1999

8. The One Behind It All

The taxi ride home was uneventful, the city lights flickering past as Y/n leaned back in her seat, her thoughts drifting. By the time she reached her apartment, the streets had quieted down, the lively buzz of the night replaced by the stillness of the early hours. The cab pulled up to her building, and Y/n paid the driver before stepping out onto the curb.

As she made her way up the stairs, a subtle unease crept into her chest. Her steps slowed as she approached her front door, noticing it was slightly ajar. She paused, her brow furrowing in confusion. Jackie always kept the door locked at night.

Y/n pushed the door open and stepped inside, immediately noticing that the lights were still on. The apartment was eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of music. She muttered a soft, "What the hell?" under her breath, wondering why Jackie was still up.

She moved cautiously down the narrow hallway toward Jackie's bedroom, the sound of loud music growing as she neared. When she turned the corner and saw the bedroom door wide open, her heart dropped. The music was blasting, but it wasn't the volume that made her pulse quicken—it was the absolute stillness beyond it.

Her breath caught in her throat as she stepped inside, her eyes immediately landing on the horrific sight before her. Jackie's body lay sprawled on the carpet, her limbs twisted at unnatural angles, a pool of dark, drying blood surrounding her. The metallic scent of blood filled the room, mixing with the fading notes of perfume and makeup that had been scattered across the floor.

Y/n's blood ran cold, her mind struggling to process the gruesome scene. Jackie's once lively eyes were now frozen open, staring blankly at the ceiling. Her skin, once glowing with life, was now pale and lifeless, her features marred by deep cuts and gashes. The room seemed to spin around Y/n, her stomach churning violently at the sight of her friend's mutilated body.

But no scream came. The horror was so overwhelming, so paralyzing, that it left her mute. Her feet moved of their own accord, carrying her closer to Jackie's body. Her eyes caught the grotesque message carved into her arm—'skanky bitch'—the words etched deep into her skin, a final, brutal insult to accompany the brutal end.

Y/n stood over the body, her entire body trembling. Jackie's blood had soaked into the expensive carpet, the deep red stark against the plush white fibers. Her gaze darted around the room, trying to make sense of the chaos—the shattered makeup, the blood-splattered vanity, the crimson streaks on the doorframe where Jackie had desperately tried to escape.

The bile rose in Y/n's throat, but she forced it back down, her mind reeling. The reality of the situation started to set in, and she realized with growing dread that someone had been here—someone who hated Jackie enough to do this. And whoever it was, they had been in her apartment, moving through her space, unnoticed.

Numbly, Y/n backed away from the scene, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Panic began to claw at her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she stumbled back into the hallway. The air around her felt heavy, suffocating, as the horrifying image of Jackie's lifeless body burned into her mind.

Y/n's instincts kicked in, and she spun around, bolting from Jackie's room. Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat loud in her ears as she raced down the hallway, nearly tripping over her own feet. The familiar sight of the wall phone was a beacon in her panic, and she lunged for it, her hands trembling as she picked up the receiver.

She fumbled with the keypad, her fingers slipping on the buttons, but she forced herself to focus. With a shaky breath, she dialed 911, pressing the phone to her ear as her mind raced, trying to piece together what she'd just seen.

The ringing on the other end felt like an eternity, her pulse quickening with each second that passed. Finally, the line clicked, and a calm voice answered, "911, what's your emergency?"