Scream

Reyna Copulas

On Friday, 8:13 PM, I discovered how drastically a situation can change. Enzo and I walked inside my house, quietly as to not disturb my sleeping father. Turns out, we were really being quiet for a dead man. There was a blood trail from the door frame that leads to the kitchen. My father had been stabbed repeatedly and drained of his blood – that much was noticeable from the puncture wound in his arm.

He was just lying on the ground indignantly, injection needles scattered on the ground carelessly. I should be stricken with pain and remorse, but instead, I feel nothing. I've already been through such heart-wrenching deaths that it would take a lot to get to me. My father was, no offence, a dick in the end and the past. He dismissed me easily and rarely acted like Dad of the Year. He hated my mother, and probably myself for being related to Makai. And with the way he was using drugs, it was only a matter of time until he killed himself. This is just a tally mark on the side of the killer – another point against Reyna Copulas, the walking magnet of death.

"Reyna?" Enzo tentatively questioned, putting his hands on my shoulders and peering at my placid face.

"I'm okay," I tell him. "It was bound to happen. The killer just sped up the process is all."

"It's okay to not be okay."

Evenly, I look into his amber eyes. "I've been not okay for a long time."

"Well, I called the police. They should be here by eight-thirty," he tells me. "I'm sorry about your dad."

"My dad passed when my mother did," I correct. "This was just a man who lived in the same house as us."

"Right," Enzo tersely agreed, probably biting his tongue. He's not used to me being emotionless in the face of death.

 My phone buzzes with a phone call from an unknown caller. "I think it's them," I tell Enzo, putting the phone in speaker mode.

"Hello, Reyna," an automated voice greets.

"Bye, bitch," I end, hanging the phone up.

"Rey!" Enzo exclaims. "You just hung up on a serial killer."

"Your point?" I inquire.

Enzo gapes at me as a response, waiting for what I did to finally sink in. I just hung up on the person who knows everything about me and has taken pictures from inside my own rooms. They've blackmailed me on live television and almost killed me in a church. They were just in my house while I was absent and murdered my other parent. They are responsible for conducting mass amounts of high school kids and enacting the lockdown. 

"Oh, shit!" I shout. "What did I do?"

"That's what I'm saying!" Enzo responds.

The phone buzzes again. It's the unknown caller again.

I put them on speaker. "Hey, sorry for that," I apologize. "You could say I wasn't myself."

"We all have our days," the killer chuckles. "I hope you're pleased with your actions...with who you've trusted and who you've iced out of your life. I hope you're happy with how you've acted in times of panic. Because pretty soon, everything you've done and all the choices you've made will be held against you. You'll receive a reward for all your rights and you'll pay for all your wrongs. And let me just warn you, Reyna...you've done a lot of of wrongs." The phone clicks, letting me know that whoever is on the other line is done talking and has hung up.

I look from the phone and to Enzo. "That doesn't sound too good," I state the obvious.

"We'll be fine," Enzo assures before adding, "Hopefully."

I shrug and cast a look at the bloodied corpse of what used to be my father. "We've made it this far. Why not go all the way?"

"We've already gone all the way," Enzo says.

I would've laughed and pushed him playfully. But I don't feel anything right now other than numb. That means that not only have pain and sorrow been shoved out of existence, but laughter and joy, as well.

"Sorry, that wasn't a good joke," he apologizes.

"You're fine," I promise him. "I just don't feel like crying or laughing or anything. It's

weird."

Enzo frowns. "You're becoming accustomed to death," he explains.

"Is there any way to become unaccustomed?" I inquire, grimacing at the counter.

Softly, Enzo smiles at me. "I think so."

"Good." Again, I glance at the dead body, trying to feel something – trying to search myself for any flicker of emotion. "I'll need it.