Call Me Rumpel

Epilogue

I grin as my phone pings with the alert of a new login from an unknown device. So, she's figured it out after all.

I wish I could see her expression when she realises I've played her all along. Sure, there's always the risk she'll try to turn me in, but we both know there's no point anymore. Vincent's alleged killer has been caught; to free Mrs Anderson now would incriminate herself, especially when I can still make her look very, very guilty. After all, it's Mishka who uses that path through the bushes every weekend, the path where the body was found. It's also Mishka who'd communicated with an account wishing him dead.

I pocket my phone and stroll out of the building, humming.

Poor, poor Mrs Anderson. The perfect patsy, much better than that dipshit brother of Park's I was going to use. He still needs to be taught a lesson, but at least now Mrs Anderson will stop reporting to Mum about my behaviour. Besides, she was the one who kept nagging me about taking on an extra-curricular activity, and the oh-so high and mighty Quinn needed to be warned.

Mum won't have to worry about me any longer. I know Sergeant Kingsley has been on her case about me and Jack lately. I'm sure Jack will continue doing dumb shit, but with Vincent dead and Iluka under his mother's watchful gaze, I'm no longer surrounded by 'bad influences.' Better yet, I'm no longer stuck in Vincent's shadow, no longer forced to go along with his stupid ideas or laugh at his stupid jokes. I'm no longer poisoned by his presence.

It was an accident—a happy accident. It's funny that when he'd sent that message in before the party, hinting at his stupid prank, he hadn't realised the party really would be a killer.

As I walk along, the sun breaks through the dark grey clouds. I pause, allowing it to colour my hair gold and soak into my skin, its rays penetrating through to my very core. I can taste the endless days of summer already stretching before me, filled with nothing but freedom. It can wait, though; I still have unfinished business.

I wonder if Mishka's kicking herself for not teaming up with Quinn. Like everyone, she scoffed at Quinn's love of crime novels. Those books would've clued them in that it's usually always the person you least expect. Stoned, wasted, chronically absent... The devastated best friend asking everyone to give a damn about what happened when he already knew. Obviously, I'd become Quinn's number one suspect after I'd asked for their help, but with their own best friend not believing them, even fighting with them after I'd 'saved' them from the shed fire, what could they do?

Still, it would've been best if she'd chosen Quinn over Bennett. Can she not see how toxic he is? How alike he is to Vincent? He couldn't even comfort her after she almost perished, allowing his jealousy and ego to stand in the way. He doesn't deserve her, not like I do.

But I'm not worried.

I watch her from the lab door as she stares at the computer screen, her breathing shallow and hand white as she grips the mouse. Her brain is ticking away, realising how everything fits together.

I know she understands now, that she realises we're the same. Sneaky, cunning, smart, and underestimated by all of our peers. Even her grandmother approves of me, even after I'd shown a moment of weakness and confessed to what I'd done. She'd listened without judgement, no clue who I or she was, absolving my guilt with a confused smile and advice to apologise for my actions. Well, sorry, Vinnie, can't take it back now; at least your death wasn't in vain, right?

We belong together, Mishka and I. Now that we know each other's secrets, we can build this school into our castle. We can expose our peers without anyone suspecting who we are. We can write our stories the way they were meant to be written; as villains or as heroes, we can decide.

And if she doesn't know it yet, she will soon enough.

She stiffens as my shadow falls over her, her breath hitching as I place a hand on the back of her chair.

"Well done."

Fear illuminates her wide grey-green eyes as she turns her head. I have to give her props; although her voice still wavers, I can see her determination to remain calm as she whispers my name.

"Sean?"

I grin at her, pleased we can move on. "You can call me Rumpel."