of Derek Brown appeared in her line of vision, his features calculated and pointing. He snaked an arm round Lana's waist, and she gave a girlish giggle.