Page 3 of The Trick

Still my mom stands there, unresponsive, unmoving.

“Lorraine,” my father repeats, this time sounding uncharacteristically irritated. He usually has the patience of a saint, but the tone in his voice, coupled with the sudden agitation on his face,is something I’m not used to.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to reassure her. Though she, unlike my father, looks utterly unconvinced.

“Please, Blair, just stay home. It’s not safe out there with–” she begins to warn but her words are cut off by my dad abruptly trying to maneuver her out the door.

With both his palms planted on her stiff shoulders, standing behind her, my dad turns to me, his thick salt and pepper brows raised. “You’ll be good right, kiddo?”

“Yep,” I smile a forced, toothy grin which is all the reassurance my dad needs to take my word for it and head out the door.

“That’s my girl,” he mumbles, already halfway out the door, still guiding my mom along.

I stand in the open doorway watching as they approach my dad’s silver SUV. Dad walks around the back to get in the driver’s side while mom transfers the platter of cookies to one hand, reaching for the door handle with the other. Carefully she opens the car door just wide enough for her to slip into the passenger seat.

With the front doorknob secured in one palm, I raise my free hand up, waving to my mom with the same forced smile I gave my dad. Except she doesn’t buy it. hence the reprimanding scowl she is currently giving me in return even as the car begins to drive away.

There is validity behind my mom’s warning plea to stay home. Ironically, here, in Sleepy Hollow, New York, home of the infamous Headless Horseman legend, there has been a string of unsolved murders disrupting our usually quiet town. It’s been all over the news and all anyone has been talking about the past few months since multiple decapitated corpses have been surfacing with no killer apprehended.

Meaning the killer could be lurking anywhere, which is why the moment my parent’s license plate diminishes from my view, I make sure my favorite knife is tucked in the inner pocket of my jacket that I’m slipping on, just in case trouble finds me and, with a real-life killer on the loose, who knows…tonight just might be my lucky night.

CHAPTERTWO

October 30th, 2008

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” I mutter to myself, alternating glances between the unlit road ahead and where my phone is open at my side. Anticipation builds as I slide my thumb on the round dial near the keyboard of my Sidekick,navigating my way through the apps that clutter my phone. The adrenaline that heats through the web of veins that wrap around my forearms is a stark contrast to the crisp October air that filters in through the open window of my truck. However, this feeling and the rush that comes along with the chase, is what makes me feel most alive. Hell, Ithriveon it.

I continue tapping the pad of my thumb on the center control of my phone until a red icon fills my vision. Opening the tracker, a small dotted circle first appears as it begins to load the map.

I wish I didn’t need to work tonight, but unfortunately corruption doesn’t take any time off. As long as assholes like Byron Campbell, who use their money and misplaced power to manipulate the innocent exist, I have a job to do. Only difference with tonight’s assignment, unlike most of the jobs Cam gives me is that this one is personal. Even though it results in delaying my usual nightly routine of watching myfinal girl,it will be worth it.

As I near my destination, a ping sounds from my phone and a Cheshire grin spreads across my face.

I found you.

Moving my gaze to the coordinates that now appear on the screen I tap the control three times to zoom in to where the crimson dot is flashing. It’s amazing what that little blinking light does to me. In an instant, my mood shifts from its usual bleak state to something that feels alive for a change and full of aching, incessant need.All because of her.

It was risky, sneaking into her bedroom and installing the tracking device on her phone while she slept. But now that I’m staring at a live map pinpointing her exact location, I’d say it was more than worth it.

From the moment I first saw her, bursting through the doors of the Horseman’s Diner in a cloud of anger, I knew I had to have her.

Even though her expression looked ferociousas she spat curses into her phone with a lit cigarette balanced between her plump lips, I couldn’t look away. It didn’t hurt that her body looked like an exquisite piece of art: soft and supple, with a mix of muscle and real curves that moved when she did. Though, aside from her looks, it was the aura that radiated from her every pore that really drew me to her.

Looking at her was like looking at a mirror reflecting the same devious nature life nurtured in me. It felt both alluring and chaotic all within the same breath. Red flags and all, she looked like Lilith and as I sat with my jaw dropped, I knew I would be the only devil she could ever call home.

I zoom in onthe map to get a better look ather location when an incoming messagefills the screen.

Cam Moeder: Room 15H

Me: Got it.

Of course, the room Byron is staying in is fifteen. Growing up my mom was big into numerology—she still is I guess— but fifteen, that was her number. She always spoke of the luck it carried and how it leads to growth and new beginnings. I personally think it’s bullshit. Fifteen years ago, I lost my dad because of Byron Campbell and on my parent’s anniversary no less. To me, the number fifteen feels as cursed as what most would think three consecutive sixes would be, although considering the fate that awaits him, I guess it’s a fitting number.

Exiting the text with Cam, I quickly move my finger back on the control, opening the tracker once more. I raise my phone from where it is lowered on my right side, so it’s now centered on the steering wheel, allowing me to get a better look. It’s not even in front of my eyes for two seconds before a wave of rage robs the excitement, I felt moments before when I first saw her location.

Gaze glued on the nowmovingred dot, I turn the wheel violently, andthe tires squeal against the unpaved road that leads to Irving’s Motel. The more I stare at the screen the more my chest tightens, making my breathing feel shallow and scattered. Gravel begins to scrape against the undercarriage of my truck with some pieces of debris making their way in through the open window, brushing against my inked arm. But I don’t care. I’m too angry, too consumed with wondering why she is headed to the park that backs up to the old, abandoned mill.

The same abandoned mill that has become known as a hot spot for people to shoot off fireworks or fuck. In all the time I have spentobservingher, studying her every fucking move, I’ve never once seen her so much as light a damn sparkler. My knuckles whiten with the tense grip I have between my phone and steering wheel because if my final girl went there to do the latter, therewillbe hell to pay. For herandwhoever dares touch what is mine.

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