We Were Liars | ONC 2020 ✔

Bomb In The Mailbox

EIGHTEEN DAYS AFTER

"If only you could see me now, Ette."

I wished that Polaroids and physical photo albums were still a thing like they had been in the old days---even though I hadn't even been born back then. Due to my lack of a phone and my natural aversion to photographs, I had no pictures of Ette and I. I'd never thought I would long for one.

"I'm sorry for calling you an idiot so many times. And yes, I'm actually apologising, even though you're not around to hear it. Something's happened, Ette."

I stopped pacing, halting to stand in front of the single mirror lining my closet---an addition that had come with the cupboard. I had no use for it. The bathroom mirror was enough for me to make sure I was perfectly put together. Large mirrors on closet doors spelled vanity to me.

"Besides the obvious crazy serial killer roaming Rockwell, I...well, I kissed a boy. And I liked it. Also...I miss you, Ette. Funny, isn't it? It's absolutely hilarious how you never miss someone until they're gone."

The days seemed to crawl past without the excitement of school to speed them up. I, of course, appreciated the extra study time, but I hated how I now couldn't fill my needy brain with new knowledge every single day. I took a deep breath, staring at my reflection---especially the cherry-red bowtie wrapped comfortably around my neck.

For what it's worth, you look better without a bowtie.

My fingers slowly trailed up to my throat, pressing the tips to the crimson fabric. Breathe in, breathe out. I closed my eyes, finally tugging it loose from its neat bow, untying the firm knot and yanking what was now a mere ribbon from my neck. My jugular was now bare and willingly exposed to the world, without its bowtie for the first time in years.

I opened my eyes, taking a good look at myself in the mirror. I didn't look naked, or strange, or like I was even missing anything. I looked like me. Except, perhaps, just a tiny bit better. I realised that I felt...fine. It was like the hole in my heart that would have been empty without my bowtie had been filled up with something else.

Like Ezra.

I exhaled. "Alright," I said to my bowtie-less self. "Let's do this."

The burner sitting on top of my desk buzzed, as if 'Death' had been waiting for exactly the right moment to strike once more. I all but pounced on the phone---since jumping over and snatching it up would have been extremely undignified----staring in unconcealed horror at the messages on the screen.

School's out, but I'm not. How have you been, Canterbury? I hope you've been well, because very soon, you won't be.

I do believe my next surprise will be very...explosive. Check your mailbox. I think you'll enjoy it! It's a little gift for you---one with a real bang.

Perhaps you're smart enough to know what this means. Maybe you'll be in time to stop what's going to blow up your life.

I highly doubt it, though. Pathetic little rats like you think too highly of themselves, when you're really no more than a fool.

Much love, Death.

School's out...explosive...mailbox...gift with a real bang...blow up your life...you're really no more than a fool...

Explosive. Mailbox. Gift with a real bang. Blow up your life.

Leaving all dignity behind, I ran out of my room, ignoring the way the door slammed behind me. I dashed into the kitchen. My mother dropped the knife she was using to chop parsley at my sudden entrance. "Canterbury! What---"

"Call the police!" I yelled. "There's a bomb in our mailbox!"

☆☆☆

"How did you know about the bomb?"

I waited near the window, watching the remaining S.W.A.T. team members trickling out one by one. Officer Hickory, long face even longer than normal, sat opposite me, notepad in hand. They'd managed to defuse the bomb half an hour before it would have blown up. My mother was still shaking.

I stared down at my lap. I would have to come clean. There was no other way around it. "I received a text about it," I confessed.

"Canterbury, since when did you have a phone?" my mother asked, despite my begging glances at her to keep quiet. Officer Hickory cocked his head to the side skeptically, raising a confused eyebrow at me.

"The killer put a burner phone in my locker. They've been texting me ever since." He lingered on my lips, Nat Evans just begging to slip from my tongue, but this useless officer would certainly not believe me and accuse me of trying to frame a boy I hated.

Officer Hickory's pale cheeks flushed bright red. When he spoke, his voice was frostier than it had earlier been. "Can you show me the phone, Canterbury?"

I shakily dragged it from the pocket of my khakis, setting it down on the table. Officer Hickory's gloved hand shot out, hovering just above it. "Is it alright if I take a look at the messages?" His tone was calm, as if I had a choice, but his eyes were hard and stone-cold. It was evident that I didn't have any other option. Completely against my will, I nodded.

Officer Hickory took the burner, carefully scrolling through each text from 'Death'. With each passing second, his lips pressed together more tightly. "These...coincidentally warned you of each death right before it happened. And you never said a word." The look on his face was one of absolute disgust. My mother's expression morphed into one of complete shock. I couldn't stare either one of them in the eye.

"It's against the law to hurt or threaten civilians, but I will tell you that I have never wanted to strangle a kid so badly before," Officer Hickory hissed. When my mother opened her mouth to speak, the red faded from his cheeks as he cleared his throat. "I'm terribly sorry, that was out of line. I forgot my place." His words remained unspoken, but his thoughts were written over his face, clear as day. You could have stopped the deaths. But you didn't.

I could have stopped them, but I'd valued my own selfish---albeit highly intelligent---hide over several human lives. "They threatened me," I blurted. "Said they'd kill me if I said anything."

Officer Hickory leaned forward. "Canterbury, I understand this whole situation is extremely hard for you, especially with the loss of your best friend and your near death, but you have to cooperate with us. If you had simply given us the phone the moment the messages had started, it could have helped the investigation a lot. We could have traced this 'Death' and kept you in protective custody."

"Sorry," I mumbled.

"Is there anything else you'd like to let us know, Canterbury?" Officer Hickory enquired. I shook my head, because there wasn't anything more to tell. He asked a few more questions, but I had nothing more to say. He ended up taking the burner with him. Truth be told, I was glad to see it go. Perhaps 'Death' would stop bothering me now.

Once he'd finally walked out, my mother said, "I'm disappointed in you." That hurt, more than almost anything.

And then the door flew off its hinges and slammed into our sofa in a blaze of glory, except for the fact that there was nothing glorious about it.

Smoke billowed into the kitchen in a dark, choking cloud. My mother was on her feet first, managing to make her way into the living room before she started to choke and cough, gagging on ashes. Our couch was burning in a merry orange-yellow blaze, charring together with what was left of the door. From what I could see, the doorway was on fire, as well as much of the outside.

We ran for my bedroom as the front of the house burned.