Below the warning was a list of suggestions such as, go nowhere alone, don't go out in the dark, trust no one. All stuff that one would say to give themselves an excuse if another person died. They broke a rule.
I clicked off the alert and went right to the town's social media group. There was no doubt the alert had been sent to everyone. People naturally, were in a panic. I read through hundreds of comments that kept coming as fast as I read them, and then, an article came through from Shelley Vale's newspaper team.I clicked on it and a large photo of Micah appeared on my screen.I let out a large gasp and dropped my phone. No!
Shaking, I raised the phone to my eyes again and read the article. My heart rate slowed as he hadn't been killed, but only stabbed. He was in the hospital now but would be okay. But, the biggest part of the article was that he identified his attacker, and they'd brought in a sketch artist to draw what he saw. I had to scroll all the way down the page, but then, I saw it.
A Ghostface mask, a ‘Y’ shaped scar along his chest, and a Death’s Head Moth tattoo on his right shoulder.
Constantine was the killer.
Rule 70 - Eisley
Triple check the locks.
It was a dreary blue morning with a threat of rain when I finally exhausted all comments and articles about Harper and my friends’ murders. The crew’s deaths were changed from murder to suicide. The coroner and detectives concluded that they had been so immersed in researching the Sinister Minister and the Family that they did what they had done ten years ago and sacrificed themselves as a gift to a god no one understood. That didn't make their deaths any lighter. If they hadn't come here in the first place, they'd still be alive.
My mood, after reading every gruesome detail, reflected the outside world. I, too, wanted to cry quietly. My body continued to cry for sleep, but my mind was too overwhelmed to do so. Eventually, I gave in and took a sleeping pill, allowing myself the break I desperately needed. It was starting to rain when I drifted off to sleep.
Thunder clapped, and my windows lit up with lightning strikes in the distance. Stirring, I climbed out of bed, my body still groggy but lighter.I reached for my phone and saw it was after eight p.m. As I walked downstairs and waded through my house, I laughed. None of those stupid rules the police gave out pertained to me, as the killer was someone I knew and loved. One misstep and I was as good as gone, regardless of if I obeyed curfew.
Despite having done it last night, I went through the house again, making sure every door and window was locked. Even the basement’s windows.
I had pulled out some Rice Krispie cereal and milk simply to put something in my stomach when a loud clap of thunder roared through the house and my lights flickered once, twice, and then went out.This old house never did well in storms. I put the milk away and ate my cereal in thick silence. I could now hear every creak inside the house and every branch snapping outside. The wind whistled through the old floorboards and the windows rattled with every thunderclap.
I was better off going back to bed and trying to figure things out in the morning when the power would be back on. I unlocked my phone to use the flashlight and it lit up, only to die a moment later. I'd forgotten to charge it while I slept.
Carefully, I made my way to the bedroom, barefoot and cautious. I paused at my mirror and stared at the hauntingly beautiful tattoos on my shoulders in the mirror, my mind drifted off.
Storms in the Church were awful. You could hear them going on outside, and water flowed through any crack it could. Many times, we'd have to raise our mattress and try to set it on something to keep it from getting wet and moldy. It would take all three of us sometimes, our collective eight-year-old strengths, to keep it upright.
The Family never cared about our crying. They'd either offer us a mop and demand we clean it up, as if we had flooded the room on purpose, or gave us a bucket to pour into the sink that was taken the moment we were done with it. On the lucky times our room didn't flood, it was cold and we'd be forced to huddle together, even more than usual, to stay alive. Back then, there was no jealousy. We were working together to survive. One didn't go hungry alone, nor did they suffer alone. I missed that.
I returned to my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. I ran my hand over my right tattoo, for Constantine, and then the left, for Kansas. Both men I couldn't bear to part with. Both men who I discovered were monsters. My thoughts went to Harper and then all of my friends. What were the odds that the men I loved, the only men I'd ever loved, were psychos? They had to be horrible, awful coincidences.
Why would Kansas brutally murder that girl? I'd pissed him off plenty of times and never once did he touch me in any aggressive manner. What could she have done to set him off? I didn't think that was even possible.
And Constantine. Sure, he was broody. He looked like the poster boy for bad boys in every sense of the way, but he'd seen what his father, the Minister, had done to so many people. He wouldn't want to become the very thing he was tormented by for years. I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it. Constantine had a good heart. The boy I had abandoned ten years ago had a good heart. There was nothing that could change his soul so drastically. Not anything I wanted to experience myself.
If Kansas or Constantine had stumbled upon something so evil that would cause their entire being to shift and morph into monsters, I needed to run before it found me.
Panic shot through me and despite having no electricity, I began packing a to-go bag. I couldn't see much, so I opened my black curtains and prayed for a bout of lightning to brighten the room. I stuffed my duffel bag with underclothes and some of my thinner skirts and tops. I grabbed my wallet and some important documents from my closet and tossed them in as well. I looked toward the bathroom, debating grabbing my pills. I hated taking them.
Something on my bedside table caught my eye. I frowned, recalling what it was, and reached for it. I unfolded the thick worn certificate and read each word again in the dim light.
While we both knew there was nothing legal about this marriage certificate, for ten years, we took it as so. We wore our rings around our necks as a remembrance, and I had saved my virginity, my first full sexual experience, to share with him. Although we had been only eleven, so young, still children, we were bonded to each other. He was my husband, and I was his—
"Wife.” I spun around and fear prickled my skin as Constantine stalked into the room, dripping head to toe.
"Get out," I demanded.
He shook his head. His blue eyes blazed, boring into mine. "Why are you afraid of me?" he asked, stepping closer.
"I'm not."
"You saw the article, didn't you?" Slowly, he revealed the Ghostface mask from behind his back. He slid it over his head and cocked his head.
"And you recall that night in the Church when you were high on your ass, don't you?" His voice, muffled from inside the mask, crawled over my skin in such a way I knew if I didn't get out now, I would be his next victim. I reached the wall and began to sidle it, hoping to get to my open door. He caught me, putting his hand on my hip.
"What are you going to do with that information, Eisley?" I could smell his woodsy cologne and the hairs on my neck and arm prickled. Even now, scared shitless, my body betrayed me. I still wanted him.
