me.
Because right now, these are the only people who matter in my life,
the only people who care what happens to me. And Charlie—he cared
enough to stop me the other day. Maybe that’s who I should contact
right now, to take care of Jake. The station is only a few blocks
from here, but with Big P out and about, I don’t want to be
discovered.
Jake deserved so much more. He stood up for
me, so it’s only right that I stand up for him.
Think, Logan, think.
I crumple the note and shove it in my
pocket. I’m pretty sure fucking with evidence at a crime scene is
illegal in every country of the world, but I don’t want the police
investigation to drag out due to me. Jake needs to return home to
his family, and they need to bury him. If the police see the note,
Jake’s body will be stuck in autopsy for days, maybe weeks, and the
police may not release him until they collect all evidence. I’m
doing the right thing. At least, for now. This may bite me in the
ass in the future, but I can’t think about that.
An anonymous call should tip the cops, which
will work out perfectly. I can be back at the cottage before they
arrive. Long gone, and out of sight.
“Rest in peace, my friend,” I say to Jake,
and then head to the nearest payphone. The whole way I constantly
glance over my shoulder, afraid of Big P showing up. Afraid he may
be nearby and fuck with Jake’s body before the police arrive.
There’s a payphone a little past the
intersection and down the street, and I don’t have a view of
Bernie’s parking lot anymore. I dial the only three digits that can
help Jake now.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“I’d like to report a murder.”
Seven • Chloe
“ C an you believe
it?” Mom shakes her head, tsking the TV screen. “Sandy
Shores harbors a murderer. So unexpected.”
“Mom, every city harbors a murderer, even
the small ones,” I say, sipping the lemonade she made for me.
“But not here, Chloe, not like this. Sandy
Shores is known for its low crime rate and clean town. That’s why
people like to vacation here; it’s safe.” She shakes her head again
and returns to the kitchen. “Do you want another after that?” Mom
asks, nodding toward my cup.
“Oh, no. I’m fine, thanks.”
She returns to the living room with her
coffee mug in hand and sits down on the opposite end of the couch
from me. Since Dad’s outburst last night, she’s refrained from wine
or anti-depressants; instead, catering to my every need. It’s
almost smothering. I know she means well—she’s just worried about
me—but really, I’m okay. Yes, it was freaky and scary and I hope I
never have to deal with my dad again, but I’ll pull through. It
could’ve been a lot worse, but the point is, it wasn’t.
“I want you to stay inside until they find
this killer,” says Mom.
Uhhh . . . no can do. “I can’t even
go to the lake, which is, like, five feet from our house?”
“It’s much more than five feet, Chloe. And
no, I’m forbidding you to go anywhere until they have this lunatic
in custody.”
I discharge a frustrated sigh. “You can’t
keep me on lockdown. That’s not fair.”
“It’s not fair that somebody lost their life
last night, either.”
Gahhh. She always does that—makes me think
on a deeper level than what I’m used to. Makes me feel sorry for
the person I’m supposed to feel sorry for, and myself, for
misplacing my caring heart every once in a while.
Then a thought strikes me: what if that
homeless guy was Logan? What if he’s zipped up in a body bag at the
morgue? What if I’m sitting here, sipping my freshly-prepared
lemonade while he sleeps forever?
“Did they, uh, did they say who died?” I
ask.
“They haven’t released his name yet.” She
glances at me, sees the color leave my face, I’m sure. “Why? What’s
wrong?”
“I need some fresh air,” I reply.
“Oh, no you don’t. Crack your window if you
need it that badly.”
“Fine,” I
Because right now, these are the only people who matter in my life,
the only people who care what happens to me. And Charlie—he cared
enough to stop me the other day. Maybe that’s who I should contact
right now, to take care of Jake. The station is only a few blocks
from here, but with Big P out and about, I don’t want to be
discovered.
Jake deserved so much more. He stood up for
me, so it’s only right that I stand up for him.
Think, Logan, think.
I crumple the note and shove it in my
pocket. I’m pretty sure fucking with evidence at a crime scene is
illegal in every country of the world, but I don’t want the police
investigation to drag out due to me. Jake needs to return home to
his family, and they need to bury him. If the police see the note,
Jake’s body will be stuck in autopsy for days, maybe weeks, and the
police may not release him until they collect all evidence. I’m
doing the right thing. At least, for now. This may bite me in the
ass in the future, but I can’t think about that.
An anonymous call should tip the cops, which
will work out perfectly. I can be back at the cottage before they
arrive. Long gone, and out of sight.
“Rest in peace, my friend,” I say to Jake,
and then head to the nearest payphone. The whole way I constantly
glance over my shoulder, afraid of Big P showing up. Afraid he may
be nearby and fuck with Jake’s body before the police arrive.
There’s a payphone a little past the
intersection and down the street, and I don’t have a view of
Bernie’s parking lot anymore. I dial the only three digits that can
help Jake now.
“9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”
“I’d like to report a murder.”
Seven • Chloe
“ C an you believe
it?” Mom shakes her head, tsking the TV screen. “Sandy
Shores harbors a murderer. So unexpected.”
“Mom, every city harbors a murderer, even
the small ones,” I say, sipping the lemonade she made for me.
“But not here, Chloe, not like this. Sandy
Shores is known for its low crime rate and clean town. That’s why
people like to vacation here; it’s safe.” She shakes her head again
and returns to the kitchen. “Do you want another after that?” Mom
asks, nodding toward my cup.
“Oh, no. I’m fine, thanks.”
She returns to the living room with her
coffee mug in hand and sits down on the opposite end of the couch
from me. Since Dad’s outburst last night, she’s refrained from wine
or anti-depressants; instead, catering to my every need. It’s
almost smothering. I know she means well—she’s just worried about
me—but really, I’m okay. Yes, it was freaky and scary and I hope I
never have to deal with my dad again, but I’ll pull through. It
could’ve been a lot worse, but the point is, it wasn’t.
“I want you to stay inside until they find
this killer,” says Mom.
Uhhh . . . no can do. “I can’t even
go to the lake, which is, like, five feet from our house?”
“It’s much more than five feet, Chloe. And
no, I’m forbidding you to go anywhere until they have this lunatic
in custody.”
I discharge a frustrated sigh. “You can’t
keep me on lockdown. That’s not fair.”
“It’s not fair that somebody lost their life
last night, either.”
Gahhh. She always does that—makes me think
on a deeper level than what I’m used to. Makes me feel sorry for
the person I’m supposed to feel sorry for, and myself, for
misplacing my caring heart every once in a while.
Then a thought strikes me: what if that
homeless guy was Logan? What if he’s zipped up in a body bag at the
morgue? What if I’m sitting here, sipping my freshly-prepared
lemonade while he sleeps forever?
“Did they, uh, did they say who died?” I
ask.
“They haven’t released his name yet.” She
glances at me, sees the color leave my face, I’m sure. “Why? What’s
wrong?”
“I need some fresh air,” I reply.
“Oh, no you don’t. Crack your window if you
need it that badly.”
“Fine,” I
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