April was jolted awake by the piercing wail of cop cars racing down the road outside her trailer. "For fuck's sake," she groaned, the abrasive sounds ripping her from a deep slumber. She rolled over, attempting to cocoon herself back into comfort as the sirens faded. Just as sleep beckoned her again, a sharp 'BANG BANG' at her door shattered the silence. "Coming!" she shouted with a croaky voice, dragging herself out of bed to face the mirror beside her, her reflection a disheveled mess staring back.
Another impatient bang echoed as she trudged to the door and yanked it open. There stood Max Mayfield, her expression ghostly pale. "Max?" April said, surprised, hastily trying to tame her tangled hair.
"We need to go to Dustin's now—I have to tell you guys something ," Max blurted out, urgency overriding any pleasantries.
"Why?" April asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.
"Just... come on!" Max snapped, her voice tinged with frustration.
"Okay, okay," April sighed, "Let me get dressed first."
Ten minutes later, April emerged in a band tee and flared jeans, her hair thrown up into a hasty ponytail, headphones resting around her neck. The two girls sped-walked to Dustin's house, with April probing, "Why can't you just tell me now?" April repeated which made max only walk quicker
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at Dustin's doorstep. Max knocked, and Dustin swung the door open, his face etched with confusion.
"Chrissy Cunningham?" he echoed incredulously as he paced the room. "You sure it was Chrissy?" he pressed, but Max cut him off.
"Yes! She was in her cheerleader outfit—the same one from when I saw her with Eddie," Max insisted.
"Did you tell this to the cops?" Dustin asked, still pacing, worry creasing his forehead.
"No," Max shook her head. "But I can't be the only one who saw them together. I mean, they stood out—Eddie the freak Munson with Chrissy the cheerleader."
"Eddie didn't do this, no way," Dustin interjected, disbelief lacing his voice.
"Well, we can't rule it out," Max countered.
"Yes, we can," Dustin retorted, louder now.
April had been silent, absorbing the chaos, her fingers nervously twisting the rings on her hands. "No, I agree with Dustin. Yeah, Eddie was a freak, I never liked him, but from what I've spoken to him, he's... tolerable. Whatever. He's not a murderer tho," April said from her position on dustin's bed leaning back to rest against the wall.
"See, you didn't know him like I did. And even April says he's not a murderer," Dustin said, turning back to Max.
"They said the same shit about Ted Bundy. Nice guy, then he's murdering women on weekends," Max countered darkly.
"So you're saying Eddie is like Ted Bundy?" Dustin scoffed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"No, I'm not saying that,—we can't presume anything," Max stammered, Dustin throwing his hands up in exasperation and taking a seat next to April on his bed.
"Why haven't you told the cops this?" Dustin pressed.
"I... I don't know," Max mumbled, arms crossed defensively.
After a tense silence, Max finally added, "After I saw Eddie and Chrissy go into the trailer... something else happened.
Eddie always drives like a maniac, and the power goes off all the time, but this morning, thinking back... he looked really scared. Maybe because he killed someone, or maybe... I don't know."
"Something else killed her" dustin said quietly
"Holy shit, holy shit," April blurted out, her voice breaking through the tension like a knife. The room felt suddenly too small, her chest tight with panic. "I... I can't do this," she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. With a rush of sudden energy, she bolted from the bed, her movements jerky and uncoordinated as she stumbled through Dustin's cluttered room and burst out the front door.
The bright sunlight outside was jarring, and her head swam with nausea. She paced frantically in front of Dustin's porch, her footsteps erratic on the uneven concrete, as if trying to outrun her own racing thoughts. It felt like an eternity, but only a few seconds passed before she rounded the corner of the house and collapsed against the cool, shadowed wall, her body sliding down to the ground. Her leg twitched uncontrollably, a physical echo of her inner turmoil, and her hands shook violently as she dug through her back pocket for her pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
