Page 3 of Little Author

I took the long way home.

I told myself it was for the fresh air. That I needed to clear my head, stretch my legs, walk off the bloodlust humming under my skin like static.

But the truth was nastier than that. I wanted to walk past the scene again.

Circle back and hope that asshole was gone from hovering over it like an animal guarding its kill.

Would the killer be nearby?

I didn’t walk through it. Not that close. Just near enough to feel the aftershock. Like a junkie orbiting the ashtray of her last hit.

I tucked my hands into my coat pocket, my fingers brushing the button I still hadn’t let go of. It felt warm. Familiar. Like it had a pulse.

The streets were quiet until they weren’t.

“Ha! Jeremy, you fucking dickhead. You know I was going to snog her. Why did you make me look like a fucking mug, mate?”

It was laughter. A sharp chortling, and it cut through the air. I turned the corner and saw them.

Two guys, maybe mid-twenties, stinking of beer, testosterone, and bad decisions. One had on a hoodie, the other wore a bomber jacket that looked two sizes too small for his ego.

They were talking about some girl, and slurring her name between grunts of:

“Bitch wanted it.”

And, “She cried after.”

My lip curled, but I kept walking.

It is not your business. Let that plod take care of them.

The men didn’t notice me. I was just another shadow to them, blending into the background.

They turned into the ginnel behind the hardware store, still laughing.

But then…

The one in the jacket broke off.

The laughter stopped.

His friend kept going, alone, into the dark, veering off to a petrol station, but something about that silence felt off.

It was wrong, not just the suddenness.

Not just the absence of noise, but the weight of it. Like the street exhaled something heavy and ugly all at once.

I froze.

Maybe reading all those crime reports was getting to me.

I didn’t see anything. Heard no scream. But my body knew. My bones knew.

There was someone else in that alley, and he wasn’t laughing.

A sharp chill slid up my spine. The kind you feel right before the car crash hits.

But just like a crash, I was stuck in this, forced to continue watching.

I turned my head slowly, scanned the shadows, but there was nothing.

No movement. No light. Just dark brick, that smell of damp metal, and something sharper underneath.

I walked faster.

I didn’t run. That would’ve made it worse and too real. But I didn’t look back either. Because whatever was in that alley didn’t want to be seen. That I knew for a fact.

But for one brief, fucked-up second, I wanted to turn around.

I wanted to follow the silence and see it anyway.