The Body In The Bayou

ch. 16 - suspicious games

Being relatively alone with Aspen was terrifyingly easy. For a bloody second, she made me forget what I had done, and like a bastard, I was all too happy to forget it.

Now, I've managed to drive fifty miles outside of Magnolia Falls. I needed to get out of there, I was too comfortable and too willing to continue to hang out with her. I nearly offered to pick her up after work, and that is entirely unacceptable.

I have no idea where she is even going to stay tonight. She sure as hell can't crash in my room or the house, that's for sure.

When I begin to see signs for Mississippi, I hook a U-ey and start back the way I came.

By the time I get back to the frat house, I park the motorcycle and return the spare helmet to my room. I keep busy, ignoring the exhaustion, and return to the bus in the driveway.

I scoff to myself, knowing this hunk of junk isn't worth the seven hundred she bought it for. This girl was totally fucked by spending money on this thing. If anything it's worth four hundred tops, and mostly for the half-decent parts, someone could scrap from it.

I'm sure even the floor panels have started rotting through, and only because I want to confirm what I know is true and not dig through her personal items, I open the back passenger's side door and shove some of her belongings sitting in a cardboard box on the floor then remove the dirty floor mat. Sure enough, just as I suspected, the floors are close to flaking away.

This poor girl really got shafted buying this car.

Sighing loudly, because I already know what I'm going to do, I log in to my eBay account on my phone and begin typing in the floor panels to see how much money I'm about to lose here on some chick. Obviously, I wouldn't charge her, if I can install them without her knowing -- even better. To my surprise there's a pair of panels only for ninety bucks, so I quickly purchase those. Then I stuff my phone back into my pocket and go to the front and check the passenger's side, lifting the mat and running my fingers over the rough metal that's also beginning to chip.

"Shit, girl." I shake my head. The entire thing is going to need new panels. Leaving the door wide open, I round the front of the bus and go to the driver's side and pull back the mat near the foot pedals, but stop when a piece of paper, set neatly under the driver's seat, catches my eye.

I know I shouldn't snoop around, but this bus is a mess, and what if she's lost this important piece of paper. I'm only being admirable. Kind of.

I remove the piece of paper and my eyes go wide. My eyes read cursive writing beneath the bright moonlight and street lights, something fucking creepy.

Have you come to play Marco Polo, Pen?

POLO!

"What the fuck?" Then a polaroid photo is stapled to the back, I flip the plain white paper and drop the thing with a loud gasp when I see the most disturbing thing in all my life.

"Christ, what's up with you man?" Travis asks, scoffing heading up the lawn with his backpack on his back. I really fucking hate this guy and he hates me, but I can't breathe let alone speak after what I'd just seen.

"You know scrounging through someone's personal space is fucking creepy, especially after what you've done." Travis chides, but I swipe the paper and photo I dropped to the floor and slowly peel the note back to stare at a photo of Foxy.

She's dead. Clearly fucking dead. With something pink and lacey around her neck.

"Yo, what is that?" Travis asks, then marches over swiping it from my hands.

I know I'm in shock. I still haven't taken a breath. What does this mean? Why would someone plant a photo of Foxy in her bus... Did I... Am I innocent?

"What the fuck?! What the hell is this, Bash?" Travis shoves at my shoulder. I'm shoved hard back against the bus, having not been ready to be pushed so hard when my mind is whirling around on the words of innocence.

"Did you fucking do this?!" Travis grabs the fabric of my shirt in his fist then shoves the note and photo in my face.

"I didn't! Fuck off, mate!" I shove him off me, "I bloody found it, in her car!"

"Oh, yeah. I'm so fucking sure! I know what you did! You fucking killed this girl!" Travis yells back, holding out the horror in his hands for me to see.

Idiot.

I dig out my phone and call the police because I need to before he does. They need to have this shit...

The phone rings against my ear, as Travis continues to yell at me, and my mind races, thinking about Aspen and how she was intended to find that picture and note. The killer knows she's here, he knows what she drives... He wants to bloody play with her...

Could it be someone living at this house? I twist around, looking at the empty garage, then my thoughts race.

The dispatch answers and I speak quickly, "I need to speak to someone concerning the Foxy Lewis murder."

"Your name?"

"Bash-Sebastien Walker."

"One moment." I'm put on hold, but not even an entire second later a man with a deep southern Louisiana accent speaks.

"This is Bryan O'Neil."

I gulped, turning away from Travis who is also on the phone himself, "I think you lot need to come to the Frat House... Again."

"What'd you find?"

"I found a note in her vehicle, Sir. And a photo of Foxy... dead."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

What does this mean? Clearly, Bash hadn't planted it? Right?

The bus has been at the Frat House all day...does this mean (GASP) that the killer lives there!? 🧐

Theories are so fun! Let me know if they've changed or you're sticking to the same suspect!