Psycho #OpenNovellaContest

Chapter 16

"Second house on Maple Street," the voice says from the speaker in Alya's car. The rain is pounding so fiercely that she can barely hear Mark on the other side of the line.

"I'm on Oak Avenue... Do I turn left or right?" Alya says, squinting through the furious motion of the windshield wipers.

"Left," Mark says, exasperated. "Then another left onto Maple."

"Oh," Alya says. "I think I took a wrong- wait, nevermind. I'm on Maple right now. Second house on the left or right?"

"Right. You can park in the driveway or the street."

"I'll just park in the street..." Alya pulls up next to the curb and steps out of her car. Mark's house is average sized, single story, and painted a rusty red. A silver SUV is parked on the right side of the driveway. Alya takes a deep breath. Do I really want to do this?

She shakes her head in disbelief. Of course she wants to do this. She has to.

Summing up her courage and steadying her shaking hands, she rings the doorbell.

In less than a second, Mark opens it. "Hi."

"Um, hi," Alya says. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course." He opens the door a little wider and Alya steps inside. The interior of his house looks normal enough. The walls are painted light blue and covered in paintings. As Alya walks through the entryway, she can see family photos strung up on display. A large leather sofa is pressed up against the wall of the room just past the entryway. Mark wastes no time in plopping down on it, and gesturing that she should do the same. Reluctantly, Alya sits next to him.

"So, um..." Mark clears his throat. "Do you want something to drink? I can make anything you want; I'm a barista, you know-"

"No, that's fine," Alya says, wringing her hands nervously. "I just drank before I got here."

"Okay, Alya, I'm going to be up front with you because you don't seem like the kind of girl to mess around with small talk. I'll be honest with you if you're honest with me, all right?"

Alya nods.

Mark's brown eyes seem to burn through her. "You promise?"

Alya sighs loudly and crosses her legs. "Come on, Mark. We're not children-"

"Alya."

Alya huffs out her breath. "Fine. I promise."

He keeps his eyes on her. "Are you having an affair with James Anderson?"

Alya takes a deep breath. "No. I mean, we were... But now I'm not so sure."

"I thought so."

My turn now. "Are you the murderer?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "No."

"How... How did you know about me and James? Even Tom doesn't know."

"Where is he?"

"He's sick." Alya rolls her eyes. "At least, that's what he says. He disappeared a few days ago-" Was it only a few days ago? It seems like so much longer... "I think he's at a hospital. I don't know. He hasn't contacted me in-" She doesn't know how long. "I just- I don't know. I- I miss him. No, I don't miss him. I just-" Her voice cracks. "I just miss being loved by someone." A tear drips down her cheek and she quickly wipes it away. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry; I'm not normally like this. I-"

Mark puts his hand over Alya's. "Hey, it's all right. You're probably just feeling lonely. That would explain the hallucinations-"

Alya jerks her hand away. "Hallucinations? How do you know about those?"

"Everyone knows, Alya! You freaked out at Lizzie Hart's funeral!" He lowers her voice. "And you were in that car crash too, weren't you?"

Alya's hands start shaking again. "How do you know all this? I never thought... Maybe I am insane."

Mark covers Alya's hand with his own, his fingers lacing around hers. Alya's eyes flick to his hand. The sleeve of his long sleeve shirt has risen up slightly, exposing the bare flesh of his arm.

Then, she sees it. The dark streak of red that runs down his arm. Dried blood. But not from a cut; the streak looks like it was just painted on... and recently.

Alya's head swims. Another hallucination?

Mark's eyes meet hers and he quickly pulls down his sleeve, covering the smear.

No, she thinks. Definitely not another hallucination.

"I- I'm feeling a little faint," Alya says. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?"

Mark nods. "First door on the left."

In hindsight, Alya realizes it would have been a better idea to run, to make up an excuse and get out of there before he kills her too. She turns on the faucet and splashes water over her face, trying to calm her beating heart. What was that dried blood doing on his arm? He's not the murderer. He told me he's not the murderer. He's not lying... Right?

Alya looks back at the mirror. Mascara streams down her cheeks and lipstick is smeared over her upper lip. In spite of herself, she smiles slightly. I'm such an over reactive mess, she thinks as she searches for a towel to wipe her face. He's not the murderer. He probably just cut himself earlier and forgot to wipe it off. Of course he's not the murderer-

Alya suddenly gasps and stumbles backward. The bathtub is covered in blood. Red liquid stains the walls and drips down into the tub, forming dark puddles.

Alya clutches her hand over her mouth and fumbles for the doorknob behind her, unable to tear her eyes away from the scene in front of her. She finally gets the door open and flees to the living room. Tears form in the corners of her eyes. Why had she ever thought this would have been a good idea?

"Alya, wait," Mark says, grabbing her arm. "I can explain-"

Alya whips around. "No, you can't! You can't explain why you have blood smeared all over the walls and-"

"Alya-" He tightens his grip on her arm.

"I don't want to hear it!" she tries to twists away from him, but to no avail. Tears burn in her eyes. "If you're going to kill me, do it quickly."

"Oh no, Alya." He lowers his voice. "I would never kill you."