The Truth Hurts

74 │friends 'til the end

"Is he... dead?!" She shakes her head, holding back the urge to vomit.

"Stay here." Marc says, like she would even want to step closer to that, looking around the yard as he slowly approaches the body. He leans down to place a finger up to Bennett's surprisingly still warm neck to check for a pulse and, after a few seconds, he gulps. He turns around to look at Taylor, shaking his head.

"Millie?!" She screams, turning to quickly go up the steps of the porch and enter the house, nearly slipping on something on the floor. She looks down to see pink and blue beads, immediately recognizing them, scattered across the tiled floor in the entryway. A small amount of blood drips from the flashing alarm panel, almost in the shape of a hand smear, and drips to the floor to form a small puddle. A pink bead with the letter 'M' etched into it sits among it.

"Oh my god." Marc says as he steps in through the open door, reaching out to lightly touch the blood with his finger. "It's... still fresh."

She quickly walks down the hallway, glancing into the living room and then over at the dining room as she frantically passes them. "Millie?!"

"Taylor, wait—" Marc watches as Taylor steps into the kitchen and, suddenly, her body freezes. Immediately thinking of the worst case scenario, Marc's skin grows pale as he struggles to speak. "Is... Is she?"

He stops next to her to see that she is staring at the broken glass scattered across the floor near the back patio door. Although still a sign that bad shit went down, he can't help but take a sigh of relief as they've yet to find a body.

"She's not here!" Taylor screams, quickly turning around to head for the staircase. "Millie?!"

"Maybe she got away?" He tries to reassure Taylor, looking back to see that she is already halfway up the stairs. With his hand tightening onto the shotgun's grip, he quickly follows after her. "Taylor!"

Upstairs, Millie's bedroom door swings open and Taylor peeks inside to see nothing out of the ordinary. Her eyes drift across the room, locking onto the open drawer of Millie's childhood belongings and inside she can see a framed picture of the two having a sleepover. Feeling her eyes begin to water, Taylor steps back into the hallway and slams the door shut.

"Taylor, don't run off like that." Marc catches his breath, his clench still tight on the shotgun. "We don't know if—"

"She's not here, Marc!" Taylor glances up at the ceiling to refrain from crying. She looks back at him, swinging a closed fist into the wall. "Where the fuck is she?!"

"I don't know." He tries his best to keep his voice as calm as possible. Saying it again, this time to himself, he closes his eyes and takes a moment to think about what to do next. "I don't know. We should call the police."

Nodding, she sniffs her running nose as she follows his lead back to the staircase. "My phone is in my car."

"We can use mine. It's in my bag." He says, refusing to set down the shotgun as the two reach the bottom of the stairs and walk down the small hallway toward the dining room.

Feeling responsible for what had happened, in more ways than just one, Taylor scratches at her arm nervously. "I shouldn't have left her here alone. If I never came over, you still would have been here and none of this would have happened."

"She wasn't alone, she was—" Gulping, he glances back at the open front door and reimagines what they saw in front yard. He turns around, just as the two cut the corner to enter the dining room. "You couldn't have known this would happen."

"I should have. I should have expected it!" Taylor takes a deep breath, as if reconsidering what is about to slip from her tongue. "He's targeting everyone from that night and everybody we care about."

Marc looks at her, his eyes begging for more information but—considering their current situation— he doesn't ask any questions. He turns around to grab his satchel from one of the chairs and freezes, seeing the bag already laid out in the center of the dining room table. Set on top of it is a small, neatly folded piece of paper.

"What is it?" She asks as she steps forward, halting the second she sees the note. Snatching it up, she unfolds it to reveal just four words.

'WHERE IT ALL BEGAN'

"Where it all began?" Confused, Marc shakes his head as he rereads the note. "What does that mean?"

Taylor recognizes the handwriting immediately, remembering the note she had found in her locker just a couple of weeks after Daniel's death. The words are barely readable through the scribbled writing. She flips the note over.

'OR SHE'S NEXT'

Gazing up at the wall across from them, she knows instantly what the note is referring to. She mumbles to herself, still peering down at the piece of paper shaking between her fingers. "She's still alive..."

"Where what all began? I don't get it."

Turning around, Taylor quickly exits the dining room and walks down the hallway. She folds the note back up, shoving it into the front pocket of her jeans. "I do."

"No, Taylor. Where are you going?" Sighing, he clinches tighter onto the shotgun as he follows her toward the front door. "We need to call the police!"

"No! No police!" She takes a deep breath to control herself from screaming as the two come to a stop in the entryway. Her hands begin to tremble even more, but not just from fear. From anger. "If we call the police, he might—"

She can't manage to finish the sentence. It crosses her mind that he might already have killed her, and he's just using this as nothing other than bait to lure her out. But, at this point, that's a risk she's willing to take.

"Who?" Marc steps forward. "Who is he?"

"I'm going to find out." She sees his reaction already growing even more concerned. Before he can speak, she continues. "I'm not arguing about this, Marc. This is Millie's life we're talking about. I'm going."

"Then I'm going with you." Marc walks past her and through the front door, walking down the steps of the porch. He stops the second his feet land on the sidewalk and glances back at her through the doorway. "I'll drive. Just lead the way."

As she approaches him, Taylor stops to look down at the beads from the broken bracelet scattered across the floor. As much as she tries not to, she can't find it in her to fight the tears any longer as they begin to pour down her cheeks. She wipes at them, looking back up at Marc as she hastily follows him to the driveway. She can't do this now. She needs to be strong—for Millie.

♫ ɪ ʜᴜʀᴛ ᴛᴏᴏ / ᴋᴀᴛɪᴇ ʜᴇʀᴢɪɢ ♫