If We Survive The Night

Owen

Jaden

I wake up to the sound of birds chirping outside. I'm sitting on a chair. My head hurts so badly I immediately miss being unconscious.

I blink, looking around. The room is unfamiliar, with wood log walls and one small window through which the early morning light is getting in. I make out a stove by the wall, a kitchen counter, a table, and, as my gaze moves on, a bed in the farther, darker corner of the room. Someone is sitting on it, which startles me at first, but then I recognize Casey. He's looking at something on the wall behind him, his face turned away.

"Hey," I say, hoarsely.

He startles, turning to me.

"You awake?" he breathes out. "Fuck, I was worried! How do you feel?"

"Like shit. My head hurts."

"Yeah, you've probably hit it hard. There's a cut on it. You've been bleeding. I tried to ask him to bandage it, but he wouldn't listen."

"Ask whom?" I try to get up, and the chair below me sways precariously, making me realize that I'm attached to it. My hands seem to be tied behind the back of the chair, secured to it with a piece of rope. As I try to move my legs, I discover they're tied to the legs of the chair.

"Yeah," Casey says, and raises his hands a bit, showing me that they're fastened to the metal headboard with a pair of handcuffs. "Same here."

"Who did this?"

My wits are coming back as I wake up all the way. Memories arrive in bits and pieces, this whole crazy night, driving through empty streets, a car ramming into ours. An accident. Only it wasn't an accident.

"It was Owen," Casey says quietly, drawing up his knees, resting his chin on them.

"Who?"

"Hey there," says another voice, and a guy walks into the room.

He's a big dude, with reddish, sunburnt skin, and short blonde hair. His bulging chest muscles stretch his grey t-shirt. He's holding a plastic plate with some food I can't see from where I sit. He takes a bite and looks me over with his pale blue eyes. He's probably about my age, but bigger. He looks a bit familiar, in a way someone you see occasionally on a bus stop or at a convenience store does, not someone you actively interact with.

"Who the fuck are you?" I say.

He nods, chewing. "Owen."

I look at Casey for an explanation. He gives me an uneasy look.

"Jen's boyfriend," he says.

I blink. Jen's been bringing friends home, boys and girls, and I've never paid much attention to them, so I might have seen this face around once or twice without really focusing on it. He looks like nothing special, save for his muscles.

"It means you did..." I say, forcing my hurting brain to put the pieces together. "Did you kill Jen's parents? But why? And Hazel!" Remembering her makes blood pulse harder at my temples. "Why did you kill Hazel?"

He shrugs. "Collateral damage. Just didn't expect her to be there that late. Hew work-life balance was shit."

"But..." I look at Casey again. "But when Jen finds out..."

"She knows," Casey says, softly. "Don't you get it? It was her idea. She made him do it."

"Not made me." Owen takes another bite of what I can now see is a baked potato. "Nobody really makes me do things. We came up with this together." He shrugs. "It only made sense. With all her father's stupid demands—what grades she should get, where to study, where to work, when to marry. Like, either she lives by his rules, or she doesn't see any of his money—how is that fair?"

"It was his money," Casey says. "It was up to him to decide what to do with it."

"Oh, don't tell me it didn't piss you off that the old bugger wouldn't share! Sharing is caring, and the dude clearly didn't care about his own children. He totally got what he deserved."

"So, she will get the inheritance?" I say. "But what's in it for you?"

Owen points the half-eaten potato at me, as if I've asked the right question, then shoves what's left of it into his mouth. He looks around, chewing, searching for a place to put his plate. He sets it down on the counter and turns back to us, brushing his hands off.

"Dating a rich heir has always been my dream. Especially is she owes it all to me."

I eye his smug face. What he says clarifies what happened in the mansion, the reasons behind it, but our current situation is still inexplicable. Why did he bring us here? The only reasonable thing for him was to kill us on the spot of the accident, maybe set the car on fire to destroy all evidence. It's clear that he has no scruples against killing people. After what he did in the mansion, two more bodies would be nothing to him. Not that I'm complaining that he didn't do it, but his reasoning evades me.

"So," he says, rubbing his hands on the sides of his jeans.

"So?" echoes Casey.

Owen shrugs. "For all intents and purposes, you two are dead."

"Why didn't you kill us, then?"

"I just thought..." He looks at Casey, a thin smile stretching his lips. "I figured, it would be such a waste to just dispose of you without having some fun first."