Page 62 of Oliver

I’m not sure I can. This just got ten times more complicated, and I wish with every fiber of my being while I pace my bedroom floor that I hadn’t told Dixie of my experience so long ago.

I opened up a box that I didn’t understand contained ugliness at its core. But where the hell did that ugliness manifest? And how the fuck did I miss it in my own sister?

I don’t hear back from Ramsay right away, but I am interrupted from my musings when my uncle stops by. I know I have to consider my future but it’s hard to concentrate when all I can see is Dixie contemplating fucking murder.

“Are you listening to me?” he says, and I blink. “Penny, you can’t stay here. I’m trying to help but…”

“But what?” I ask, suppressing a smile when he shifts uncomfortably. It’s not like I want to live with Reva any more than she wants me there but fuck me, the bitch could have a little compassion.

“It’s…nothing. Listen, after your dad died, he left an insurance policy. I’ve been managing it because, well, your mom…”

He trails off and I wave my hand. Yes, I know. She was crazy on a good day. I mean just yesterday I tiptoed into her room looking for extra allergy meds and found six cases of window cleaner in her shower. The reasons behind that will forever remain with her now.

“Anyway, there’s enough left to set you up somewhere. Maybe six months before you have to get a job.”

“Okay,” I say, standing and moving to the door. “I’ll, um, pack.”

“You will?” He blows out a breath and in a moment of pity for my mom’s poor fucking brother who’s only ever tried to help, I say, “Yeah. Thanks. Really.”

His eyes brighten but as soon as he’s out the door, I lean against the wood and close my eyes.

What the fuck is taking Ramsay so long to respond?

Later, I hear a car pull up and glance out the window. When I see Matt entering his drive, I jump from the couch and run to the door. He’s just getting out of his car when I call, “Matt!”

He glances around warily before grabbing a bag from the back while I skip across the street and stop a few feet before him. When he meets my stare, I frown. What the hell happened to him? He looks fucking terrible.

His red rimmed eyes flicker before he licks his chapped lips and rasps, “What?”

Jesus. Dick. Crossing my arms, I say frigidly, “I want to talk to you about Dixie.”

“What about her?” he asks as he marches into the garage and stops at the door.

“What do you know?” I demand, deciding subterfuge will get me nowhere with this one. He doesn’t fucking care.

“I don’t know shit,” he sneers.

“Really? So, you didn’t see her that night? The night she died. Maybe I should just tell the police, you fucking asshole,” I seethe, stepping back when he swings toward me.

His lip curls and I flinch when he flings out an arm and the strap of his backpack whips against my cheek. Furrowing his brow, he tosses the bag aside before barking, “You wanna know?”

Raising my chin, I clear my throat before saying, “Yes.”

He glances over my shoulder with a frown before pointing at the door. When I merely stare at the wood, he says, “You want to know or not?”

Although I’m not sure going anywhere with this douche is a good idea, I’m also ready to be done with this Nancy Drew shit. If there’s a slim chance, Matt knows something, I’m going to take the risk. Fuck me.

My phone is in my back pocket and as I follow him down a narrow hall, past the living room and the kitchen, I pull it from my pocket and type out a text to Oren. He’s one of the last people I messaged apparently, and I don't have time to be picky.

I’m at Matt’s house, if I disappear, you know where to find the body…

I’m shoving my phone back into my pocket when Matt stops at a door down the hall and throws it open. The musty smell of dirty socks and body odor stings my nose, but I ignore it as I step through the clothes and god knows what else that’s covering the floor.

Matt crosses the room to his computer and starts tapping away while I look around with an uneasy smile. I don't like being here. I don’t like Matt. Once again, I can’t put my finger on it but something about him is just…off.

After a minute, Matt turns in his seat and points at his computer screen. Stepping closer, I lean down and stare at the image, but it’s blurred, grainy and really dark.

“What am I looking at?” I ask and Matt snorts derisively. Narrowing my eyes, I turn until we're practically nose to nose and say, “Don’t be an asshole.”

---