Page 11 of The Eleventh Hour

I groan.

“Bring a gun and a shovel. We may need to hide some bodies.”

I burst into laughter at the outrageous demand. It’s a good thing I know he’s joking, someone might think we’re master criminals the way we joke.

“Haha. If my phone’s tapped and the cops show up, I’m pointing them at you.”

“Rat.”

“Give Up.”

“Snitch.”

“Love ya, Riv.”

“Love you, too. See ya tomorrow. I’ll come drag you down there myself if you do a no show. I am not doing this on my own.”

“I’ll be there, I promise.” I hang up the phone and look at the time. Midnight. I stand up and flick the light off, ignoring the way my hallucinations spring into existence, and go flop down on the bed.

I sit up and kick my boots off, and then lay down again, smiling as Gideon crawls in beside me and holds me tight.

I’m lucky it’s a new moon, and it’s so dark tonight. He can stay, not all night, but some of it.

“That stalker is really bothering me. I’m going to have to do something about him.” My jaw pops when I yawn. I think about the drawer full of letters I’ve received. I want to burn them, but something holds me back. A nagging thought that I might need them. Evidence or something.

At least he hasn’t left any more gifts. The Bleeding Heart blossoms were creepy. I had stomped them to death out the front of my door, but the smell permeated the apartment for days.

The next day, I received a black Dahlia. I get one Dahlia a month. A black Dahlia with a burgundy colour that fades to black. It reminds me of blood. I can’t find it in me to stomp those, so I take them out the next day and bury them in the woods.

I hate Dahlias.

I snuggle my face into the pillow and shift against Gideon.

“Tomorrow, the Dahlia is due.”

Gideon makes a growling noise.

“I know. I’ll take care of it. And I’ll be careful.” I echo his growling noise, then start to laugh when he tickles me.

We wrestle and fight until I flop back on my back and turn my head to watch him.

“You better not ever leave me, G.”

He reaches out and draws a cross over my heart.

My eyes sting, but I blink them back and curl into him. He’s my best friend, and the thought that one day I’m going to turn a light on and he will vanish forever is the single most terrifying prospect I can think to happen to me.

It’s a long time before my mind calms, but Gideon lies beside me, his fingers gently running up and down my back. For tonight, at least, I can pretend for a little while that everything’s okay and perfectly normal.

Jax

The transition from the poor part of Hurricane and the rich is a huge electronic gate and a light red brick wall. On one side, it’s covered in splatters and graffiti, on the other, it is kept in pristine condition, with neatly maintained flower beds. The irony never ceases to make me smile. The fence is nothing but a statement. It can’t and won’t stop anyone, rich or poor, from leaving or coming.

Today, I ignore it and recline in the back seat of the luxurious black sedan that had picked me up. The tense silence between the driver and I is perfectly fine with me. I need to mentally prepare myself for this party, anyway. The guy must be fairly new if he doesn’t recognise me, but if he keeps up the snobby attitude, his job is going to be missing by the end of the day.

He pulls up in front of a white, three-story monstrosity of a mansion. I glance out, looking around quickly and, to be truthful, procrastinating. The picture of perfect two inch lawns, double doors with stained glass, and a perfectly white shade of paint on everything is almost confronting in its stark beauty. Even the air seems cleaner here. I let my forehead touch the cold glass window. A pang of homesickness hits.

“Life’s not fair, and I will never be king,” I throw the movie quote into the air between us, feeling as bitter as the character who said it. Idly, I wonder if the driver will survive another day.

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