Hey there. So the first POV is from an unknown person. The murderer. So yup, just telling ya so ya don't get confused ^.^
Hallowwwweeeeennnn soon! Yeeaaah! Haha, so what are you all doing this weekend? I'm going bowling tomorrow night since it's my sister-in-laws and my dads birthday tomorrow. And Saturday I'm busy too, and then Sunday I'll probably just sleep and read ^.^
I wish it was the holidays already!! Well goodbye, time to go and watch Arrow, The Tomorrow People and Revolution! Laters taters!
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I had to be careful.
If I was caught now, everything would be ruined. My careful plan, all my attention to detail, the care I took, would all be ruined if I were to screw this up. I couldn’t screw this up.
My black gloved hand reaches out, touching the doors handle. It’s like I can feel the coldness of the door knob sink in through the gloves, touch my bare skin, and flow through my veins, but I can’t. My gloves are too thick for that. The coldness is just me, my anxiety. It’s like my body has gone cold, stiff, with suspense. I couldn’t screw this up. I had to be careful.
The key slips slowly into the lock, and I watch it carefully, making sure that it won’t get jammed on stuck. That would most definitely not be good. That would waste time, and I did not have time to waste right now.
Turning the key, I survey the area for any on goers and when I don’t see anyone, I push open and the door and step into the room.
It doesn’t look slept in. The bed is made, no clothes are thrown around. It’s neat and tidy. It looks too neat and too tidy almost as if something had been wiped away – evidence of the murder, maybe? We all know college boys have clothes around and about, not neatly in the closet, and not having them around is, well, suspicious.
My plan was going perfect.
It was like he was doing this on purpose. It’s like he wanted me to do this to him, make this all about him. That was okay with me. He might think that in the end he will look the big man, but I will know that he was my pawn, and I was the one behind this. This was my genius idea, not his. I was making this happen, not him.
Surveying the room, I think of where to place it. An idea struck me. I didn’t want to hide it anywhere too hard for them to find, but I didn’t want to hide it anywhere to obvious. My hand tightens around the object in my bag, and I pull it out.
Walking closer to the bed, I knock the cover out of the way and take a quick peak under. Perfect. There’s stuff under there, something I can conceal it against, but if the stuff gets pulled out, or someone searched under there, they’d find it.
I grin and drop the object to the floor. Kicking it under the bed, I nudge it around with my foot. When I am satisfied that it’s hidden, I bend down and look.
My plan at finding out what Chase was doing wasn’t working. I’ve sat here, for around about two hours now, debating whether or not to go to his phone. I’d always tell myself yes, do it. And then it’d come back around to me ‘invading his personal space’ and ‘I should trust him’ and how ‘crazy’ it makes me look.
Then after that whole fiasco of thoughts, I realised that I probably didn’t know Chase’s phone code. He changes it a lot, due to Nate (or Asher) scrolling through his phone and sending weird messages to people, or using his phone for prank calls. So to avoid that whole mess, he always had to keep a regular schedule of phone code changing. Meaning that the password he had three days ago – which I knew – probably was not the password he was using today.
Chewing on my lip, I tip my head back and rest it on the back of the sofa. I was glad it was the weekend; I don’t think I could have dealt with any classes today.
“I know what you are doing.”
I jump, startled, and open my eyes to face the intruder.
“Doing what?” I ask him, raising my eyebrows. “Sitting on the sofa? Did anyone tell you how smart you were?”
Asher rolls his eyes and sits down next to me. “No,” he replies, “Trying to crack what Chase has been up to. Oh, and if you want to go through his phone, the code is the very original 1234. He thought he’d try something simple to throw me off.”
“I wasn’t!” I begin to deny, but before I can say anything else, Asher cuts me off.
“Yes, you were,” he tells me. “I could see it written all over your face yesterday. You wanted to play spy…again.”
I cross my arms, and look down at my feet. I rub my feet together, the warm feelings makes me feel all calm and warm. “Playing spy is fun,” I reply to him. “And I wasn’t necessarily playing spy…I was more like being a detective.”
Asher laughs. “Right,” he says. “Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”
My eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Asher, you did just give me the password to his phone. When he finds out he’s not going to be happy you know. Not the fact that you told me, but the fact that you figured it out so quick.”
Asher grins. “I’m his best friend, and he is now my sister’s boyfriend, it’s my job to antagonise him and make him feel the frustrating pain only a best friend or a girlfriend’s brother can make a man feel.”
Laughing, I uncross my arms and lean onto my brother. He lifts his arm and wraps it around me. Together we sit on the couch, listening to the dull drone of the TV in the background.
“And anyways, just because I gave you the password doesn’t mean you’ll go snooping,” Asher says, “You wouldn’t do that. Not in this circumstance.”
I sigh and look away. I hope he’s right; I don’t want to do that, no matter what the circumstance. But I never knew what it’d come to, the lengths I could be pushed to.
Asher told me to go him. He wanted to talk to Harley and make sure she was alright. Of course he knew that she had spoken to Nate, but Asher being the worried twin brother that he was, wanted to have a talk with her. Alone. So I left him alone with her, with orders that if something was wrong with her – if she hated me, or anything – to tell me.
Sighing, I sit down and rest my head back on the sofa. I knew Harley told me that she believed me when I told her that I didn’t, but I could still sense her doubt and the nagging feeling that was telling her that something was wrong.
What I was hiding from her wasn’t murder. It wasn’t anything bad, nothing scandalous or dangerous. Asher knew that, Nate knew that, the poor girl that I ‘murdered’ knew that.
Harley didn’t know that, and she was the one that needed to know. I needed to tell her soon, before all her trust faded in more. Or before something – or someone – says something to her that pushes her over the edge, and she cracks.
I guess my biggest fear out of all of this was losing her, not the daunting horror of the fact that I’m being accused of murder. That was a close second though. The thing was I didn’t need to be worried worried since they had no proof that I did it. All they have is a witness account saying that I was the last one to see her. They couldn’t really do much until they find some hard core evidence. Besides, they haven’t even found the murder weapon yet.
Shaking my head, I try and rid all the thoughts of murder out of my head and focus on the task at hand. Taking my phone out of my pocket, I open up a text message.
Is it done yet? I text. Once it’s done and sent, I put my phone back in my pocket and chew on my lip. I couldn’t just sit here and wait for them, the police, to do something about it all and make me wait here like a sitting duck. I had to continue with my life, and so did Harley.
Ideas begin to form in my mind, and I think of a perfect way to distract me and Harley both from the drama of everything around us.
We were going to go on a date.
YOU ARE READING
Chase and Harley are off to college, finally together. They're hoping this year will be stalker and trouble free, but things don't seem to go their way, especially not when Chase is the main suspect in a murder case. Cover by CaptainSwan97