Shifted [z.m au]

X. Stalking.

◾ stalk·ing

noun:
/ stôking /

harass or persecute (someone) with unwanted and obsessive attention.

-

I drove around town, trying to calm down, trying to think clearly. But my thoughts circled aimlessly round and round, much like my little car.

So many questions crammed my brain. So many questions that I didn't have answers to.

But Harry can help me.

The words flashed into my troubled mind.

Harry can help me.

The thought swept the questions away. I made a wide U-turn and pressed harder on the gas, heading to Harry's house.

Zayn took all of his clothes, I remember. That meant he planned to go somewhere. Probably somewhere far away from here.

Harry wouldn't talk to me the first time I visited him. But this time, I told myself, I will make him talk. I will make him tell me everything. I will force him to tell me where Zayn went.

I thought about my first short meeting with him, hours before. He saw that I looked like Zayn. But he believed me when I said I was really Rena. And now that I think about it, Harry wasn't shocked at all. That meant he knew that Zayn and I had shifted bodies.

That meant he had talked to Zayn this afternoon or evening. Before Zayn murdered his parents? Or after he had murdered them? I'll force him to tell me this time, I vowed.

I pulled the car to the curb in front of Harry's house. I gazed over the smooth, sloping lawn to the familiar redbrick house.

Lights were on downstairs. The porchlight was on. I stepped out of the car and carefully closed the door, carefuly not to make a sound.

I had decided to surprise Harry, to catch him off guard. To frighten him---just enough to make him tell the truth.

I started up the driveway, keeping in the shadows, away from the square of light that washed onto the lawn from the porch. As I made my way past the front walk and along the side of the house, crickets began to chirp shrilly, as if warning Harry I was coming.

Their whistle grew louder and louder. It sounded deafening to me. I heard every sound, clearer than normal. The scrape of my sneakers on the driveway
The rustle of the wind through the trees along the drive.

As I crept onto the back stoop, the crickets stopped their chirping, as suddenly as they had started. I peered into the window on the kitchen door. A dim light over the stove provided the only brightness.

I turned the knob and pushed. The kitchen door slid open easily.

Leaning on the knob, I pushed the door open all the way, and slipped into the house. The linoleum floor squeked under my weight.

I stopped. Listened. I could hear music in front of the house. Loud rock music from the den.

Good, I thought. It probably means Harry is home alone. He wouldn't be playing the music so loud downstairs if his parents were home.

My eyes darted around the kitchen. They stopped at the knife holder above the white Formica counter.

I crossed the room, studied the knives in the holder, and pulled out a long-bladed kitchen knife.

I'll scare him with this, I told myself. I'll raise the blade high. I'll back him into a corner. I'll frighten him into talking. I'll make him think that plan to use it on him—if he doesn't tell me the truth about Zayn. If he doesn't tell me all that he knows.

I took a deep breath, edging my way to the front of the house. Thinking hard about how I would play this.

I'll act crazy, I decided. I'll act out of control. I'll raise the knife. I'll scream at him. I'll make him tell me where Zayn went.

When Zayn has told me what I need to know, I'll apologize, I told myself. I'll ask for his help. I'll confessed how eager I am to get my body back.

He'll understand. He'll help me. I know he will.

The music blared louder as I made my way along the front hallway. I raised the knife and stopped into the den. "Harry? It's me. Rena. I have to talk—"

I lowered the knife to my side as I stared down at the gruesome sight on the den floor. Harry's body lay on its back on the tile floor, arms and legs outstretched.

His head had been sliced off.

Puddles of bright red blood had streamed from the neck.

The head stood upright a few feet from the body, propped against the leather couch.

The mouth was frozen open in a wide O of horror. The emerald green eyes stared lifelessly up at me.

The room started to spin. I dropped onto the floor. Into a sitting position. I shut my eyes.

When I opened them a few moments later, Harry's green eyes still stared at me. As I stared in horror, one eyelid slowly drooped, drooped until it closed, leaving Harry's face with a hideous wink.

I swallowed hard, forcing down my nausea.

I shut my eyes. Blinked several times. Hoping praying that when I looked back, the head would have disappeared. Would have returned to Harry's body.

Sobbing, I raised myself to my knees. "Harry..." I murmured his name.

The head had been sliced off. A jagged line across the throat. The body stretched out calmly over the floor, as if taking a nap. The head stared blankly at its own body.

First, Zayn's parents. And now Harry.

It made no sense. No sense at all. Without realizing it, I had climbed to my feet. I turned away from Harry's headless body. I gazed at the window.

"Shit!" I cried out when I saw the two faces on the other side of the glass. The two grim faces of the gray-suited police officers.

They stared in at me. Stared at the headless corpse on the bloodied den floor. Stared at the kitchen knife that still clutched tightly in my hand.

***

a.n
since i have nothing to do in holiday until next week i decided to keep update especially this book 👽
hope ya like it! double updates in one day whoo 💜