Short Stories

the perfect crime

the perfect crime

"Are you coming tonight?" My best friend, Bree, yelled into my ear through the phone. It wasn't even on speaker and her high-pitched, shrill and naturally loud header voice was enough to burst my ear drums.

I tossed my phone onto my bed. "I'm not coming, Bree!" I screamed back. "It's a freaking party! You know I don't come to parties."

"Switch to video call," Bree answered, annoyance lacing her voice. "I'll show you what it's like since you always miss out." She emphasised 'always'.

I knew how parties were like, and I hated them. Noisy music, blinding disco lights and drunk people dancing all over one another had never been my thing. It provided the perfect platform for hormonal teenagers to do things to one another. Nope.

But I jumped on my bed and grabbed my phone anyway. I always had to entertain Bree.

Her bright red hair glistened under the changing bright lights, and her eyes were droopily lit with excitement. Clearly, she was drunk, and for the two years I'd known her, she loved being drunk.

"Where the hell is Mason?" My eyes searched her background frantically for her boyfriend. No sign of the tall blond boy with bright blue eyes. Instead I see a couple making out on the counter top.

"Ew!" I yelled and threw my phone aside.

"What's wrong with them?" Bree slurred as I looked at my phone again. She turned and angled her head towards the couple, before giggling.

"Breanna Davis. Where is your boyfriend?" I hissed.

Bree laughed. "Oh come on, Katie. Do you like him that much? I've always known you had. You stole him, babe?"

My cheeks reddened as I looked away. Yes, I did have a crush on my best friend's boyfriend, and that was possibly the stupidest thing ever. But I knew he was off-limits and I wasn't a betraying scum. I was looking for Mason for a different reason.

Mason always accompanied Bree to parties as she was constantly getting drunk. He always had to be the sober one to drive her home if not nobody would, and she would be completely wasted and probably taken advantage of. That was why I liked Mason. He never got drunk and protects his girlfriend every single time.

"No, Bree. You're not safe there alone. Where is he?" I asked again. "Did he even come?"

"Are you gonna go looking for him, Katie? He — " To my horror, a black gloved hand shot out from behind her and slammed against her nose and mouth. Bree dropped her phone and all I could see was the ceiling lights.

My phone cluttered to the ground, flat on its screen as Bree's muffled screams filled my ears, traumatising me. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I grabbed my phone with shaky fingers, only to see a black masked person with a black cap.

"Someone!" I shouted at the top of my lungs into the phone, my eyes never leaving the screen. "Please help her!" I shrieked, hoping for one of the drunken idiots in the party to hear me.

"Shut the fuck up," the person snapped, before the screen turned black and the line went dead.

I got up from my bed with jelly legs as I searched through my contacts for anyone, anyone I could call. I needed to get to the party as soon as possible. But where the hell was it?

Mason!

My fingers anxiously searched for his contact, and the dial tone waited a minute or so before it went dead. Mason wasn't picking up. Was he wasted at the party as well? Or did he even come? Bree never told me.