As I key in 911, my fingers hesitate on the call button. Something doesn’t add up.
What is the knife doing by my side of the bed? Did the killer come around to my side of the bed to finish the job and then change their mind?
It doesn’t make sense unless Tim was the target and whoever murdered him had no beef with me.
I wish I could remember something, anything, from last night. Although, maybe on second thought, not remembering a gruesome murder is a blessing in disguise. If I had woken up and seen the killer, they wouldn’t have let a witness live. Right?
God, my head hurts too much to think straight. I look around the room for anything that could help me make sense of this situation, and I come up empty. The bedroom door is closed, and so is the full-length window; the long, thick blackout curtains are drawn closed except for a little sliver that lets a blade of early morning sun filter into the room. It’s the only light in the room; just enough to see the massacre that occurred here last night.
While not remembering what happened is a small blessing, the residual effect of whatever was in my drink is making it hard to think.
A shudder works its way down my spine at the thought that the effects of the kinds of drugs used as roofies can be unpredictable.
Last year on campus there were a couple of incidents where strong sleeping pills were used as roofies. Those kinds of drugs have been known to sometimes cause sleepwalking, and one of the victims woke up buck naked in the middle of the interstate. When the police finally managed to rescue her, she had no recollection of how she got there.
In extreme cases, people under the influence of these drugs even committed crimes that they didn’t remember anything about when they woke up back in their old beds.
An intrusive thought stops me in my tracks as I lift the blood-soaked t-shirt up to my chest.
What if I did this?
I immediately shake my head, and this time the nausea has the best of me, and I retch on the hardwood floor of Tim’s bedroom. On the floor of the murder scene.
The disgusting, coppery taste of blood mixes with the bile coating my tongue as I wipe my mouth with my forearm. One look at it confirms that there’s blood on my arms as well as on my thighs.
It can’t be me. I’m not a violent person; I wouldn’t hurt a fly. I even catch and release the spiders that invade my small apartment on campus when the weather turns cold. I’m terrified of spiders, but I bought a spider catcher online so I don’t have to go too close.
The point is, I’m not capable of violence. I chose a profession that’s all about helping others. I would never kill someone in cold blood.
Or would I, under the influence of the right cocktail of drugs and alcohol?
I wish I could remember something, anything beyond Tim covering my body with his when his head was still where it belonged.
As the fog slowly begins to clear from my mind, I reevaluate my situation. I’m covered in blood. It’s all over the t-shirt that I guess belonged to Tim, it’s all over my body and I touched the murder weapon. I just puked on the floor too. My DNA is all over this place. What if I call the police and they think I did this?
Panic rises from the pit of my stomach, and I do the only thing that makes sense right now. I text Jodie.
CHAPTER TWO
RIDE OR DIE
TARYN
“Babe?” Jodie’s voice follows the soft knock on the door, and I scramble onto my feet to open the door. “What’s up? I got your 911.”
My body sways from side to side and I’m unsteady on my legs, like a baby calf right after birth. Whatever was in my drink was definitely strong, and it isn’t totally out of my system yet. I use the heavy wooden door to support my weight.
“Jo-Jo,” I whisper, opening the door just enough to peek my head out into the hallway but making sure no one can see inside the bedroom. “Something happened and you have to promise me that you’ll stay calm.”
Totally unaware of the hell that awaits behind the door, Jodie chuckles. “Calm is my middle name.” She winks, but the smile fades from her pretty face when she takes a second look at me. “Is that blood on your cheek? Are you ok? Did Tim hurt you? If he did, I swear to God I’m gonna kill him.”
The words tumble out of my mouth before I can think of it. “Yeah, too late for that. Come on in, please. Be quick.”
I pull my best friend into the room and shut the door behind me, leaning against it for support.
Her eyes land on me before anything else, her back turned to the massacre scene in the room. “What the hell is going on? Taryn, you’re covered in blood. Did you get your period?” Her smile turns into concern as she assesses me.
“No.” I shake my head, my voice hitching in my throat. “I wish the answer was yes, and that I called you to bring me tampons to avoid an embarrassing situation. It’s so much worse. Before you turn around, just know that there is a lot more blood. Tim is dead.”
