I squeeze my eyes closed, not realizing my shoulders have caught the brick wall behind me. It acts as a support, keeping me to my feet.
Ribbon.
Pink and red gingham.
I see it, in my hair,in Jade’s hair,and Chase must see it too.
“The ribbon, what did it look like?” he asks.
“I think it’s called ging-jam, or however the fuck you say it.”
“Motherfuck—” Chase starts.
“What is it?” Rusty speaks over him, head flicking between all three of them.
Chase’s chest heaves, and my pulse ticks to the same cadence. I watch his knuckles blanch around the edge of the pool table. He looks like he wants to tear the felt from its bones.
“Jade and Laiken, they both were wearing a pink and red ribbon in their hairthatnight.” Chase’s voice sounded like it had caught fire. “Gingham.”
“How do you even remember that?” Harlen asks, bewildered.
Silence presses, then Chase answers, “Because they never wore ribbons.”
Truth.
A tear rolls down my cheek.
Even he knew.
I press my palm to my mouth hoping to push down the bile that rushes up the back of my throat.
Rusty steers them back on track, holding onto Chase’s shoulder.
“So, he didn’t use the tunnel,” he tells them in a tone that makes him sound like he’s deep in his own thoughts, trying to piece together a puzzle with no distinct edges. “Why? Why deviate?”
And when no one speaks, silence that wasn’t really silence at all biting its way in, Chase clears his throat.
“He’s getting closer…” Chase’s voice now eerily cold.
And Harlen finishes, “To her.”
Me.
They were speaking aboutme.
I chew on the inside of my cheek.
Bones tightening.
Stomach knotting.
Because they were right.
This is what I have spent the last three years living in debilitating fear of.
Our time is coming, Laiken.
The five words my best friend’s murderer and rapist had vilely spat at me before he snapped her neck.
