Serial

Chapter Fourteen

Trigger warning: This part contains explicit descriptions of murder, rape and/or torture, which may be disturbing or triggering for some readers.

"I'm going to kill her!" I growled. Scarlett may have thought that threatening me would distract me from my ultimate goal, but she had no idea who she was dealing with.

Like I was going to be rattled by a kid. I'd clawed my way to the top, and I wouldn't hesitate to start sharpening my nails again if it meant staying there.

"You have to admit, the girl's got guts," Zhara said as he brushed a coat of clear polish across his hands and feet.

I paced around my bedroom, the anger rising inside of me with each step. Since meeting with Agent Walker, I'd had plenty of time to think about his theory that the note had been left by someone other than Kyle. And though I hadn't believed him at first, I was beginning to think he was right.

The note hadn't been left by Kyle at all. It was from Scarlett.

"This is not the time for her to be playing childish games," I said, flexing my fists over and over again.

"What do you expect? She is a child, Em," Zhara said, far less worked up than I was.

And logically I knew he was right. Scarlett was just a kid and I should've been mature enough to let this go. But I already had so much on my plate, and I was tired and stressed, and I just wanted things to stop sucking for once...

So I reacted the way any teenager would: irrationally.

"I'm gonna kill her," I fumed.

"Now, now, murder's not the answer," Zhara said, unperturbed.

"But confronting her is," I said, suddenly. "And I'm ending this now."

Then, without skipping a beat, I stalked over to my door and flung it open, leaving Zhara calling out behind me.

"But my nails are wet!" he yelled, sounding annoyed.

Detective Brady stood up as I stomped through the living room, barely slowing down. "I'm going next door," I told him bluntly. I didn't care whether he followed me or not. But if he did, it would probably be better for Scarlett.

I am not going to let a sixteen-year-old get to me. I don't care if she does have some sob-story. It's time Scarlett learned a lesson. One that included respecting her elders. Even if her elder is only a year older. But this is my studio and Giselle is my part. I'm not losing anything else...

My inner monologue continued as I walked up to her apartment door. Day was turning to evening and the light outside was beginning to dim. As I banged loudly on Scarlett's door, I noticed that most of the lights were off inside. I briefly wondered if she was gone, but was too worked up to let it stop me.

I turned the knob and pushed my way into the entrance of her apartment. At first glance, it seemed like the place was empty. It was dark inside and I had to wait a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the low lighting, but eventually I could make out the living room off to the right.

I'd never been in Scarlett's place before, but I wasn't entirely surprised by how it was decorated. From where I stood, I could see her white couch, the plushy pink pillows covering almost every inch of surface space. The walls were adorned with life-size decals of dancers in various poses and the words, "Keep Calm and Dance On" were splashed between them. Besides that, there were large framed pictures of Scarlett everywhere. Black and white glamour shots. A younger version of Scarlett dancing in performances. School pictures. Even what looked like professional modeling photos were displayed around the room. There were no family pics, I noted.