Page 53 of Hide Me Darling

“If I hide…” I say softly into the phone. It’s not lost on me that I’m about to go play the very game I’m talking about, and I’m playing the role I never wanted.

“Then I’ll seek…” she responds with a sigh. There is something in her tone that makes me pause.

“Are you okay?” I ask gently, concern creeping into my voice.

“Yeah, just a lot going on. Don’t worry about me,” she says, trying to sound upbeat. “How’s your investigation going?”

I don’t want to burden her with the details of what’s happening, so I keep it vague. “It’s going well. I have a possible lead.”

“That’s great!” she replies, her voice brightening. “And have you taken the time to have some fun with a hot guy yet?”

I open my mouth to respond, hesitating for a moment. How could I tell her about the dark, twisted encounters with the masked men that I think murdered all of these girls. Or that they have now broken into my house not once but twice? Do I confess to her that being with them is the only time I have felt truly alive, that the war waged against my darkness seems to calm and I feel more like myself than I ever have?

Who am I kidding? I definitely can not disclose that I have two of the suspects stalking me and fucking me better than anyone has before. Yeah, she would send help immediately.

My hesitation must have been telling enough because before I can utter a word, she squeals excitedly.

"Oh my god, you have! Spill the details! Who is he? Is he cute? Tell me everything!"

My breath catches in my throat as I struggle to find the right words. How could I possibly explain the complexity of my situation without burdening her? I can't let her know the true extent of what‘s happening, not when I can already hear the stress in her voice.

I take a deep breath, torn between the desire to confide in my sister and shield her from what I’m dealing with. "It's... complicated," I finally manage, my voice wavering slightly. "I’m not sure it’s about having fun. It's more... it's more like a dangerous game, and I'm not sure where it's going."

Her enthusiastic tone fades into concerned silence, and I can almost feel her worry through the phone. "Are you safe?" she asks softly, her voice now laced with a seriousness that matches my own.

"I'm doing everything I can to stay safe," I assure her, feeling a lump form in my throat. "But I need you to promise me something."

"What is it?" she responds immediately.

"I need you to be careful too," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Watch your back. Trust your instincts. Promise me, okay?"

There's a brief pause before she responds, her voice steady but something else lingers there too. "I promise," she says firmly. "And you promise me the same. Don't take unnecessary risks."

"I won't," I lie. I can’t admit to her that I’m about to meet with the killers at midnight. "I'll be careful."

In that moment, I realize how much we’re alike—needing each other like lifelines in the chaos and darkness, but hesitant to burden one another with our own stresses.

We exchange a few more words, trying to ease the tension that hangs between us. She manages to make me laugh with gossip from the organization, and for a moment, I can almost forget the weight of the situation I'm in.

After a while, we say our goodbyes. I hang up the phone, feeling a pang of guilt for not confiding in her, for not sharing the burden that threatens to overwhelm me. But for now, keeping her safe from this darkness feels like the only right choice.

I glance at the clock. Midnight approaches, and with it, the carnival grounds beckon ominously. I check my preparations—knife secure, mind focused, mask firmly in place. There's no turning back now.

Leaving my house through the back door, I lock up carefully, every creak and rustle of the forest making me hyper-aware. The moonlight filters through the thick canopy of the woods, casting eerie shadows as I make my way towards the beach. The path is familiar, yet tonight, it feels fraught with unseen dangers lurking in the darkness.

Moving along the darkened streets, I feel almost at home as I stick to the routes that are becoming familiar. The carnival grounds loom ahead, silent and foreboding. The signs warning people away are still in front of the gates and there is no movement beyond them.

Following the fence, I locate a side door with a note taped to it. My heart races as I read the message under the dim light of my phone flashlight.

I hesitate for a moment, the message sinking in. The chilling words echo through my mind. But I steel myself, my resolve hardening as I prepare to confront whatever lies beyond that door.

With a steady hand, I reach out and remove the note, folding it carefully and tucking it into my pocket. Trying to control the shaking in my limbs, I push forward, my breath coming out in shallow bursts despite my efforts to remain calm.

The latch clicks softly as I push open the door, the hinges barely creaking, but feeling like a loud alarm in the silent space. I step through cautiously, the cool night air swirling around me, carrying with it the faint scent of ocean spray. The carnival grounds stretch out before me. The rides somehow looking sinister in the dead of night.

My footsteps are barely audible against the soft ground as I move deeper into the area. Navigating through the dark maze of tents and attractions, my senses are on high alert. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of metal, sets my heart pounding in my chest, my eyes straining as they dart everywhere.

As I move cautiously through the vacant carnival grounds, the soft strains of music suddenly catch my attention. Neon lights flicker to life in the distance, drawing me toward a carousel that stands still and empty under the night sky. I approach slowly, the music growing louder, beckoning me closer.

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