𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨́𝐧 𝐈𝐯𝐲

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟖.

Ivy's Pov
The return journey was a suffocating hush, punctuated only by the car's tires over uneven ground. I was unharmed, a fact that confused me, given the grim task I had been a part of. The memory of the river's cold embrace as we gotten rid of the evidence clawed at my mind, a vile reminder of the night's sinister deeds. My hands, though washed, would forever bear the invisible stain of guilt and horror.

I had emptied two dead bodies.

The haunting image of their gazes, their pallid, lifeless complexions drained of life, relentlessly played in a ghastly loop within the recesses of my mind. It consumed me to the point where even the most basic human needs, like eating and sleeping, became impossible. The voices echoed through the depths, accusing me of unspeakable evil, tormenting my every waking moment and robbing me of peaceful rest.

I had neither seen nor received any communication from Smiley since that day, an absence that was hardly a cause for joy. It dawned on me that to her, this was just a trifling amusement—a way to toy with my expectations, compelling me to cast anxious glances over my shoulders every second. Her absence did nothing but raise my anxiety.

Somewhere inside, I hoped this was just a vivid dream I'd stumbled into by chance.

I was utterly drained, and every bone inside my body throbbed with pain, particularly my fractured arm, which suffered immensely from hauling bloated bodies into the relentless flow of the river. The doctors had assured me that with proper rest and care, my arm should mend within a span of three weeks; however, I've come to realize the recovery will undoubtedly extend beyond that period.

Exhaustion weighed heavily on me, evident in my every move. Despite the fatigue, I knew I had to pull myself together, as my parents were due to arrive any minute now. The thought of involving anyone about the situation filled me with dread.

I feared Smiley would use my vulnerabilities against me and inflict pain on those I loved. It was as if she had eyes behind her head and could see and hear things even through her absence.

My parents were unaware that the cast on my arm resulted from an encounter with the notorious criminal they had been warning me about. Instead, I made up a lie that they wholeheartedly believed. However, I couldn't recall the exact lie, so I just hoped they wouldn't ask about it again, fearing I'd stumble in maintaining the story.

Exhaling deeply, I carefully positioned and plumped the small cushions on my couch. I was aware that everything needed to be perfect, as my mother had an eagle eye for even the slightest flaw. I had prepared a meal that my mother had passed down to me during my teenage years – a comforting spread of collard greens, crispy fried chicken, creamy macaroni and cheese, fluffy rice, and black-eyed peas.

Once the house was scrubbed clean, every object precisely in its place, I glanced over the simmering meal, laid out the plates, and dashed to get dressed—all without a flicker of emotion on my face.