Page 16 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

"No."

Frank looked conflicted.

"It would be the polite thing to do."

"It would," I agreed.

Gerald raised an eyebrow.

"So?"

I looked back at the title.

JOEY.

I cracked my knuckles.

"Well...Let's ruin someone's emotional stability."

Gerald sighed.

"I knew that's where this was going."

I rested my hands on the keyboard.

You know...The funny thing about stories...People always think they're safe because they're reading them. I smirked. Just for a second. A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. They think danger only exists on the page. They forget...The page has a funny way of reaching back.

I tilted my head.

And you. You’re comfortable, aren't you? Curled up somewhere warm. Convinced you're only watching, reading. A quiet laugh escaped me. That's adorable. Tell me... How many pages does it take before your heart starts racing? Ten? Fifty? A hundred? How long before you stop reading because you want to...and start reading because you have to?

I looked down at the blinking cursor.

The best stories don't let you leave unchanged. They crawl under your skin. They whisper. They wait. And by the time you realize where they're taking you... It's already too late. But don’t worry. You’ll love her or not. Just… Try not to get too attached.

ENTER

Elias - 35 Years Old

Some people enjoy driving. I tolerated it. The road stretched endlessly ahead, headlights carving through the darkness while the GPS insisted I had another forty-three minutes until Blackridge.

Forty-three fucking minutes.

The coffee beside me had gone cold an hour ago. I drank it anyway it didn't matter. Hot coffee kept you going were as cold coffee reminded you how long you'd been sitting there. The radio crackled another song, another voice. I flipped through station after station before killing it completely. Silence was easier to deal with. The mountains appeared long before the town did. Dark silhouettes stretched across the horizon, their peaks disappearing into low clouds that looked heavy enough to swallow the sun whole. Pines lined both sides of the highway, endless rows of green blurring together beneath a grey afternoon sky. Somewhere beyond them sat Blackridge.

Population, too small and problems to fucking many. I’d read enough reports to know the statistics. Eight women have gone missing over the past eight months . No bodies, suspects or witnesses. Just empty bedrooms and families left staring at front doors that never opened again. The kind of case that settles beneath your skin and doesn't let you sleep.

I tightened my grip on the steering wheel as the SUV ate up another stretch of road. The engine hummed steadily beneath me, the only sound besides the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers. Rain tapped lazily against the glass, not enough to be called a storm, just enough to turn the asphalt slick and paint the world in shades of charcoal.

It’s been three months. Three months since I heard their voices. Their laughs. Seen their faces, felt their arms around me to comfort me, to comfort them. Three months since a drunk driver had driven right into them. Three months since I'd become the only Reed left alive.

The silence in my house had become unbearable. Every room still sounded like them. My mother's laugh in the kitchen. My father's boots by the front door. Ghosts didn't haunt houses. Memories did. So, I volunteered for Blackridge. Everyone at the department called it dedication. It wasn't. It was running. My phone buzzed across the passenger seat.

Mason.

I let it ring twice before answering.

"What?"