Page 8 of Death, Interrupted

I put my helmet on and straddled April, then ran a hand lovingly over her tank, still buzzing from the curry and the thrill of another “accidental” death. “I’ve done it again, April. Another one down. Another asshole ticked off my kill list.”

But then I sighed, because the kill list wasn’t the only list that mattered. Actually, it was the second-most important list I made. “If only I could startticking more off mybucket list.That would be grand.”

Oh, what’s that? You want to know what’s on my bucket list?

You should’ve asked sooner, you silly goose! I love talking about my bucket list.

I’ve already ticked off a few minor ones. Got a bike—April. Best one by far. Went to New Zealand to check out the Lord of the Rings filming locations. Epic trip, but holy shit the flight was torture. Hours and hours in a metal tube with crying babies and a guy next to me who thought deodorant was optional. Never again.

The rest on the list, though? Untouched. Waiting to be crossed off.

I gave the throttle a small twist and felt April’s deep purr vibrate through my legs. I let it settle into me before rolling forward, my mind already drifting away from the road and back to the unfinished business of my bucket list.

#1

Finally learn how to cook one meal that doesn’t involve ramen or me setting off the fire alarm. Just one meal. I don’t need to be Gordon Ramsay. I just don’t want him to barge into my place one day and call me an idiot sandwich while pressing two slices of toast against each side of my head

#2

Have a hot makeout session to ‘Sex on Fire’ by Kings of Leon. Preferably with someone who doesn’t immediately regret it after

#3

Skydive. But only when I’m old. Like, eighty. Because if the chute fails, at least I’ll have lived. Dying at thirty-something because I wanted to ‘feel alive’ feels stupid. Dying at eighty because I wanted to ‘feel alive’ is badass

#4

Tell someone I love them and mean it. No sarcasm. No jokes. No weird finger guns after. Just real words. Preferably to a human, and not April, even though she’ll always be my number one in my heart

#5

Have someone make me breakfast in bed. I don’t care if it’s burnt toast and cereal. I just want to wake up and have someone care enough to bring me coffee without me begging for it

#6

Go to a Natasha Bedingfield concert and scream the lyrics toUnwrittenwith her on stage

#7

Road trip with no destination. Just me, April, a full tank, no GPS, no plan, just vibes and gas station food for weeks

#8

Write a romance book. Preferably a spicy one. I mean, if I’m already psycho, why not add ‘smut author’ to the resume? Plus, if people actually bought it, imagine how funny it would be to sign copies knowing the inspiration came from an actual murder spree

And then, of course, there’s the kill list. Very different list. Can’t mix those two, because otherwise I’d have to write ‘murder someone (preferably by accident)’ on the bucket list, and that ruins the aesthetic.

I twisted the throttle harder as we reached the highway, with April’s engine growling like she was approving everything I was thinking. Before I could fully focus on my bucket list, I had one last name to cross off the kill list.

Joey Elrod. The grand finale. The one who started it all. He who got his friends to torment me for no apparent reason.

I needed to get to him before the news spread, before he heard that yet another one of his good old buddies had tragically and mysteriously died. Tomorrow night was the cutoff. If I’d wait any longer,he’d start getting suspicious, maybe buy himself a baseball bat for protection, or Google “how not to die mysteriously.” Can’t have that.

His address wasn’t a secret to me. I’d found out where he lived a while ago. For the past two weeks, I’d been driving past his place like a stalker (and, no, this doesn’t officially make me one) just to make sure he still lived there and hadn’t pulled a disappearing act. He hadn’t. Same car in the driveway, same porch light on at exactly eight like clockwork. Honestly, routines are a gift. Predictable people were practically easy, and they just needed me to give them a little nudge to accidentally kill themselves.

With my plan on my mind, I leaned forward and twisted the throttle again to let her fly me down the highway as I belted outUnwritten.

Chapter 3