Waking up early on Christmas morning was my ritual, but I’d never been this restless. I was eager to see if what Hunter had secretly conveyed in her text was real or imagined. I needed to know that I hadn’t read too much into it—that it wasn’t just wishful thinking.
They must have left the penthouse after I fell asleep last night. It seemed like an odd time for a date, but nothing about Ocean was conventional, so I didn’t question it too much.
After connecting my phone to the speakers and opening my Christmas playlist, I sang along to the carols as I started a new group chat.
Coming home soon?
Hunter was the first to respond.
Mine: Otw. Ocean’s driving, so he can’t respond.
K. I’ll get breakfast started. :)
Mine: French toast, pls! And none of that vegan crap.
Lmao - I got u.
The bubbles appeared before I could back out of the thread, so I waited. They disappeared again, only to reappear seconds later. This went on a few more times, so I darkened my screen and went into the kitchen to get started.
Setting my phone on the counter, I gathered the ingredients for vegan French toast. Hunter claimed she could tell the difference, but she never did.
I was whisking the cornstarch and soy milk together when my phone chimed moments later. I glanced at the text on the locked screen, but it wasn’t from Hunter.
It had come from an unknown number.
Unknown: Just thought you should know who you’re marrying…
Wondering if an old girlfriend of Ocean’s had somehow gotten hold of my number, I snatched up my phone and opened the text without hesitation.
The last thing I expected to pop up a second later was a picture of my brother. The camera had been zoomed in, so only his face was visible, but I knew it was him. I could see the familiar faint scar near his hairline from when he fell out of a tree when he was six. His eyes were open and staring back at me, but something was off. They seemed dull. Lifeless.
Roshaun was staring at the camera, but there was no awareness.
Noticing the white target symbol in the upper left-hand corner, I tapped it, and the photo came to life, showing me what had happened two seconds before the picture was taken.
A gloved hand speckled with crimson.
My brother’s braids trapped in its grasp.
Roshaun’s mouth twisted and forever frozen mid-scream.
His neck was nothing more than mangled flesh, blood, and tissue.
In the background, I could see the rest of him wearing the clothes I last saw him in. His body was slumped against the wall in the background.
Headless.
The photo reverted to a close-up of his eyes, forehead, and nose, but it was too late.
I was already screaming.
My wails joined the jaunty Christmas carol blasting through the suite and mocking my pain.
And then my phone chimed again, and another text came through.
Unknown: Merry Christmas.
Dropping the phone, I darted over to the kitchen sink. I heard someone running up behind me, but I was too busy spilling my guts inside to care who.
