Hunt of the Night

c h a p t e r t h i r t y s i x ( a m b e r )

Previously...

Chris held the pillow in the air, hesitating as he gazed at the deranged girl. Guilt washed through him first, but then flashes of the night came to the front of his mind.

I have to do this.

With one last glance at the girl, he forced his eyes shut and pressed the pillow down. Turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes closed, he felt the body beneath him grow still. Deciding not to waste one more second in the dainty house, Chris took off without a second thought.

Through the house, the clearing, he finally caught back up to the rest of the guys who stood around a fresh pile of dirt.

It was done.

None of the boys exchanged words in this moment. Whether the silence was for the strangers whose lives they took, or the silence for their innocence that was taken away from them that night, was unknown. Words couldn't describe the pain and discomfort they were feeling as the shovel fell from one of the boys' hands next to that pile of dirt. Words wouldn't be able to fill the void this night would bring, their heavy breathing and panic stricken looks were enough.

With a nod of the head, they knew.

They had managed to do the unthinkable.

They were free.

Currently...

Ever since that night, I had been in the safety of my house. No school. No library. Just home. That didn't stop me from doing my school work however. My nose had been in my books for what felt like an eternity. It was a good distraction. Writing about King Lear's mess of a family somehow distracted me from the horrific events of the weekend. I wonder if everyone else is as distraught. They seemed fine when we left. I wonder if John is alright. Were they going to school? Maybe they missed it like me. Sighing, I closed my laptop. King Lear was going to have to wait. Right now, I needed soup.

Did John like soup? Everyone likes soup. Maybe I should take him some. No, that would involve leaving the house. I do not want to do that.

I leaned back against the counter, closing my eyes. My parents didn't question me when I told them I wanted to stay home today. They didn't even blink. It's like they didn't even notice their daughter wasn't as innocent as they thought. She didn't just keep her nose in books and go to club meetings. Their little girl was now part of a murder. Maybe ignorance is bliss.

Almost all of my school work was complete, except for whatever I had to do for today. I needed something to distract me. What did John use to distract himself when he was upset?

I jumped when I heard the sizzle of the water spilling over the edge. I have got to pay more attention to my surroundings. I poured the package into the water, watching as the noodles became enveloped in bubbles.

The stack of books on the counter caught my eye. I had almost made my way through all of them. I needed a new stack, but that would mean going back to the library. I'll reread one. I grabbed the book at the top of the stack.

Hamlet.

Cheery.

I reached for the next book.

Hansel and Gretel.

No.

Edgar Allan Poe Collection.

I picked up another.

Poems by Virginia Woolf.

Another.

The Collections of Sylvia Plath.

Another.

Julius Caesar.

Another.

Les Miserables.

Death, death, death, and more death.

The irony.

I stacked the books back up. Apparently, I was not rereading any of these. I poured the soup into a bowl, dropping three ice cubes in to cool it down.

I ate the soup in silence, refusing to let any images force their way to the front of my mind. With each sip, I felt the ease of the tension rolling off me like the steam on the soup. Everything will be alright. It will be. It has to be.

Not bothering to wash the dishes, I placed everything into the sink. Maybe a crossword will help. Taking a deep breath, I opened the front door. I made my way to the mailbox, making sure to grab both the mail and the newspaper. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding until I came back in locking the door and the deadbolt. Without looking, I tossed the mail in its usual place on the counter. I wanted the crossword.

I laid the newspaper out, careful to fold the pages on the creases as I looked over the clues.

Chickens and ducks, e.g. Seven letters. Poultry.

Difficult. Four letters. Hard.

Nap. Six letters. Siesta.

I filled out all the hints I knew. There were a couple remaining that stumped me by one or two letters. Just enough to throw me off. Out of all the words in the English language, how many of them could possibly end in "try"? Poultry. Country. Industry. Bigotry. Ancestry. Reentry. Try.

One day I will be able to complete a crossword, but today was not the day. With more anger than I care to admit, I tossed the paper on the table. Maybe another day. King Lear was waiting for me to discuss the supernatural. Just great.

I worked on the paper for way longer than I thought, because I heard my parents come home. I submitted my paper when the smell of bacon made its way into my room. Breakfast for dinner. My favorite.

"Sweet delight. Pastry." My father's voice carried up the steps to me. I should have known that.

"Duh. I don't know how I didn't know that. What's the other one?" I peeked over his shoulder at the puzzle.

He shook his head, but wrote down the final answer to the puzzle.

D-E-A-T-H.

That should have been the easiest answer-it hasn't left my mind since I got home. "Good job kiddo. Got pretty close today."

My mom made her way to the table, plates and silverware in hand, "How was your day? Are you feeling better? I made you toast and picked up your assignments from school." She nodded to the counter, a folder was sitting on my stack of books.

"Oh, thank you," was all I could manage to say.

We ate dinner in comfortable silence as usual. Mom had her nose in a book and my dad had his nose in court documents. And me? Well, I just stared at the crossword dad had completed for me. I helped clean up dinner dishes as my dad flipped through the mail.

"Amber, you have something." He waved the envelope in the air, not looking up from the next envelope in his hand.

"From who?" I asked curiously, taking the envelope from his hand.

"It doesn't have a return address," He shrugged, sitting back down at the table with mom.

I looked at the envelope. Sure enough, my name was written in perfect calligraphy. I flipped the envelope over, no address there. Weird. I opened the envelope anyway just to see a letter sitting inside. I opened it carefully, feeling the air leave my lungs as I read the words printed on the paper.

Congratulations. You won. This time.

I unfolded the last bit of paper, my eyes widening. A check signed by Edward fell on the floor at my feet.

My eyes darted to my parents in the adjacent room. They were paying bills and carrying on as normal. I reached down and snatched up the check and dashed into my room. I slid the envelope under my pillow and climbed into bed. I curled up in the blankets, closing my eyes.

I listened to my parents chatter downstairs. They were making jokes.

They didn't have a clue in the world.