Alya pulls on her red trench coat over her black dress and takes a look in the mirror. Red lipstick, black eyeliner, gray eyeshadow. She looks cool, calm, and confident, just the look she needs today. She pushes her shades down so they rest on her nose. After all, you can't pretend to be a detective without at least looking the part.
Alya grabs her phone off her dressers and quickly punches in a number. She holds her phone between her neck and shoulder and quickly zips up her tall leather boots.
"Hello?" a muffled voice on the phone says.
Alya snatches her phone and holds it to her ear. "Edward?"
An audible sigh. "What do you want, Alya?"
"I need a ride to-"
"No. I'm not your personal chauffeur."
"But you're my best friend." Not strictly true, but pretty damn close.
Another sigh. "Alya... the last time I dropped you off someplace, you hallucinated and fainted in the middle of a funeral."
"James told you about that?" She doesn't need to hear his reply to know the answer. "Nevermind, will you please drive me? I'm just going Mott's Coffee Shop. Nothing weird."
"You hate coffee."
"Actually, I don't. I had a cup with Mariel the other day."
"After filming, right?" He snorts. "That doesn't mean you like coffee; you just like it more than Tom bossing you around."
Actually, it was three days after filming, Alya thinks, but doesn't say it out loud. She knows he's right.
"Come on, Edward. I'm not up to anything, I promise."
"Can Mariel go with you?"
"No," Alya says, getting more frustrated by the minute "She's not picking up her phone."
"I'm sorry, Alya. I'm not driving you. I have things of my own to do and-"
Alya hangs up and slides her phone into her pocket. She pulls her hair into a long sleek ponytail and adjusts the collar of her coat. She takes one last look in the mirror. Perfect.
It's been years since Alya has driven; she usually has to coerce Mariel or Edward to take her places, though she seldom leaves the house. Tom worries about her too; he knows she's not the best driver. She knows it too, but sometimes his controlling attitude gets on her nerves.
Alya grabs the keys off of a hook in her garage and walks outside. The sky is cloudy and overcast; it seems as if most of the rain has passed. A knot twists in Alya's stomach. Is she doing the right thing? Is she putting herself in danger by asking the wrong questions? What if this whole plan goes wrong?
Alya unlocks the car and climbs inside. She wraps her thin fingers around the soft leather of the steering wheel. The pedals beneath her feet feel foreign, and she has to adjust to all the gauges and blinking lights on the dashboard. She wonders if she still remembers how to drive it.
What will Tom think?
Alya purses her lips. She doesn't care what Tom thinks, and she's certainly not letting him interfere anymore into her life.
Alya turns the key in the ignition and the engine roars to life.
One of the gauges flashes at her. 2 hrs.
She only smiles and pulls out of the driveway. The visions aren't going to stop until she finds out who's behind the murders. And everything else be damned, because in the next two hours, she's going to find out who the killer is.
YOU ARE READING
Psycho #OpenNovellaContest
General Fiction"I want to help you," the man next to her says. She shivers as the hand rests on her thigh again. But this time, she doesn't push him away. He lowers his voice to a whisper, so quiet that not even the microphones can pick it up. "People do strange t...
