Page 34 of Forever We Fall

Arlo has the extermination planned to the last detail.

I do too.

I grab my bag, toss my ear guards inside, and head for the exit.

Little does Arlo know, while he slept in my bed, I hacked his uncle’s life. I know every shitty investment the piece of human garbage has made to piss away money. I know the layout of the market where he shops. I know when he shops. Once every two weeks on Wednesday evenings. I know the place where he hires his cars.

I know that he has a beater car of his own, and I know the brakes were changed on it a month ago.

In his prep to dump Arlo’s fucking body is my most morbid guess.

Asshole. Piece of shit. Motherfucker.

From the stories Arlo has told me over the past several weeks, I even figured out where the well is and how to get there.

I know how long it takes to get to the house from the boarding school and back. I know how long it takes to get to the well. I know how many houses the car will pass to get there. I know who lives in those houses and what their daily routines are based on their internet and credit card usage.

I know the weather forecast and I know when Arlo is planning to go.

At least, I thought I knew.

If he lied and left me here, I’m going to have a heart attack on my way to that piece of shit’s house.

As soon as I’m out of the loud gym, I pull the strap of my bag over my head and across my body, and then run like my and Arlo’s lives depend on it.

It usually takes me eight minutes to walk from the gym to our room. I get there in three. A couple of guys give me funny looks. I don’t care. My heart is pumping in my throat and I’m dripping sweat on the fancy fucking floor. I have my key out of my bag before I’ve rounded the final landing.

My fucking hands shake as I struggle to put the metal tip into the lock.

The first time I’ve had trouble getting into a hole.

Fuck!

I’ve thought about leaving Arlo behind and going to deal with his uncle on my own. But I would never take that retribution away from him. No matter how much I want to protect him, he deserves to stop his uncle. Cold and dead.

“Please, be here,” I whisper and throw open the door.

Our room is empty like a tomb. Void of life.

“Arlo?” I slam the door and notice the bathroom door is closed. Closed for the first time in months unless one of us is using it.

My bag and keys drop without much thought.

I hurry to the door, grab the handle, and twist. It doesn’t budge. While my heart plummets.

“Arlo?” My fist beats the door like I’m trying to knock it down. I’m not. Not yet, anyway. “Arlo?”

I hear something. Not words, but a shuffle through the door. A shuffle of what I don’t know.

“Arlo?” I yell quickly, then shut my damn mouth to listen.

It’s almost impossible to hear over the roaring of my heartbeat. It sounds like the deafening ocean waves my mother used to listen to in order to sleep.

My fist lifts to pound again.

“Stop,” Arlo barks. His voice is thinner and more desperate than I’ve ever heard it. Like he’s hanging on by the tips of his fingers.

I do as I’m told. I stop everything. Breathing. Speaking. Blinking.

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