Page 12 of Horror and Chill

And I sure as hell don’t say I liked it.

The line clicks quiet after they assure me someone is on their way. I just stand there, in the dark, staring down at Jay’s body like the truth might rise from it if I wait long enough.

But it doesn’t.

By the time the police arrive, I’ve backed away from his body and found a spot on a moss-covered log. My feet are planted on the ground, elbows braced on my knees, arms folded tight like they’re the only thing holding me in one piece. My fingers are stained with dirt and bits of bark. I can’t stop thinking about how warm Jay’s blood must have been when it left his body. I never touched it, but I feel it on me, anyway.

They ask what happened. I open my mouth, and the lies fall out smoother than they should.

“I came to meet a friend. We were filming a spooky scene. For the internet,” I add, like it makes things more harmless. “We got separated. I heard something weird and when I came looking for him... he was like this.”

They jot it all down.

They don’t know I’m lying. Not yet.

I should tell them. I should tell them about the man in the mask. About the sex that didn’t feel like a violation until afterit ended. About the voice that didn’t belong to Jay and the sick twist in my stomach that formed the second he spoke.

I should tell them everything.

But I don’t.

And I hate myself for that.

Because if they catch him, whoeverheis, he could be charged with assault. With impersonation. With murder. Jay is dead, and I just let the man who might’ve done it walk away.

My throat closes up.

Am I protecting him? Or am I protecting myself?

If I say it out loud, the truth becomes real. Not just the part where Jay is gone, but the part where I wanted something that wasn’t even mine to want. That I gave myself to a stranger. That I let him go. That I liked it. Even if it was a trick. Even if it makes me the worst kind of friend.

God, what kind of friendamI?

I stare at the officer as he scribbles notes, and all I can think is:He’s going to ask why I didn’t scream. Why I didn’t run. Why I didn’t know.

The answers won’t save me. So I keep quiet.

I lie the way I’ve always lied, like it’s my only language. Like survival depends on it.

The officers thank me for my time, their voices tight with something I can’t place. They mark off the area with yellow tape. One of them asks if I need medical attention.

I shake my head. I don’t trust my voice. I feel like a ghost watching a girl who just survived something she doesn’t understand.

They say they’ll be in touch and for me not to leave town in case they have more questions.

Fuck! Am I a person of interest now?Of course I am. I just told them we were the only two people in the woods. I painted myself as a possible murderer. Fuck my life.

I nod, somehow, and stumble to my car like my limbs are borrowed. I shut the door behind me and the silence is so thick I nearly scream.

Then I remember what I have to do.

I call Lorna and she picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, girl. What’s up? You never call this late…or really at all,” she says.

I scream before I even know I’m doing it, “Jay’s dead!”

Silence.