Chapter 8
“He’s dead,” Derek said.
The words landed flat and heavy, like they’d been dropped instead of spoken.
For a second, Erica waited for someone to correct him. For Elias to cough or twitch or make some small, human noise that would rewind the moment and put it back where it belonged.
But he didn’t.
“No, he’s not,” Chad said immediately. “He’s just unconscious. People get knocked out all the time.”
The certainty in Chad’s voice was jarring. It wasn’t hopeful or panicked. It was authoritative—like he’d already decided what version of reality they were going to use.
“Look how much blood there is, Chad,” Zach said.
Erica sat frozen on the couch, staring at the crimson liquid spread outward in dark, branching shapes that didn’t belong there.
It had reached the fringe of the rug. The good rug.
The one she vacuumed in careful lines so the fibers stayed even.
The one she’d debated replacing but decided was still fine.
“The head bleeds a lot,” Chad argued. “I’m sure he’s just sleeping.”
Derek crouched beside the body, fingers hovering before pressing lightly at Elias’s neck.
“He’s definitely dead,” he said.
“What the fuck do we do?” Beckie shrieked.
“I can’t be here,” Liv said, already backing away, shaking her head, palms up like the room itself might lunge at her. “I can’t—I can’t do this.”
“It was an accident,” Chad said.
The word accident echoed in Erica’s head. Accidents were spilling wine. Forgetting birthdays. Scraping a bumper in a parking lot. Accidents were not men bleeding out on her living room rug.
“You shoved him,” Zach said, his voice pitched too high. “What are you going to tell the cops—that it was an accident he died after you assaulted him?”
“We’re not calling the fucking cops,” Chad snapped.
The room erupted.
“We have to—”
“No, absolutely not—”
“This is insane—”
“You’re insane—”
“We’ll get rid of it—”
“Fuck no—”
“Fuck you—”
“Fuck you back—”
Erica didn’t speak. She couldn’t. She sat frozen on the couch while her brain refused to organize the scene into anything coherent. Thoughts arrived seconds too late, like captions lagging behind a video.
This wasn’t just shock. Something else had slipped in. She felt it the way you felt pressure before a storm—skin tight, nerves humming. Goose bumps raced up her arms, prickling the back of her neck. The air felt crowded again, heavier and intentional now.
A whisper brushed her ear, not words, just the unmistakable sense of attention.
All she knew was they weren’t alone . . . not anymore.
“Hell no,” Liv said, louder now. “I’m not helping you get rid of a body.”
“Me neither,” Derek said, moving to her side and gripping her hand. “This is done. We’re done.”
“Yes, you both fucking are,” Chad shouted. “This is just as much your problem as it is mine.”
“No, it’s not,” Derek said, pulling Liv toward the door. “Let’s go before we get wrapped up in a felony charge.”
Zach stepped in front of the door. “You can’t just leave.”
“Yeah,” Beckie added, a little too brightly. “That’s like a hit-and-run or something.”
“That only applies to cars,” Derek said.
Erica almost laughed. The urge surprised her. It bubbled up loud and inappropriate, and she swallowed it back down.
For a beat, Chad just stared at the body. His face cracked, not into anger, at least not yet. It was pleading and human.
“Okay,” Chad said, holding up his hands. “No one’s going anywhere. We’re gonna talk this out first.”
Zach nodded. “He’s right.”
Chad blinked, startled by the support.
Zach gestured toward Elias. “If the cops come, they’re going to want statements from everyone in this room. That means no one just leaves.”
The logic was thin, but it sounded reasonable enough to catch. Erica recognized the tactic. Slow it down and make it feel inevitable.
Derek opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. Liv’s fingers dug into his arm.
“Exactly,” Chad said. “When the cops come, we’ll tell them he fell and hit his head.”
The room was quiet.
“He fell and hit his head,” Chad repeated, voice tightening. “Right?”
Beckie nodded. “Yeah. Totally. He slipped.”
Derek hesitated, then gave a half nod, like his neck had been forced into it.
Erica didn’t move. She felt oddly detached, like she was watching strangers negotiate a crime in a place that only resembled her home.
Liv shook her head once. “I’m not lying to the police.”
“Fuck!” Chad snapped, slapping his hands into his thighs.
“What?” Liv said. “I’m not going to prison for you.”
“Friends protect each other,” he argued.
Liv turned fully toward him. “I’m not your friend.”
That landed.
“I barely tolerate you,” she added.
Zach nodded. “Same.”
Derek glanced between them, then squared his shoulders. “I’m with Liv.”
Beckie straightened. “I’m your friend, Chad. I’ll tell them Derek pushed the medium.” She smiled, loose and sloppy. “I mean, it makes sense. You’re the only one that touched the body.”
“What the fuck?” Derek barked, wiping his fingers on his pants.
Beckie shrugged. “I’m just saying. Cops like a clean story.”
“I’ll tell them you did it,” he shot back.
Beckie laughed. “Like they’ll believe you. You’re a middle-management gym bro with a podcast voice.”
Zach cut in. “You’re unbelievable.”
Beckie tilted her head. “Careful.”
Zach’s jaw tightened. He looked at Erica, then at Chad, then back at Beckie. “They won’t believe you either, Beckie, because you’re sleeping with Chad.”
The room went silent again. Beckie blinked. Chad’s mouth opened.
“That’s not—” Chad started.
“You can’t just—” Beckie said.
“I saw you two together,” Zach said. “A month ago. Why do you think I hired the medium? I wanted everything forced into the open.”
Chad turned to Erica. “Erica, I—”
She didn’t look at him. She was thinking that this was the wrong moment for secrets. Secrets had rules.
“It only happened six times,” Beckie blurted. “And he’s not even that good in bed.”
Chad groaned. “You’re not helping.”
Derek let out a humorless laugh. “Happy birthday, Erica.”
Liv squeezed his hand. “We’re leaving.”
They turned toward the door, taking two steps before the sound cut through the room. It was small and precise.
Click.
“You’re not leaving,” Chad said.
They turned slowly. The gun was in his hand. No one had seen where it came from. It might’ve been tucked into his waistband or hidden in some ridiculous secret compartment of the furniture. But the truth was it felt like it had simply appeared, summoned by the moment itself.
Erica went completely still. Guns were not supposed to be in living rooms. Not next to throw pillows or coffee tables or a rug that was soaking up blood. The sight of it felt like a violation.
“What the hell, Chad!?” Zach said.
Derek stepped in front of Liv without thinking. “Put the gun down.”
Beckie tilted her head, eyes flicking to the gun. “I mean . . . that’s kind of hot.”
Chad didn’t look at her. He scanned the room, making sure everyone heard him.
“You’re not leaving,” he repeated. “Not until we get rid of this body.”