Page 132 of Horror and Chill
I lock the screen and get up to stand at the sink and watch steam curl up from the cup, watching my reflection in the window instead of the yard. I look the same. Hair messy, eyes tired. But I feel like someone else entirely. Someone hollowed out and filled back up with something darker.
Shower. Clothes. Makeup, but not too much. I pull on a black sweater with holes and frays in it, jeans that hug my hips, and black combat boots. Then I make a quick mental grocery list, one I don’t even need to look at. Fruit. Milk. Bread. Coffee filters. Things I’ll need to survive a week at school. Things a woman who isn’t in love with three killers buys.
I drive into town with the radio low, just noise to drown out the thoughts. The store smells like citrus and waxed floors. People smile at me, and I smile back like I’m one of them. Like I belong. I throw the shit from my list into the cart and grab a few microwave meals for lunch this week. Hot Pockets and Bagel Bites are the teacher’s lunch of champions.
On the way back, I slow at Uptown Salon. A red neon “OPEN” flickers in the window. Without thinking, I pull in and make an appointment to get my color touched up. The girl behind the counter asks about my week, and I tell her, “It was quiet,” with a smile.
But the pull in my gut won’t quit. It’s like a hook behind my ribs tugging me off course. Instead of heading home, I turn toward the cemetery.
Jay’s grave is near the back, past rows of weathered stones and angel statues with chipped wings. His marker is temporary, just a rectangle of white with his name typed in black. The dirt’s dark and soft, like it hasn’t settled yet.
I crouch down and then fold my legs under me, sitting cross-legged on the damp grass. My palms leave prints on the earth. For a long moment, I just stare at his name. My throat tightens.
“Hey,” I whisper. My voice sounds small in the open space. “I’m sorry.” The words slip out like a confession. “I’m sorry for what happened. For being the reason. For not stopping it. For not turning them in.” My voice cracks, and I press my lips together hard, but it’s too late.
The wind shifts. Leaves rustle, and a crow caws from the tree above me.
“I love them, Jay.” The words spill before I can stop them, soft but brutal. “I know how that sounds. I should be locked up. But I do. I love them. And I don’t know what that says about me.”
Another caw. Louder this time.
I let out a breath. “I’ll take that as forgiveness,” I murmur, brushing dirt from the marker with my fingertips. “‘Til next time, friend.”
I sit there for a few breaths after the crow takes off, palms pressed against my thighs, trying to feel the earth under me. My fingers are green from the grass, and my knees are damp. It’s like I’ve left a piece of myself here with Jay. Maybe that’s fair. Maybe I owed him that much.
Back in the car,the seat feels too warm against my back as I slide in. I shut the door, pull the belt across me, and just sit. My hands grip the steering wheel even though the engine isn’t on yet. The dashboard clock glows a soft green. The cemetery is empty except for me, a squirrel, and the wind stirring the leaves.
I turn the key, the engine catches, and I let the Bluetooth pick up my phone. Lorna’s name sits on the screen. My thumb hovers for a second, then I hit call before I can think myself out of it.
It rings twice, three times. Her voice fills the car, tinny but familiar. “Hey, babe. What’s up?”
I stare at the windshield, the road ahead nothing but a ribbon of gray and trees. “Hey,” I say, my voice quieter than I meant. “Just wanted to…check in.”
“You sound like you’re calling from a confessional.” I can hear her smile through the line. “Where are you?”
“Driving,” I murmur. “On my way back from…a trip. With the guys.”
She hums. “Ah. A trip.”
I let out a sound that’s half laugh, half sigh. “Lo, I think I might actually need a therapist this time.”
There’s a pause. “Oh?”
“Yeah,oh. They’re not normal, Lo. They like to chase me through the woods to fuck me. And the consent when we first met was…dubious at best.” I glance at my reflection in the rearview mirror. “One of them pierced my fucking nipples while I was tied up, Lo. Without asking. Like, surprise body modification, here’s your trauma with jewelry.”
Lorna coughs out a sound that might be a laugh or shock—I can’t tell which.
“And then,” I keep going, because if I stop, I’ll cry, “the vacation was even wilder. I won’t go into details, but it was…a lot. Like biblical plague levels of chaos. And after everything, after the madness and the way they made me feel like I belonged somewhere for the first time in years, they just…dumped me off at home.”
Lorna stays quiet long enough that I almost check if the call dropped.
“Lorna?”
And then she starts laughing. Full, open, belly-deep laughter.
I blink at the road, jaw tightening. “This isn’t funny, Lo. You should be calling someone to have me picked up. Straitjacket and all.”
She exhales. “Oh, Agatha, babe. You know two of mine bullied the fuck out of me, right? Before they ever became mine? I got my own revenge on them. They slayed some demons of mine. We even fucked in a funeral home closet once.” She sighs. “Ahhhh, the good old days.”
