Adventures in Funeral Crashing (Complete Novel)

Chapter 17: Panicking

CHAPTER 17: PANICKING

Ethan dropped me off at my house without saying a word. I got out of the car and slammed the door. Ethan pealed away in a rush. It was only a little after nine o'clock, but it felt late. It had been a long night and I was exhausted. I stared after Ethan for a moment, wondering if we would get past this latest quarrel. I didn't even care if he talked to me at school tomorrow, I was so mad at him. I felt the energy drain out of me. I just wanted to go to sleep. Thinking about Ethan only seemed to drive me crazy.

I was about to turn and walk up the driveway to my house and my oh-so-comfy bed, when I felt my skin start to prickle. I live in a decently nice suburb and I don't think the crime rate is very high or anything, but nonetheless, I started getting the creeps. I looked around. My particular subdivision didn't have many street lamps. There were a few, but they were so far apart that there were plenty of dark shadows to hide in.

As I scanned the area, I started digging in my purse for my house keys. They always get buried in my purse, no matter how small it is. My skin was really crawling now. I wanted to bolt inside the house. I couldn't see anyone lurking, but it didn't mean that there wasn't anybody there. I felt my hand close around my key chain – a small stuffed cat that I thought looked like Scarlett. I ran for my front door. Somehow, I didn't even fumble the keys as I turned them in the lock, pulled the door open, and slammed it behind me.

The house was dark. My dad still wasn't home from his friend's house. I turned on all the lights. I knew that if someone wanted to get in, they still could, but a houseful of lights at least made me feel safer. I wished we had an alarm system. That would make me feel even better. Or even a dog. As I thought that, my cat Scarlett came out from under the couch in the living room and I scooped her up and carried her to my room. At least she could keep me company, even if she wasn't going to scare away any stalkers.

I wondered if I should call someone. Ethan was probably only a mile away. Should I call him? I wondered if he'd even answer. Should I call my dad? I listened for any sounds of someone breaking in. Was I just spooked because of the whole serial killer on the loose thing or was there really someone out there watching me? I didn't want to look like a scared kid. Maybe this whole murder investigation was just getting to me.

I debated. After thinking about it, I decided to wait. I didn't need Detective Dixon coming to my house and giving me a lecture about calling the police for no reason if they couldn't find anyone. I definitely didn't want it to look like I was freaking out or anything. It would damage our case to the police when we were ready to present it and it would give proof to Ethan that he was right. I didn't want to prove him right.

Still, I put my cell phone on my desk within easy reach, just in case. I would call the police if someone broke in or if I had any concrete evidence someone was trying to kill me, in a heartbeat. I put Scarlett on my lap as I turned on my computer. I wanted to email Jenna and ask her about what Troy had said, but as soon as I logged onto my Facebook, I saw that there was another message. It was from Jane Austen, as in the writer of Pride and Prejudice. Yet, my name was the subject. Weird. I clicked on it and felt myself start to shake as I read the message: Troy is my boyfriend.

I stared at that message for a long time without moving or thinking. It was just one sentence, but it was terrifying. My rational brain was reminding me that this was a big break in the case. We were obviously getting to someone – even if that someone just thought that Troy and I were actually dating. Despite this big break, though, at that very moment I was paralyzed by fear. Someone was threatening me. The email was only one sentence, but the sentiment was definitely clear. And, it must be just like the email Liz had received. Hers was from Mary Shelley, the author of Frankenstein, but still. They were both from dead writers. I wondered if any of the other girls had received this kind of email.