A single bullet // M.C ✔️

13

Soft music played through the speakers of my phone, filling the small bedroom; soft hums coming from my throat humming along merged with it. My eyes were scanning my latest article, a boring article since no murders or anything with the gang had happened recently, leaving me to report on the repetitive life of New Yorkers. And sent, straight into Luke's inbox.

I didn't have it in me to even attempt another article to send to Luke, not really believing that there was a funeral to even attend. No one had messaged me, making me think it was a sick joke in the end. I hadn't heard from Alex, from Morgan (even though his phone had been robbed), and I hadn't heard from any other family members, which I definitely would have. Especially my auntie, who blames me for every inconvenience in her life, even though I'm not there.

"Nic?" Kensie's confused voice sounded down the hall, making me pause my current song, bouncing off the walls.

"Hello?" I yelled back. No response. I groaned, throwing my head back. "I have to leave my bed," I whined, dragging the 'd' out. "When someone replies to Kensie, that's usually when you-, oh," I stopped my rambling, standing next to where she was perched. Standing in the open door, a soft breeze swept past us into the house as we both stared wide-eyed and confused.

Seven single-stemmed roses, each getting darker and darker in shade, lay in a line on the doormat. The only thing next to them was a single black card with gold accents saying, "For Nicky xoxo.

"You didn't tell me you have a secret admirer," she coo'd, pushing my arm slightly, making me punch her arm; not hard.

"Because I don't?" I was clearly confused, staring at the roses, my mind running wild.

"Clearly, you do. The roses show that." The fact that they were getting darker in shade really threw me off. It wasn't a beautiful arrangement of bright reds, but more of a blood shade getting darker on each rose until the last one was nearly black.

I crouched down, collecting the roses in a small bunch, holding them delicately between my fingers.

"Nic, there's something else." I hadn't noticed Kensie crouch next to me, only holding the small card instead. "You should read this."

I flickered over the words in messy writing; this part was clearly added after, not like the front of the card.

See you on Wednesday, darling. Can't wait to finally meet you.

Wednesday. Wednesday. Wednesday!

"Oooo, you got a date on Wednesday you haven't told me about?" She smirked, nudging me as I stood up, clutching the roses a lot harder now.

"No, I haven't got a date on Wednesday." I spoke with venom, very clear in my voice.

"Whoa, what's going on?" She sounded confused, reaching out to touch my arm, making me step back and shake my head.

"Kensie, I love you and all, but don't touch me right now because I think I'll swing." She nodded and stepped back; thank god we've been friends for long enough; she knows I'm not bullshitting. "This has to be some sick joke," I slammed the door shut, the sound echoing around our living room as I stepped further in, throwing the roses onto the sofa. "Fucking Wednesday! Morgan's going to investigate this shit because I'm done," the 'e' was dragged out as I spun and faced Kensie, who was leaning against the wall with a sympathetic, confused look on her face.

"Nic, talk to me,"

"It's Wednesday, Kensie. A countdown to Wednesday," I whispered, feeling like I'm going to evaporate and melt right into the floor. My body felt weak and like jelly as my mind connected the dots. My life is a connect-the-dots drawing.

"What? Let that reporter mind get to work," and just that, I did, sitting down on the sofa and looking dead forward, I let my mind run wild.

"I had a message from Morgan the other day saying Dad's funeral is next Wednesday; it isn't. I went to Mom's after and blew up at her as she never told me, Morgan had to; he didn't have his phone. Someone's playing this sick fucking joke about my Dad and Wednesday." I looked over at her, "The roses are a countdown. And something deadly serious is happening Wednesday and it's not a funeral. Each day it's getting darker, clouds are going to come over me."

I looked at the roses, "It happened in the past. With another couple, a wife got killed by her husband and seven days before, she got roses; all beautiful roses. On the seventh day he killed her, shot her right through the heart before aiming another through her head to make sure she was gone." My head was in my hands as my breath picked up and I felt my body shaking.

"Nic..."

Finally I looked up, water filling my eyes as another realisation kicked in.

"It happened three years ago and guess who the reporter was who announced it to the world. The time before that was hugely written about and it happened in 1915. The only record of what really happened is in a book I was looking for today. No..."

It couldn't be. Could it? The only person who knew I wanted that book was Calum.

"I know who it is."

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