Chapter 4
“What?” I ask as my fit of giggles slowly begins to die down.
“Hmm?” He frowns slightly, coming out of what looks like a comatose daydream.
“You’re staring at me.”
“Oh.” He brings his fist to his mouth, and clears his throat.
“Sorry, you… just have a beautiful laugh. I’ve missed it.
” He says it so matter-of-factly—like he’s heard it many times before.
Without saying another word, he turns away from me with amusement written all over his face and begins striding away from me.
So, I hustle forward as best as I can to try and match his speed—which is hard because, well, I have little legs.
“How long have you been watching me exactly?”
“Long enough,” he states, shrugging like it means nothing to him. “Does that bother you.” He briefly glances over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling up before saying, “Heather?”
“Well.” I pause, thinking about it for a few seconds before I eventually answer. “Not as much as it should.” He gives me a curt nod then turns his attention forward once more. “What does bother me though, is how much walking I’m doing,” I mutter under my breath.
Crisp autumn leaves crunch beneath my sneakers as I finally catch up to him and we walk side by side.
The gentle evening breeze swirls through the few strands of hair that have fallen around my face, and suddenly it hits me that I’m following Ricky blindly, almost as though I’ve known him for years, trusting that I’m not in any danger.
I’d slit his throat before he had a chance to act.
It’s an odd feeling—being with him—because I’ve never seen this man in my life, yet for some strange reason I feel…
safe in his presence, and logic eludes me as to why I’m moving further into the darkness of the cemetery, and away from the safety of my car, and…
people. Who am I kidding, there’s nobody around for miles.
It’s precisely why I chose this specific area of town.
Nobody to ask questions, and not a single soul to catch you in the act of murder.
Ricky and I have fallen into a comfortable silence as we walk next to each other, and I survey the surrounding area as we go, wondering how I haven’t seen—or even been to—this part of the church yard before.
The further we move into the gloomier part of the graveyard, the more apparent it becomes that the gravestones in this area are hardly taken care of in contrast to the prettier ones by the entrance.
The ones decorated with family photos, toys, letters of love, as well as an array of brightly-coloured flowers from friends and family members who miss their dearly departed.
A region where the sun and moonlight grace the cenotaphs in memorial of those treasured by the living, but it’s extremely clear to any onlooker the headstones within the back have all been overlooked and neglected.
Green and yellowish-toned moss clings tightly to the granite tombstones.
A mixture of vines and weeds creep over the grey stone, forcing their way through the cracks at the base and climbing their way up and around the now grimy headstones of people long forgotten, and only remembered by Death himself.
Evoking a dark, and unpleasant feeling as we pass through them.
Both of us treading carefully as we move, placing our steps as respectfully as possible, so as not to walk on the graves of the dead and disturb their eternal slumber.
“God,” I groan petulantly like an irritated child. “How much longer are you going to make me walk for?”
Ricky chuckles and I watch him point directly in front of him. “It’s just over that hill. We’re nearly there, I promise, so stop acting like a child and keep up.”
“I’m not acting like a child,” I grumble under my breath, crossing my arms over my chest and frowning.
I’m aware of the irony of my actions, just so you know.
Walking is one of the things I hate with the passion of a thousand suns. It’s pointless when you can, like… drive everywhere. Or cycle, or… I don’t know… be carried, or some shit.
“Do you want me to carry you?” he asks as if reading my mind. “Like a little puppy.” He looks down at me and winks.
My god, that wink.
The action alone gives me fanny flutters where the flutters should be flutter… less? If that’s even a fucking word. He knows exactly what he’s doing, too. I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me, and if that wasn’t enough, he reaches out to boop me on the nose for added measure.
I slap his hand away and screw my face up. “You’re highly annoying, has anyone ever told you that?”
“One person.” He snorts. “But they’re not here anymore, so...”
“Why? Did you kill them?” I quip as we both slowly begin to climb the steep, but small hill.
“Nope. But somebody else did.”
Ricky’s statement gives my gentle laughter pause, and I’m unsure of what to say other than, “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He sniffs then proceeds to clear his throat as though he’s clearing the sadness away as quickly as possible.
Losing someone is always difficult, and the sad thing about it is that you never know when it’s going to happen. Time can move at a glacial pace most of your life… or steal the very air from your lungs without a second thought or warning.
I don’t know why I do it, but I reach out and lightly wrap my hand around his wrist, stopping him from walking. Ricky’s gaze travels from my face, and all the way down to where we are joined, staring at our connection for a beat. “I’m… sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t,” he whispers, looking into my eyes with terrible sorrow within his own. Almost as though if he speaks any louder he’ll crack. “I promise.” He tries to offer me a smile, but it comes out weak at best. One that I know he’s only doing to try and lighten the mood.
I don’t know what possesses me to do so, but I feel like this is the type of moment when someone would give comfort to another. Something which I hardly do. So, instead of removing my hold on him entirely, I slowly slide my hand lower and thread my fingers through his.
Heather, you just met the guy who admitted he’s been watching you.
ARE YOU WELL!?
Probably not, but who cares.
Surprisingly, Ricky doesn’t pull his hand away or look at me as though I’m clinically insane. No, he simply readjusts his own fingers comfortably and engulfs my entire hand in his. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d say the corner of his mouth ticks as he does.
Even though I’m still whining internally about the gradient of this fucking hill, I don’t voice it because I’m still placing my bets on whether the person I have aptly coined a “nice guy” is going to murder me when we crest the hill, or, if he actually has a body for me to look at.
How the hell am I going to explain something like this to my mom when I get home.
“Honey, where have you been? It’s late.”
“Oh, sorry, Mum, I met this really hot guy in the graveyard where I was… oh I don’t know, burying your HUSBAND!”
It would be a whole fiasco I’m just not ready for.
When both of us finally reach the top of the hill—our hands still clasped together—my eyes land on the freshly-dug grave in the centre of the forest floor.
Trees circle the surrounding area beneath us and other than the hole in the ground, the dirt is perfect and seemingly untouched—it seems—by anyone.
Next to the perfectly-dug chasm sits a shiny black body bag filled with what looks to be the outline of a body.
The item itself waiting for me like a present on my birthday.
We carefully stroll down the slanted hilltop, Ricky taking hold of my elbow to keep me steady, and again I have to stop the smile on my face because what… in the actual fuck is going on with me.
He’s a man, so why would something as simple as him helping me make me swoon so much?
I’ve never felt this much elation in the presence of another person before, and if I did it was entirely fake. No butterflies, excitement, or even enjoying the sound of someone’s voice, but here I am, enjoying a simple touch from him.
Who am I? For real…
I continue to argue with myself about my instant feelings for this random guy I’ve had a meet cute in the boneyard with, but all that dissipates the moment he hops down the brick wall at the edge of the hill and turns to face me, holding his hands and arms outstretched towards me.
“Come on, I won’t drop you.”
I rest my hands on my waist and pop out my hip, raising a perfectly-shaped brow at him. “Really?” My tone dripping with sarcasm.
“Mhmm.” He nods.
“You just want to touch me.” I narrow my eyes and roll my tongue over my top set of teeth questioningly.
“This coming from the girl who held my hand without asking,” he retorts.
“Oh, you loved it.” I snort playfully. “I bet that’s the first time a girl has touched you since you peaked in high school.”
All he does is shrug in response, looking at me with a humorous expression.
“Come on.” He opens and closes his fingers to his palms in a come here movement, but instead of moving, I wait.
We stare at each other for what feels like forever, until he finally speaks once more.
“Fine,” he huffs. “I loved it. There, you happy?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the P.
“Good.” He slowly shakes his head at my honesty and takes a single step closer.
“Let’s go,” he urges, and I lift my hands as he gently takes hold of my waist and takes the entire weight of me in his grasp.
Lifting me gently before lowering me to my feet in front of him. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
I look up at him, his electric smile still in place, and it sends a shiver to the very marrow of my bones.
How? And why? Is he having this effect on me?
His brilliant white teeth are on display behind a set of the most kissable lips I’ve only ever seen on that Tom Hardy guy. Ricky’s are just like that; plump, with a prominent cupid’s bow. Kissable. Handsome. A lean, muscular body covered in tattoos with a—
Is that a gold cap around his right incisor?
How didn’t I notice that before?
He’s not at all the type of man I’d usually go for, but tonight… he’s ticking all my boxes. I laugh at insta-love romance books, because how the fuck are you going to fall or become so inherently in love with someone when you first meet them.
And yet here I am… living in the insta-whatever this is.
Delulu as fuck.
Clearing my throat, I drop my arms and take a small step back from the closeness of his warmth and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear nervously. “So, uh…” I clear my throat. “The body.”
He looks at me then, and I mean really looks at me. It’s like he can see who I really am, gazing into the very depths of my lost and broken soul, and still wants to know more. “This way.” He gently jerks his head to the right.
I chew the inside of my cheek nervously and follow behind him as we both make our way towards the middle of the circular area that’s perfectly surrounded by oversized oak trees.
Not even a single twig or leaf out of place.
Everything, from the dirt on the ground, to the bushes growing in between the trees is clean and tidy.
Almost as though someone took a dustpan and brush painstakingly around the forest floor, making sure it was immaculate for our arrival.
Ricky stops beside the body bag and crouches down, resting his elbows on both knees before momentarily glancing back at me.
After a few seconds I watch him reach across to the silver zip—pinching it between his thumb and index finger—and slowly but surely dragging it down.
Each individual metal tooth grinding against one another before they eventually reveal the face of—
“I-I know him.” I frown. “That’s Patrick Jones, the star running back for my college football team.”
Huh, who would’ve thought that’s the body in the bag.
“Why him, though?” I ask in confusion. Patrick always seemed like a nice guy to me.
“He deserved it. Trust me.”
Looking down at his lifeless body once more, I notice the long, jagged wound stretching across his throat, which is very plainly the reason for his death.
I bend at the waist to get a closer look at his mutilated throat, wondering what type of knife Ricky may have used. Y’know, for research purposes.
“Why did you—”
I barely have time to finish asking him the reason for his death when I release a deafening shriek.
Patrick’s arm lurches towards me, and I lose my footing, stumbling back from the corpse and ultimately hurtling towards the floor.
It takes a little longer for my ass to hit the dirt, and when it does, I know exactly where I am.