ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Twenty-Two

"You're sure this is the right spot?" Brittany's tires spin out on the loose dirt and reconnect with the ground as she guns it.

"It has to be. We were in the middle of the woods." I gnaw on one of my nails. "This is the only place close enough to–"

Brittany slams on her brakes. The seat belt digs into my neck. She points at the bushes.

I don't know how she caught it. I would have missed the tail end of my car sticking out of the bushes if she hadn't pointed it out.

Brittany puts the Mercedes in park and climbs out.

I scramble after her. "But why is my car here if Claire is the one who was driving?"

Brittany ignores me. "You smell that?" she asks. Her stare is hard, fixed on my trunk.

I swallow. Of course, I do. The obvious smell of decay. The stench has seeped into the dirt; injected itself into the trees. "Maybe it's a dead raccoon in my engine."

We duck through an overgrowth of bushes. Claire's car is down the road.

Brittany's no longer hurrying; only staring. The faded red paint is covered by a swarm of flies. The buzzing is so loud; I can feel it crawling into my head.

"I'm calling the police," I say, pulling the flip phone from my pocket. I step away to hear the operator.

Brittany doesn't move. She's still staring at my trunk when I come back. "Let's wait in your car." My voice is gentle as I grab her elbow.

She snaps her arm away from me. "Jordan." Her lip quivers, but she doesn't look at me. Her eyes are still glued to my car. "Did you kill my sister?"

"What the fuck, Brittany."

"She's in your trunk, Jordan!" She's screaming. "She's in your fucking trunk!" Her purse slips from her fingers. Tubes of makeup and lip gloss spill across the dirt. "Explain how she got into your fucking trunk!" Her words are choked by sobs.

"Brittany, I don't..." I take a step back. "I didn't do anything to your sister." My heart drops. The only person who never questioned me, even when I was questioning myself... Even she turned on me. "Brittany."

I take a step closer when a deep voice shouts, "Nobody move. This is a potential crime scene." Kyle holds a hand out to me. "Keys," he demands.

I roll my eyes and dig through my backpack until the cold metal touches my palm. Kyle snatches the keys from my hand before I've finished extending it and jogs toward the car, snapping blue plastic gloves over his hands. He covers his mouth with his shirt as he unlocks the trunk.

Please, let it be a dead raccoon.

He lifts the trunk and a tornado of flies whooshes toward his face. He cowers under the black cloud. His eyes analyze the trunk a moment until he looks at Brittany and with sorrow I've never expected from Kyle, he says, "I'm so sorry, Britt."

Everything goes by in a blur. Brittany faces me. Her eyes are cold as she collects her purse.

"Are you going to be okay?" I can't tell if I ask the question out loud or not.

She ignores me and walks back to her car.

Someone rests a hand on my shoulder. The older officer nods his chin toward the cruiser. His eyes are sad. I nod back in response and slide into the backseat.

The drive is silent. It goes by in waves, time speeding up and slowing down as I attempt to wrap my mind around what we just found.

Minutes, maybe hours have passed since they stuck me in this small room; waiting on Kyle.