The Flip Side

🖇️ Chapter 12

Layla's POV

I've always had a knack for murder mystery, but I never thought I'd one day, star in one. I never thought I'd be out, searching for my murderer, with a group of other similar-minded people. Isn't it astounding how fast that changed? From watching and reading, to starring in one.

I empty out the pasta into three separate ceramic bowls, and stick forks in each of them. The front door flies open, and I lift my head to see Elliot walking in.

"Where is she? Is she okay?" There's an unlikely mixture of concern and confusion in his voice. I move over and place the bowls on the center table in two trips.

"I made us pasta," I answer instead, leaving him to figure out where she is. He doesn't. Instead, he plops down on my sofa and grabs a bowl.

"This?" He says, gesturing to the plate with his mouth full.

"...is fire." I smile and call out to Bertha.

"Bertha! Come on out."

Within seconds, she walks out, taking calculated steps towards us. She stares at Elliot for a while, before grabbing the last bowl and sitting cross legged in the bean bag, across from him.

"How are you feeling?" Elliot asks, taking her by surprise. The blank stare on her face tells me that she's not used to care and affection.

"Good," she responds in a monotone. I can't help but smile at their pathetic attempt at a conversation. Elliot looks over to me, as if begging me to help him. I sit down on the floor, and tie up my hair.

"The second circle is down. We need to work together as a team that we are. Bertha," I call, shifting my focus to her, whose eyes are already locked to mine.

"We're all here for the same reasons, and none of us will be stupid enough to leave, not when we have already come this far. Don't take any big decisions without us. We are teammates." I say softly. She doesn't look convinced. In fact, she never seems to be convinced by anything anyone says.

"We need an actual plan, if this is going to work. Two, out of three of us, are fueled by rage and pain, and we all know how that could affect our decisions, devoid of a plan. Maybe I'm just speaking for myself, I wouldn't know. Bertha is a very strategic thinker, so, I don't know. At this point, I don't know what the hell I'm saying, anymore. What I do know, though, is that we need a plan."

I look back and forth, between them both, waiting for someone to say something, while I stuff my mouth with macaroni.

"-Serial style murders-"

"-Cryptic messages-"

They both say, simultaneously, but my eyes are glued to Bertha in shock. She doesn't seem bothered by the fact that she might just have suggested the one thing that could possibly get us exposed. Bella tried to kill me, but didn't succeed, and I sure as hell didn't come back to Philadelphia to murder anyone.

When I turn to Elliot, his expression mirrors mine, except that his mouth is stuffed.

"Murder?" He manages to say through the crushed macaroni in his mouth.

"You said we were here for the same reasons, didn't you? I took it that our thought patterns may just be similar," she answers with a shrug. Somehow, I'm convinced that she means it, but I don't want her getting involved with the police or anything.

"Fine. No serial killing," she throws her hands in the air, in mock surrender, an action she picked up from me.

"What did you say about cryptic messages?" She asks, shifting all attention to Elliot. He sits up and clears his throat.