Page 70 of The Secrets We Bury

“You probably did have a conversation,” I offer. “Though I don’t know what you talked about.”

“I can’t… remember,” she says.

“Must not have been all that important then.”

Her eyes land on the cell phone in my hand. “Is that my phone?” she demands, her struggles continuing as she fights the press of earth all around her body. “How did you get that?”

I shrug and look back at the screen, smiling when I realize the messages I’d started sending before she woke already have a few responses.

“You gave it to me,” I say casually, swiping over to some of the nudes I found when scouring the thing while waiting for her to wake. I post a few to her stories and then text them to both of her parents. The thin black gloves that Lex gave me for this works like a charm—allowing me the ease of using the touch screen without leaving my fingerprints behind. Just in case.

“I never?—”

“Well, you were kind of drunk—or drugged—but you didn’t exactly say no when I took it,” I say, cutting her off as I hit send and return my attention to the woman in front of me.

“Y-you—you can’t do this! This is— You’re crazy!”

Her face is red and splotchy as she struggles, fighting her burial. Seconds pass into minutes as I watch her endeavors. It gets old pretty fast and only grows interesting again whenshe starts crying. A few tears here and there along with some cursing, then harder as she realizes the truth—she’s not getting out that easily. There’d be no point to this revenge if it were easy for her to escape.

When it becomes clear that her simple freedom is well and truly gone, that’s when the real waterworks start. Snot bubbles in one nostril as she sobs and starts to beg.

“Please.” She coughs, shaking her head, twisting her neck. “Please—just let me out. I can’t— Oh my god, I can’t die like this.”

I sigh. “You’re not going to die,” I say, annoyed, before in a quieter mutter, I add, “I promised no murder.”

Megan screams. “Help! Someone! Help me! Lindsey! Lindsey, can you hear me!”

I let her do it for a little bit longer, her voice going hoarse the longer she screams and yells. When she has to stop to catch her breath, I look down at her and wait. She gags, sucking in air.

“Did you really think I’d bury you close to people?” I ask. “How stupid do you think I am? You do know that I have straightA’s, right?” I shake my head.

“Oh my god,” she mutters. “Oh my god.”

A cramp forms in my calves, forcing me to stand back to my full height. I stretch onto my toes, relishing the extension of my muscles—a privilege she’ll struggle with for a while too.

“Y-you can’t keep me here— I-I— This is kidnapping!” Megan’s blubbering continues, but I ignore her in favor of the multitude of messages streaming into her phone.

LINDSEY: WTF MEG? Why did you post that?

I’m not sure which post Lindsey’s referring to considering I’ve made several posts over the last couple of hours.

MEGAN: Which post?

LINDSEY: Which post?! THE ONE WHERE I’M MAKING OUT WITH JEREMY DODGES! My dad’s going to kill me!

Almost as soon as Lindsey’s text comes through, she calls. I swipe red, not allowing it to finish its first ring. She calls a second time and I do the same.

“What else do we have in here?” I ask aloud as I scroll and scroll and— “Oh this is an interesting chat.” I stop as I come across a gold mine of information.

“What are you doing?” Megan shrieks. “You can’t— Ugh! Let me out!” The scream of frustration that echoes behind me is like music to my ears as I continue typing out replies.

“I’m just moving the pieces,” I tell her, turning back as I finish sending the next text to someone named Matthew. I hold up Megan’s phone and shake it in her direction. “You’re a naughty girl with so many boyfriends—I’m not one to judge, but well, you started it.” I tap my chin with a fingertip. “It does make me wonder why you were so hell-bent on getting Gio too.”

Megan’s responding shrieks and grunts echo up to the treetops. I let it continue on as the phone in my hand buzzes nonstop. Phone calls. Text messages. When I get bored of watching her struggle and fight against the ground, crying and red-faced as she screams again, calling for help, I look down to see that there’s a new voicemail from an unknown number.

Lifting the phone to my ear, I press play. Two seconds in and I know it’s going to be good. I put it on speaker and hold it out.

“Someone wants to have a word with you, Megan,” I taunt, going back to my haunches.