Life and death were so unpredictable. So close to each other. We existed moment to moment, never knowing who would be the next to leave this world - Richelle Mead
We had completely lost track of time in the bakery. It was almost 7:00 before we got to my house.
As we settled in the living room, wrapped in a cozy comforter, the weight of the day's events lingered in the air.
The disappearance of Miranda had cast a shadow over our small town, leaving unanswered questions and unsettling thoughts.
"I'm so lazy," Harley sighed, breaking the silence that enveloped them.
Jon chuckled softly. "After today, I'd be surprised if you weren't." His expression suddenly grew serious.
His eyes held a haunted look as he spoke of Miranda's friends' indifferent reactions to her disappearance.
Something about their nonchalant demeanour gnawed at me, sending a shiver down my spine.
"Did you notice how none of Miranda's friends looked bothered by her disappearance?" His voice was laced with suspicion. "It was like they knew something we didn't."
I nodded slowly, my mind racing with questions and doubts. What secrets lay hidden behind their facade of normalcy? And could one of them be capable of such a heinous act?
"Do you think they could have had something to do with her disappearance?" I ventured cautiously.
He shrugged. "I don't know. They're all acting like they did when Miranda was still around."
Was?
"You said was," I observed. "Do you think whoever took her killed her?"
Once again, I felt him shrug.
Turning over, I looked into his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at me.
"I don't know," he said, his voice filled with uncertainty. "They haven't found her body yet so I'm going to say no. But, I just don't know."
I could see the weight of the situation bearing down on him, his muscles tense and his jaw clenched in anxiety.
"Sit up," I instructed him suddenly, feeling the need to offer some comfort amidst the uncertainty swirling around us.
Confused but compliant, Jon sat up as I moved behind him and began kneading the knots in his shoulders.
His skin felt warm beneath my touch, and I couldn't help but comment on it. "You're really tense," I remarked. "And hot."
A playful smirk crossed his lips as he turned around to face me. "Hot, eh?"
Rolling my eyes at his teasing, I playfully swatted his shoulder. "Oh, shut up. Your skin feels hot to the touch. Are you sure you don't want to take off your sweater?"
"If you wanted me to take off my sweater, all you had to do was ask," he quipped with a grin before complying with my request.
As he removed his sweater, I chuckled at his antics. "You really are a dork."
"Dork, nerd – you still love me," he replied with a wink.
I nodded affectionately, meeting his gaze with a smile. "I do love you."
Suddenly, he let out a sigh that caught my attention.
"What's wrong?" I inquired softly.
"It's my parents," he confessed quietly. "They've been arguing more than usual."
Sympathy welled up within me as I listened to him express his concerns about his family.
Leaning in closer, I did my best to offer reassurance and comfort. "First off, there's no such thing as a perfect family," I began gently. "Family isn't always blood – it's about standing by each other through thick and thin." Taking hold of his chin and locking eyes with him, I continued earnestly: "Family is you and me. We are all we need."
A smile broke across his face at my words, bringing warmth to my heart. "You're right," he acknowledged gratefully.
"I know," I teased lightly before embracing him tightly in return.
"I love these nights," he murmured as he pulled me onto his lap and held me close. "When it's just you and me."
"Me too," I whispered back contentedly.
In those quiet moments together, free from the pressures of the outside world, we found solace in each other's presence – our own little sanctuary amidst life's chaos.
The night grew quiet, the air heavy with anticipation as we sat in front of the television, waiting for our documentary to start. Little did we know that the tranquility of the moment would soon be shattered by a devastating revelation.
Anyway, as we laid waiting for our documentary to begin, you could only imagine the shock on our faces when the news came on instead.
Local anchorman, Dan Jacobson, appeared on the screen.
"We interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with some breaking news." He looked down, a solemn expression on his face.
"We are saddened to inform you that moments ago, we received confirmation, the body of missing sixteen-year-old schoolgirl, Miranda Hutchins, was located by police."
As the news anchor's solemn voice filled the room, announcing the discovery of Miranda Hutchins' lifeless body, a wave of shock and sorrow washed over us. The girl who had gone missing was now found dead, her young life cut short in a brutal act of violence.
This caused Jon and I to sit up straighter. I would have fallen off his lap if not for his quick reflexes.
We looked at one another, both wide eyed and slack jawed.
It's true. They found her. She's dead.
"Police are still investigating. However, reports say they believe it was a homicide."
Homicide?! She was murdered?!
The words "homicide" echoed in my mind, sending shivers down my spine.
Miranda Hutchins, a classmate of ours, only sixteen-years-old, who had gone missing, was now confirmed dead.
The reality of her death hit me like a ton of bricks. I never wished for her to be gone forever, but now she was. And it was a harsh truth to swallow.
Jon's words echoed in my mind - "What are the odds of us working on this case and now Miranda turns up dead?" His question lingered in the air, haunting me with its implications.
His question lingered in the air like an ominous cloud, stirring up unsettling thoughts within me. I couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something much darker at play here.
"I want to say slim. But this feels like something much darker," I murmured back, unable to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut.
I couldn't explain this feeling. But something told me that Miranda wouldn't be the last one to die. All I could do is pray I'm wrong.
If not, who was next?
Was this killer only targeting women, or men as well?
Did he have a certain victimology?
Could Jon or I be next?
I felt a tear running down my cheek as I tried to breathe. My lungs felt as though a boa constrictor found its way into my chest and was squeezing my lungs, stealing all my oxygen. I knew this was a panic attack. I'd had enough in my lifetime to know the symptoms.
Having many of them, probably should've meant I learned to control them, right?
Wrong.
In my head, I knew I had to slow my breathing; take deep breaths. But my body didn't seem to want to cooperate.
"Harley?! Harley?!" I could hear him and feel him shaking me, but my mouth wouldn't open.
Quickly, I felt him move the coffee table and sit me down on the carpet. He sat behind me, lifting me back onto his lap, and just held me, rocking me.
This was because he's dealt with me in this situation before. One time I kicked something with my foot and I could hardly stand on it for days.
"It's okay. It's okay. You're having a panic attack. Just listen to my voice, okay?" I nodded.
"Deep breaths. In... Out. In... Out."
He began inhaling deeply and exhaling just as deep, waiting for me to do the same. Which I eventually did.
"There you go. There you go. Better?"
I nodded, swallowing the large lump in my throat. "I just..." My voice was still hoarse due to the crying and difficulty breathing. "I never wanted her dead. But I did say that I wanted her gone. And now she is."
Jon tilted my head back, causing me to meet his eyes. "You can't blame yourself, you know? You didn't tell whoever took her to kill her. Right?" I nodded. "Exactly. You're not to blame here. I just hope they find who did it this time." He said the last part under his breath, but I still heard him. I do too.
Otherwise, Miranda will become another statistic - another name people forget in thirty years.
It was not just her memory that demanded justice—it was all those whose lives had been touched by her loss.
We may not have gotten along in life but the least we could do is try to ensure she receives justice in death.
Our crime marathon was the furthest thing from our mind that night.
Instead, we stayed up late working on our assignment - now that we unfortunately had another name to add to our list, this story has only grown bigger.
Mom came home around 9:30 and around 12 she made us get some sleep.
School would never be the same again. None of us would ever be the same after this tragedy.
And, as we drifted off to sleep that night, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more darkness lurking beneath the surface - waiting to reveal itself in ways we couldn't even begin to fathom.
Little did I know that this was just the beginning of a twisted journey filled with secrets, lies, and betrayal - where life and death danced dangerously close together in a deadly tango that would change everything we thought we knew about ourselves and those around us forever...