Page 39 of Can You Take It?

She hesitates, but the blood’s pouring faster now, so she finally nods and heads to the bathroom. As soon as I hear the water running, I pull a piece of paper and pen from my back pocket. There's no doubt in my mind now—Luna’s going to be the next victim. Whether she realizes it or not, she’s already marked herself.

With a quick glance toward the bathroom door to make sure she’s still occupied, I dip the pen into the small pool of her blood that’s still on the counter. The dark red ink swirls into the nib.

Halfway through writing, my phone starts buzzing in my pocket. I ignore it at first, focused on the letter, but I know Martin won’t stop until I pick up. Fucking persistent as always.

I grab the phone, glancing at the bathroom door where the water’s still running, then answer. “What do you want?”

“What are you doing?”

“Writing a letter for Richard.”

There’s a pause, then he sounds shocked, almost pissed. “With whose blood, Izel?”

“Luna’s,” I reply casually.

“You should keep her out of it,” Martin says.

“You know I can’t,” I snap back. “She’s going to be the next target, and you know it.”

“What good is it going to do to send letters? We’ve sent so many already, and none of them were even identified.”

“Richard’s smart,” I insist, finishing the letter and pocketing it. “He’s not like the others.”

I wipe down the counter, erasing any trace of the blood. The water shuts off in the bathroom, and I know Luna’s about to come back. I hang up on Martin without another word, shifting my expression to concern as Luna walks in.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, waving it off, but there’s a slight wince in her voice. “Sorry you had to deal with the mess.”

“Not a problem,” I say, shrugging it off like it’s nothing. “Let’s get something to eat.”

The power cuts out just as I’m reaching for the saucepan. Outside, it’s already dimming, but in here, it’s like the night crept in early, swallowing the last traces of daylight.

“Shit,” Luna mutters, a little too loud. She’s already fumbling around the counter, probably thinking she can grab a flashlight or something. But I don’t mind the dark. It’s actually a relief; no one can see me. No prying eyes. No forced expressions. Just… nothing.

“It’s dark as hell,” Luna grumbles moving around the kitchen. “I’ll check the generator. It’s probably some fuse shit.”

I stay put, just listening to her shuffle and curse. It’s strangely calming—hearing someone else mutter instead of the usual silence in my head. A minute passes, then another, and the light’s still out. But Luna comes back, snapping her fingers like that’ll make the lights come back on.

“Damn generator’s busted.” She’s squinting in my direction, though I can barely make her out in the dark. “I’ll get some candles.”

“Forget it.” The words come out sharper than I intended. “I don’t like candles.”

She freezes, the outline of her face tense. “Why not? It’s just a candle.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I shrug. “I don’t need one.”

She huffs and makes her way to where Richard probably keeps the candles anyway, knocking stuff around until she finds them. I hear her flicking a lighter.

“For fuck’s sake, let it go, Luna.”

She clicks the lighter shut, slowly lowering the candle. “You’re acting weird. What’s with the candle thing? You afraid of ‘em or something?”

“It’s not fear.” I roll my shoulders back, trying to relax, to act like this isn’t clawing at me. “Just don’t like ‘em.”

“So, you’d rather sit here in the dark like a creep?”

“Yes,” I say bluntly. “I’d rather sit here in the dark than stare at some fake light that doesn’t do anything.”

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