by Jesse Grey
He took a second jab at Abram, but he took the chance to seize Sumner’s arm, wrenching the knife free from the crazed grasp of his former friend. Abram punched Sumner in the face, giving him enough time during Sumner’s surprise to grasp the blade from the grass and for a moment, Abram wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never held a knife in his callous hands, let alone with the objective of using it. But ever since the night at the cemetery, Abram had been labeled a victim, a brave survivor of Sumner Shadows’ strife. Flipping over the knife in his hand, Abram decided that tonight, that was finally going change.
Sumner was working through the cloudy vapor that Abram’s punch had initiated, so it was now or never if Abram was going to strike. He took the glinting blade and sent a slash Sumner’s way, the knife hitting skin along the aggressive ridges of Sumner’s collarbone, extracting a stubborn scream from him.
As the adrenaline pumped rapidly, the sound filling his ears, Abram knew he wouldn’t get another opportunity to escape from him. Unfortunately, during his struggle with Sumner, he’d gotten turned around. Abram had no idea which direction would lead him to the car that would enable his escape.
So he just started sprinting, hoping for the best as his legs pumped him farther and further away from the young man obsessed with ending his life. But Sumner refused to give up without a huge leap, so he went running after Abram at tremendous length, much faster than Abram if he didn’t push himself to outrun Sumner.
On the way, Abram pulled out his cell, needing to hear Alex’s voice in case he didn’t make it or Sumner caught up to him. He ig-nored the missed calls from both Mercer and Alex, and went under his boyfriend’s name and pressed call.
Abram didn’t even realize that he was crying until he heard Alex’s voice and he stifled a sob.
“Abe, thank God. Where are you?”
“In trouble,” He laughed it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but both of them knew better, Abram’s breathing labored by his persistent run-ning, fear quaking his uvula upon hearing Sumner’s approaching hoof beats. “I just want you to know that I love you, Alex. I always have and I always will.”
“Abram, stop it. Tell me where you are!”
He broke through the woods then, running onto the street, a side that didn’t occupy his car. Abram opened his mouth to tell Alex how he could help when a car came out of nowhere at thunderous light-ning speed, mowing Abram down like he was an out of season lawn. The driver’s windshield spider-webbed as Abram’s body crashed into it, the screech of the car’s tires shredding his eardrums. A cascade of darkness invited him to the realm of unconscious, his fate teetering endlessly on the seesaw of life, not knowing exactly what state he’d wake up to, assuming he had the strength to fight the darkness that was quickly becoming his new home.
After seeing the incident first hand, Sumner halted his pursuit, watching with wide, distant eyes as Abram rolled off the car and fell to the awaiting asphalt, scraps urgent to bless his skin with a cruel kiss. The car finally came to a stop, the engine lurching smoothly as the driver stepped out of the sheer white vehicle, their eyes latching onto Sumner knowingly.
Astonishment embedded into every pore thriving on his face, Sumner stumbling between scoffing and chuckling when glazing over the driver’s identity.
“Well, I never thought you’d have it in you.”
There was a huge police squadron populating Armor Falls Cemetery when Mercer pulled his Jeep into the parking lot. For a few seconds, Kirby and Mercer surveyed the scene, all the officers working to put the police tape up to keep outsiders at bay. Their hearts doubled the dismay over the limitless things that could have happened to Bridge and Salem before their abashed arrival.
Mercer snapped into perfectly honed focus, needing to know that his best friend was still alive, that the night hadn’t claimed the life of someone he cared about. They rushed out of the Jeep and ducked under the feeble warning of police tape and meandered up to the mirage of cops, telling them that they couldn’t be there, which was honestly the least of their cumulative worries.
“My best friend is here, I’m not leaving!”
His outcry was enough for the officers to lower their assault on their approach, especially when his eyes caught on a body lying on the ground, a sheet covering the figure’s true identity. Tears poised on the rims of his eyes, Mercer leapt forward, needing to know that Bridge hadn’t succumb to some dastardly, mysterious end. The offic-ers tried to stop him, but the only thing preventing Mercer from unmasking the body was his own fear, and he simply had to know. He ripped back the sheet in one swift movement, the fabric doing a cascade of pirouetting in the air, as the individual that had passed was revealed in a sufficient draught.
“Ben.”
Mercer looked back to Kirby, who just looked on with a heavy heart that a life had been lost, hoping that there wasn’t another to add to the evening. He was just thankful that his best friend was pre-sumably still alive, but where was he? If Ben had died tonight, then where the hell were Bridge and Salem?
After covering up Ben’s body once more, the officers pointed them in the direction of where Dagger was located. A tendril of dread surged along Mercer’s veins when he concluded that Dagger’s direction was standing just before the woods that contained the grave, precisely where they had buried the body all those months ago, and it sent his heart into hyperdrive. What if things had gotten crazy out of hand and Bridge had accidentally confessed, leading them right to the descended corpse?
They came to Dagger’s locale, the great detective lingering on the line at the start of the woods, his face hidden beneath his hands.
“Where is he?” Mercer’s voice shook severely, trying to prepare himself for the probability of Bridge being incapacitated. Or worse, decapitated. “Where’s Bridge?”
Kirby and Mercer’s assumptions were sent rocking off their axes as Detective Dagger faced them, his eyes puffy and scarlet from cry-ing, fresh tears still scampering down his rugged face. Imaginations heightened with possibilities, Mercer tried to look beyond the detec-tive to understand his state of distress better.
“What’s going on?”
Apparently, Dagger hadn’t really taken in the sight of them, his irises passing over Mercer until resting on Kirby with deliberate strain.
“Kirby.” The detective sniffled grimly, shaking his head zealously at her. He lopsided his head back over to Mercer, a significant weight pulling his normally spry features back. “Mercer, you have to get her out of here. Now.”
“What?” Panic rang vibrant in Kirby’s voice. “Why?”
Mercer was confused by the hazy sense of command he had been awarded by Dagger’s metaphorical metallic fist. What was happen-ing? And where were their friends?
It dawned on Kirby like a splintering sunrise, a blinding veil of light softening her skin when the visceral thought tore through every neuron attempting to comprehend Dagger’s intentions.
“No.”
Trudging forward, Kirby burst through the woods, disregarding Mercer’s cries to wait. Dagger went to sobbing again, not bothering to stop them from seeing what was in the forest.
Scared couldn’t quite describe how Mercer was feeling when it hit him that they were nearing the grave of the woman they had buried, and that fact was as disheartening as how distraught Kirby was getting when they neared the grave.
Kirby transformed into a full-fledged harpy as her body went rig-id with sympathetic rigor mortis, a shriek expelling from her as she stared down at the body lying half in the ground at their feet. She thrashed herself in the dirt, cradling the body in her arms, Mercer crying with her as he watched his girlfriend lose the one thing she never thought she would.
Everything was a cache of chaos, Mercer seeing Kirby wail for her mother as questions whirled around them like buzzards waiting for a mass of unfortunate demises
Because in the grave that Mercer and his friends had created didn’t contain the body of the woman they had accidentally killed. Staring up at them lifele
ssly, clutched tightly in Kirby’s arms, was the corpse of Athena Wheaton.
J E S S E G R E Y is diving into the literary world with his debut novel, SEVER, the first in a four-part series culminating in the SLAYER SOCIETY saga. He relies on music the way others rely on people, plays too much video games, and sings too loudly in the car. He lives in Virginia with his extensive Grey’s Anatomy collection and multiple copies of every Taylor Swift album.
You can find more information about Jesse and upcoming books at
jesse-grey.com
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