How To Fake Your Own Death

Chapter 8- Kyle-

Chapter 8- Kyle-

I hate holidays. I mean, I loved it when I was younger. Dad was always there, eating the cookies and making jokes. Now? He's hardly there and when he is there, he's so serious and distant. Now Christmas just goes silent and uncheerful. We don't even put up the tree anymore. We just hand each other gifts and go to our separate rooms. This year, Dad's too busy working on Morgan's case for Christmas and Mom's away on business.

I'm pretty focused on catching Izzy as the killer, but I'm not sure... It's just felt weird since the beach yesterday. I've tried to text my friend about stuff but its just not the same. Matthew won't talk to me either. He'll just look at me and write stuff down. Like I'm his specimen. It's creepy.

So now the time is Christmas Eve and I'm dragging Matthew to go to Izzy's. It's not like we have anything else to do. 

"Why are you obsessed with Izzy?" Matthew asks, squinting at me. I look away, uncomfortable.

"I'm not obsessed. I just want to make sure she goes to jail for killing Morgan."

"Hmmm." Matthew continues to stare at me. I roll my eyes, trying to ignore him. "You wanna know what I think?"

"No."

"I think you like her." 

I stop right there and turn to face him.

"Are you crazy?! She's a phyco killer! Why would I like her?!" I almost scream, my eyes wide.

"Just sayin'" he mumbles, stepping around me and walking ahead. "Izzy and Kyle sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S..." I hardly hear him. I'm still staring wide-eyed after him.

Usually I would be thinking 'I'm gonna strangle this kid!' but I can only hear my racing heart. It seems to be beating the words. You. Like. Her. You. Like. Her. Accusing me of something that seems out of the question. But why did those words make my throat go dry and my palms get sweatier?

I rush to catch up with Matthew. I barely make it to the door of the hotel in time to hear "Watch out!"

I look up in time to catch a falling box. Jerry tries to collect it again.

"Jerry, what are you doing?" I take some of the boxes from his arms, despite his protests.

"Just delivering some last minute gifts to Miss Izzy's room." 

"Couldn't she get them herself?" 

He shakes his head. "No. Poor Miss Izzy is sick."

"Oh." is all I say.

"Hey, we could take the boxes to her." Matthew suggests.

When I realize what he said, I start nodding.

"Are you sure?" Jerry asks.

"Yeah, it's fine." I say, taking the rest of the boxes from his arms. "We were just heading over there, anyway."

Jerry smiles at us in a weird way. "Okay, thanks guys! Merry Christmas! Tell Miss Izzy I said that, too!" he smiles before running out the door. He'a probably meeting someone special for dinner. Most people are. I can tell by the way the usual people aren't in the lobby. It's almost a ghost town.

We manage to make it into the elevator, carrying the boxes probably full of different types of makeup in our scrawny arms. There's this dude in the elevator that creeps me out. He doesn't talk or offer to help us, just stares. I just when the elevator dings, signaling we're at the seventh floor. I push Matthew out the door, sighing when the elevator doors block the man from view.