Chapter 8 Raelynn
EIGHT
RAELYNN
“Mine?” I ask, mid-chew, finishing off the last bite of my sandwich. Crumbs stick to my fingers as I motion for Tessa to hand over the envelope.
“Yeah.” She passes it with a faint frown.
I wipe my hands against my shirt before taking it, turning the envelope over a few times.
It’s one of those cheap ones that come with dollar store cards.
My name is scrawled across the front in jagged capital letters—rushed, sharp, the pen biting into the paper hard enough to indent.
There’s no return address. No stickers, no flourishes, none of the usual signs of a friend or family member sending something thoughtful.
A prickle runs down my spine. “Weird,” I murmur. “The handwriting doesn’t look familiar.”
I’m just about to slide my finger under the envelope’s seal when a sharp knock jolts both me and Tessa. We flinch, eyes snapping to the front door. For a split second, neither of us says anything—we just stare, as if expecting something (or someone) to burst through it.
Then Khloe’s unmistakable voice cuts through the silence like a blade through tension.
“Ding dong, bitches!”
Tessa exhales a shaky laugh and shakes her head, a mix of relief and exasperation etched across her face. “God, Khloe,” she mutters as she crosses the living room and pulls the door open without missing a beat.
Khloe struts in like she owns the place, a drink carrier full of Dutch Bros balanced expertly in her hands.
She’s dressed in peak comfort mode: a faded pink Nirvana smiley tee that hangs off one shoulder, black leggings, and tan UGG boots.
Her hair is loose for once, her shoulder-length locks bouncing with each step she takes.
Max springs off the couch the second she’s through the door, tail wagging furiously as he trots over to greet her.
“Sup,” Khloe says breezily, nudging the door shut behind her with her foot as she bends down to give Max the attention he’s demanding. “Hi, buddy,” she coos, running her fingers behind his ears while he nuzzles her in approval.
She walks the tray over to the coffee table and sets it down before turning her attention to me. Her eyes catch on the envelope still in my hand, and one brow arches. “Whatcha got there, Rae?” she asks, her tone light but tinged with curiosity.
I’m sure the confusion’s still written all over my face, heavy and unmoving. “A card,” I murmur. “Someone left it on our porch a few minutes ago. No clue who it’s from.”
Max gives Khloe one last nudge of affection before trotting back to the couch, curling into the warm indent he’d left behind—content now that he’s completed his greeting. Meanwhile, the envelope in my hand feels like it weighs a hundred pounds.
“Well… are you gonna open it or just glare at it like it insulted your outfit?” Khloe teases, her smirk not quite masking the edge in her voice. She snags a coffee from the tray and passes it to Tessa before grabbing another and walking it over to me.
Her smirk fades as she offers me the cup. “Here. Drink.”
I take the iced Nutty Irishman, the familiar sweetness coating my tongue when I sip, but it doesn’t settle the prickle crawling up my spine. The envelope seems louder now, the edges sharp against my fingers.
Khloe folds her arms across her chest, her gaze fixed. “Rae.”
“Alright, alright.” I sigh and hold the coffee out to her. “Here—hold this before I accidentally spill it all over myself.”
Khloe takes the cup without protest, her eyes never leaving the envelope as I slide my finger under the flap and ease it open.
Inside is a store-bought card, the kind you’d find in the sympathy section of a grocery store.
The front is soft blue with delicate white trim, and across the center, in looping cursive, are the words “Thinking of You.”
My brows pull together as I stare at it, unease settling low in my gut.
“The fuck?” I mutter as I unfold the card.
The handwriting inside is the same jagged scrawl as the envelope, each stroke uneven and forceful.
You look just like her.
My stomach knots. Taped just beneath the message is an old newspaper clipping, yellowed with age and fraying at the edges. The headline, jaggedly cut from a 2008 article, jumps out at me like a slap to the face:
Local Woman Found Murdered in Alleyway—Latest Victim of The Butcher.
And just below that are another six words that have my breath catching in my throat.
Will your fate be the same?
The room tilts for a second. Behind me, I hear Tessa and Khloe talking, their voices rising with concern, but they barely register—just background static swallowed by the blood rushing in my ears.
I know this article. I’ve seen it more times than I can count.
I’ve studied, dissected, and committed every painful detail to memory.
It’s the article about my mother.
But that isn’t what freaks me out. It’s the second message that leaves me uneasy.
Who the hell sent this?
I stare at the card, my eyes bouncing from the article clipping to the handwriting.
Someone has to be playing some kind of joke on me.
It isn’t a secret that my mother was murdered, and anyone with a sense of mind could put two and two together with my last name and the fact that I am practically a carbon copy of the woman.
But what did they mean by ‘Will my fate be the same?’ Was it a threat?
“Rae?” Tessa’s concerned voice finally breaks through to me. I shudder and blink, my eyes shifting from the card to her. “What is it, Rae?” she asks, her hand resting against my shoulder as if grounding me.
“Someone playing a sick joke,” I mutter as she eases the card out of my hands.
“Well, that is creepy as fuck.” She looks it over before handing it off to Khloe. She doesn’t even bother reading it before tossing it onto the coffee table.
“Someone just has a sick sense of humor, Rae. Don’t give them the satisfaction.” Khloe hands me back my coffee, her tone dismissive but gentle. I take a long sip, the icy sweetness doing little to untangle the knot in my stomach.
“They’re just trying to get a reaction out of you,” Tessa adds, her voice calm but firm. “They can’t win if you don’t let them.”
My eyes drift back to the card on the coffee table, the message still echoing in my mind like an itch I can’t quite reach. After a beat, I nod slowly. “You’re right.”
I cross the room and pluck the card off the table, holding it between two fingers like it might bite.
I step up to the garbage can, tucked neatly beneath the kitchen counter.
I press my foot on the pedal, and the lid flips open with a soft metallic creak.
Without a second thought, I drop the card and watch it disappear into the trash.
The lid thuds shut behind me as I turn back toward my friends.
“There,” I say, lifting my coffee again and taking a sip. “Out of sight, out of mind.”
Khloe lifts her cup in mock salute. “That’s the spirit.”
“So,” I ask, my voice lighter now, “what’s the plan for today? Something fun, I hope. I could really use a distraction that doesn’t involve creepy mail.”
Tessa perks up, reaching for the remote on the coffee table with a spark in her eyes. “How about cheesy rom-coms and face masks?”
Khloe snorts and walks back over to the couch.
She grabs a blanket, drops onto the cushion beside Max, and throws the blanket over her legs.
“I was promised snacks and boy talk, thank you very much,” she says with a smirk.
“Rom-coms are fine as long as someone gets dumped dramatically or ends up kissing in the rain.”
I laugh as I make my way back into the living room, settling into my spot on the couch beside her with my iced coffee in hand. “All of that sounds perfect—except maybe the rom-coms. I was leaning toward cheesy horror, but I know Tess can’t stomach it.”
Tessa shoots me a look, playfully defensive. “Horror parodies and low-budget ridiculousness are fine. As long as there’s no over-the-top gore or jump scares, I can deal.”
Khloe and I lock eyes, mischief blooming instantly. “Okay,” I say, grinning. “Killer Klowns from Outer Space or—”
“Scary Movie,” Khloe cuts in, practically bouncing with excitement. “Classic.”
“Ooh, both good options.” I nod, trying to gauge Tessa’s reaction. “Killer Klowns from Outer Space or Scary Movie? Choose your fate.”
Tessa groans dramatically. “Ugh, I hate clowns—so I guess Scary Movie. But if I have nightmares, I’m blaming both of you.”
“Deal,” Khloe and I chime simultaneously, grinning as Tessa passes me the remote, then rounds the coffee table and takes a seat beside me. She settles into the couch, folding her legs under her as I scroll through the apps on our smart TV.
After a few seconds, I find and click on Paramount Plus, waiting through the brief loading screen.
Once it’s up, I type “Scary Movie” into the search bar and hit play without hesitation.
The familiar opening music starts, and I drop the remote into my lap before fishing my phone out from the waistband of my leggings.
“Alright, Khloe—snack commander, it’s your time to shine.” I hand her my phone, already open to the food delivery app.
She takes it like she’s receiving a sacred artifact. “Death to your wallet, babe,” she cackles, immediately diving into the app like it’s her life’s mission.
Twenty minutes into the movie, a knock sounds at the door.
“I got it.” Khloe springs off the couch like she’s been waiting for this moment. The sudden movement startles Max from his nap. His head jerks up, ears twitching as he blinks around in mild confusion.
I rise with her and whistle softly. “Max, c’mere,” I call as I make my way toward my room.
He lumbers off the couch, still groggy, and trots after me.
“Sorry, buddy. You know how you get when food shows up,” I whisper as he glides past me into the room.
He hops onto the bed with a soft fwump, circles once, settling with a sigh.
I close the door gently behind me and head back into the living room.