❝I had a conversation with Death, he wants you back ❞
---
At the New Year's Eve party, Quincy Sinclair finds the dead body of Alfred Kingsley III. Resident golden boy and incredibly rich, his death was no accident.
By morning, Quincy sees him again...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A strong emotion that I couldn't put my finger on crawled its way from the pits of my stomach and up my throat, choking me. Just the sight of Charlie's large home split my mind open, letting the taunting memories of Kingsley's dead body ooze through and blur my vision. Luckily I had stopped the car or I was afraid I might've carried going within my daze and crashed it somewhere.
"You should walk him in," Arlo advised as Charlie's blatant intoxication seemed almost dangerous.
With a deep sigh, I obliged. We got out of the car at the same time, night had fully taken over by now. The confident moon cast dark shadows over us and Charlie threw me a grin while we walked to his house.
"Thanks for driving me home, by the way. And now walking me to the doorstep, you're such a gentleman, Bambi. How can I ever repay you? My very own Prince Charming," he sang out.
"Shut up," I muttered and rolled my eyes, suppressing a smile. We neared the doorstep and flashes of the police carrying a body bag through this very same front door barreled towards me. My amusement sobered.
Charlie turned his back to the door and gave me a soft smile. As if he could feel the thick emotions as they peeled from my body, he enveloped me in a hug. It wasn't the same sort of silly hugs that he used to give me where he'd squeeze too tightly to annoy me. It was identical to the hug he gave on the night I found Kingsley. With his hand at the back of my head, it felt as though the two of us were clinging to hope. After a moment, Charlie pulled away and turned to the door. Before he could open, it was pulled forcefully from the other side to reveal Mr Hawthorne. Charlie's dad.
"Charles," his deep voice echoed.
I visited the Hawthorne's house a lot when I was younger but I never got used to seeing Mr Hawthorne. He was a tall and burly man with a dark brown beard and matching hair. Normally, he wore tailored suits but tonight he showed off his custom velvet robe.
"Quincy Sinclair?" He sneered, looking down his long nose at me. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent and I was glad he had lost sleep over Charlie's adventures. "Jesus, you two. Stand apart for Christ's sake, you look like lovers or something."
The bitterness in his voice, I assumed, was directed towards me. It was probably because I was poor, far from perfect for his little boy. If I thought Easton boys were all the same, their parents were even worse. Mr Hawthorne had always been a grumpy bastard.
"Get inside now. You better be quiet, I'm warning you. If you wake your mother up, I swear to God, Charles. You hear me, boy? We'll talk about this later," the big man hissed through clenched teeth. He placed a strong hand onto Charlie's shoulder and with a swift push, he rushed his son into their home.
Mr Hawthorne and I watched Charlie's retreating figure as he travelled deeper and deeper into their house. Only when he was truly out of sight did the man turn to me. His eyes gave me a once over, hiding his emotions behind the hard expression.
