The Last of Us

Thirty-Two

Halfway through my meal with Ben, I know it can't be him.

As hard as it is to admit, the killer knows precisely what he's doing. He's studied my case, maybe even followed me for some time. He knows I find it hard to trust others, and he's played into that.

He's made me question the people I've become closest to by targeting my biggest weakness. It has led me down a rabbit hole of falsity.

I am not in control of anything right now, and it's a frightening idea to admit to myself.

"Harlow?"

Staring at my salad, I realise I've deconstructed the tomatoes and lettuce to appear like mush.

Ben is staring at me with slight concern, like he can't believe I've made such a horror out of my food. It happened subconsciously; I would never purposely harm a salad, even if it tasted like a garden.

"Sorry," I shake my head. "A lot on my mind."

Ben nods, resuming the task of cutting his steak into chewable pieces. Safe to say we wouldn't be coming back here.

My cheeks suddenly warm. This isn't a date. Friends of the opposite gender can have a meal as nothing more than that.

"Yeah, understandably."

I try to pick up a forkful of salad remnants, but they quickly flop off to the side, landing back on my plate. I take a long sip from my soda water instead, enjoying the bitter taste that's left in my mouth.

"You've been kind of distant these past few days," I say suddenly.

He looks away, shrugging. "I've just been working a lot. My brother—has a job, but...some days are harder than others for him. I've just been picking up a few extra shifts whilst he's at home."

I place my fork back on the table and question whether I should ask what has been on my mind for so long.

"Can I ask—and of course, you can say no if I'm overstepping, but what happened with your brother? Why did he retire from the police force so young?"

Ben sighs, stabbing at another piece of steak. He swallows before speaking.

"I'm surprised you didn't ask me earlier. Honestly, I don't even know the whole story. Matt's always been a closed-off person. It takes a lot to get much out of him.

"Our dad was a police officer. He died on duty, shot through the head during a drug raid when we were younger. I was only six, but Matt remembers him a lot better. Ever since childhood, he wanted to follow in Dad's footsteps."

I'd become desensitised to a lot of awful stories. That's what happens when you hear what people have gone through. Sometimes, an account will stick with you like a bullet to the chest.

"Ben, I—I'm so sorry," I say sincerely.

He shrugs. "It didn't affect me so much. My Mum, well, once Matt turned eighteen, she packed up her stuff and became a free spirit. She left him in charge of me, and we hadn't seen her since. We get the occasional postcard from her in a new country, but now that we've changed addresses, she won't know where we are."

"Jesus," I mutter under my breath.

If this were some fucked-up trauma contest, Ben and I would almost be on the same level. I had no idea he'd been through all this and still acted like the sun was shining high in the sky.

It's funny how trauma can affect people in different ways. I chose to shut everyone out, and Ben's chosen to live every day as brightly as he can.

"Anyway, so when Matt did become a police officer, it changed the dynamic of our family for a while. It felt as though Dad wasn't missing anymore. Matt was the happy guy I knew as a kid again until he wasn't.

"I still don't know exactly what happened. Matt left for work with a smile and came back practically lifeless. He wouldn't speak to me for days. He locked himself in his room and refused to eat. I had no idea what to do. I was a fucking teenager. I had no parents to help me. Mum was prancing around Europe, and I was practically alone in a house.

"A few months later, he told me he'd retired from the force. He'd said he tried to go back for a while, but it wasn't the same. I asked him what had happened, and he just told me that he couldn't understand how evil the world could be. That people could do such despicable things. That was it. He never spoke about it again."

I shake my head, staring down at my lap. "He must have witnessed something pretty horrifying to retire so young."

Ben nods. "I was so worried about him for such a long time. Every day he gets out of bed feels like a miracle now. I'm glad he found his new job. Chaplin helped him get it. He's been detrimental in his recovery."

"Yeah, I heard he'd worked with him for a bit."

"Chaplin used to come over and bring meals his wife had made. He knows what Matt went through. It was nice of him to do that."

Someone turns up the television, almost drowning out the restaurant's music. Ben's gaze moves past my head. I can tell he's deep in thought; a slight frown appears between his brows.

"Do you think he'd become a police officer again someday?" I ask.

Ben doesn't answer, his eyes still lingering behind my head. Someone turns the music off, and the television becomes the only sound in the room. Someone must have asked for it to be turned up again.

"It's alright; I won't keep questioning you about Matt. Sorry, I should know how hard it can be to—"

"Harlow."

"Continually be hassled about something that's happened when all you really wanna do is just—"

"Harlow."

"Tell everyone to shut the fuck—"

"Harlow!"

I clamp my mouth shut, realising I'd been babbling. It didn't happen often, but on the occasion it did, sometimes I'd lose complete awareness of my surroundings.

I look around the restaurant, and it seems everyone has stopped in time. Their faces are all raised, staring at the television in the corner.

"Harlow," Ben says again, breathless this time.

His eyes have grown wide as he points a finger towards the TV screen. I swivel around in my chair, facing it.

The headline is enough to grab me instantly. Scrawled across the bottom of the screen as the news reporter speaks is something I'd dreaded to see again.

ANOTHER TEEN FOUND DEAD. POLICE BELIEVE THE TOWN SERIAL KILLER HAS STRUCK AGAIN.