Killing (And Other Games)

(Six)

(Six)

Worst case scenario, I'm living with serial killers. In my mind I'm going over all the shows about serial killers I've watched and I'm trying to remember what the indicators are.

Oh god, how did I end up at this point? I've got the door shut, a chair up against the handle, and my back pressed up against the wall. Maybe I'm the crazy one. But then what would be the explanation for Sarah Irving? Surely a whole street of neighbors can't be completely wrong.

Better case scenario, but still pretty bad, I'm dealing with one serial killer and four accomplices. Ryker is the killer, I decide. It all makes too much sense. It could be Danika, the one you'd least suspect. Maybe it's West--he had that look about him.

Then it comes back to me, the way West said 'humans.' Then I'm not too sure, perhaps I'm on the wrong track entirely. But when I think broader then murderer it all comes up impossible and crazy.

Whatever they are, whatever is going on, I know I can't stay. Sarah Irving didn't say it but she implied it. Get Out was practically tattooed on her forehead. Save Yourself was the whole theme of our conversation, the topic you write the analytical essay on. I can't stay because whatever is happening here is much bigger then bullying and myself. I've been back and forth all this time about staying and now I've made up my mind; I'm going.

Below this rational thought is a reckless one. Don't you want to know what's really going on? a stupid part of me with a death wish asks. Just one week, that's all you need, it whispers seductivley. Hang around, see what you can dig up.

No, I tell myself, I'm a practical upper-middle class Australian college student with absolutely no training in investigating anything. I'm not even legal yet. No way. But the thought, the bargain, is spreading like a cancer through me and the knowledge hungry side of me perks up. All you'd have to do is hang around and watch, it says with a wink.

I'm up before I know what I'm doing. Danika, West, Zane--whoever he is--and the frog mouthed boy are out. Ryker appears to still be running. It's perfect. I run down the stairs to the second story and go to the first door. It's locked. The next is locked as well but I kneel down, peering through the keyhole. I see a bed and nothing else. There's no clue as to whose room this is. The next is also locked but I try hard, shoving at it with my shoulder. Locked, locked, locked. I let out a gasp of surprise as the fourth door opens, my weight unbalanced so much that I fall into the room.

Immediately I can tell that this is Danika's room. Candles fill every space possible and their spicy scent fills the air, some incese mixed in as well. The walls are velvet red and I can't help but wonder if my mum knows that she painted the walls. Her bed is a huge four-poster king sized heart with red covers and red pillows, velvet draped hanging over each side. It's the ultimate picture of luxury. Everywhere I look, I see red. Instead of her door, her chest of drawers is locked. The only open drawer reveals nothing more then gum, a blank notebook, a contact book with hundreds of generic names, and a photo of her and the young, frog-mouthed guy who glared at me the most. They stand in the middle of a ski run--looks like Buller, the ski resort up in the mountains that I go to every year--his right arm wrapped around his snowboard, his other arm wrapped around her. I try to determine whether he is Zane or not but the photo says nothing to me, only that Dankia and him might be a thing. Possibly. She looks pretty happy in the photo, leaning into him as she balances herself with her stocks.

Danika's bathroom is immaculately arranged and perfectly clean. Moisturizers, creams and makeup line the bench, all arranged by colour. With a slight sigh of disappointment, I realize that there's nothing weird about her rooms. It's pretty much what you'd expect from her.