Get Out If You Can

Hunter | Darlin', It's Not Poisoned

Blood, now? On car keys?

This is probably supposed to mean what I have a fairly good idea it's supposed to mean. That I've got something to do with this, and somehow — I happen to be a killer, without knowing it myself.

And I've no clue why. Or how. Or anything.

I really don't think I'm up for whatever this person's got planned. First poisoning Alison temporarily, just to freak us out, then leaving behind a piano so we could play them something, then showing us funny tapes and audio recordings — and now, bloodstained keys?

I'm pretty sure this is all a farce. We aren't here to find out who killed Caitlyn. We're probably being used as lab rats.

I wish I knew why I was here. Okay, granted. I'm not telling the others a lot of things. The fact that I was at the party Tejada was at on the last day of her life is one of those things. But there were another five million people who attended that party, and all of them couldn't have killed her. I definitely didn't.

"Hey, Mason," Matt says, and I'm surprised he's addressing me by my last name. That's Diego's job.

"You didn't go stabbing keys into anyone, didja?"

"Of course he didn't," Alison says, and I'm glad she does. Not because I have anything to hide, just because — it's weird.

"Then," Diego says, and there's an awkward, faraway tone to his voice – must be the after-effects of whatever happened to him outside. "How do you explain this...key?"

"Dunno," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "Hey, what was written in that poem-thingy? My version of it?"

"You denied service of some sort?" Emilie says, looking at the others for some sort of approval. Diego and Alison both nod, and Matt – there's something funny about the guy. There definitely is. He's good at playing the doctor and everything while we're here, but I don't think it's nearly normal to be so – chilled – while being locked up in a Manor with no way out, and a promise of imminent death, to top it all off. Besides, Matt Hastings is not the kind of person to ace any first aid course. How the hell does he know how to treat cuts?

There's one explanation. He must've prepared.

When I look at him, I hope he doesn't see through me. I'm pretty easy to read like that, and no, it isn't nice.

"Yeah," Matt says, and my eyes scan the entirety of his features, hoping to catch some sort of a crack in his façade. If there is, he's very good at hiding it.

"So, Hunter," he says, and I continue searching his face. "What kind of service did you deny?"

"What kind of service do I normally provide?" I say, and I know it isn't the best retort, but I'm buying myself time. If there's something funny going on here, I want to be the one to find out.

"Yeah," Alison says, nodding her head. She's wobbling on her good foot, making a considerable effort to stand, and I promise myself that if Matt makes one comment about her, he's had it. Done for.

"Hunter," she says, and I can't help but break eye contact with Matt. "Did you...refuse to service her car or something?"

Diego snorts, and when Emilie shoots him a look, he tries to act like he didn't do anything. He must've picked up something from Matt in the Hiding Emotions Department, and now that I think about it, he must be even better at it. He's clever, cunning, smart and snarky – good looking, too – and he's got the world's best mask. The Torrez mask. Nothing penetrates that mask and gets out alive.

His brother might've not caught on with the trend, but that's hardly important. I've heard Stella Torrez is that one woman you never want to cross, and from the stories that go on about her I'm more than sure I'm right. Rich people, what can you expect?