Page 25

TWENTY-ONE

I rush home, knowing that leaves me little time to drop off my belongings and head to Banyon’s Bridge. If by chance Marley is keeping tabs on me, I want her to think I’ve gone home for the night, my usual routine after a meeting.

Once inside my apartment, I open my computer screen, reading through the details of Murder at the Bridge .

The location is clear, as is the timing.

If I can make it to the bridge before midnight, I’ll be able to see if Marley—or anyone else from the group—arrives just as in the story.

They’ll be caught red-handed, unable to deny they’re there by mere coincidence.

My presence is crucial for another reason: I can’t allow an innocent person to get hurt.

Whoever shows up, I won’t give them the opportunity to bring another story to life.

The Mistake is the next tab over, but I try not to think about it. There’s only one story that demands my focus tonight, and it’s the one that will help me catch whoever has been making our stories real.

I rush into my bedroom, changing into clothes that are warmer and discreet.

Thermal black leggings, a black hoodie and boots.

When I look into my bedroom mirror, I see a winterized bank robber staring back at me.

Ridiculous, but it’s important I don’t draw attention to myself.

The last thing I need is Marley noticing me before I see her; she could leave without me ever knowing she was there.

I slick my hair into a low ponytail and sift through my closet for a dark hat. Rushing out of my room, I pause when I see Crystal standing in the living room, a bewildered look on her face.

“What the hell is this?” she says, her face uncharacteristically gaunt.

She’s pointing at my laptop, the screen fully alight.

“My computer.”

“This story,” she says, pointing more vehemently. “Did you write this?”

I move closer to the table, bending down to read the screen. The Mistake is pulled up.

“Yes,” I say, snapping the screen shut.

“It’s disgusting,” Crystal says, repulsed. “A girl being murdered on her way home from the bar? All the things you wrote about the guy that did it!”

“Mystery Maidens is a group for scary stories,” I say. “That’s all it is.”

“It’s not!” she screams back. “I knew you were a crime writer, but this? It’s incredibly dark, Becca.”

“What were you doing looking through my computer anyway?” I spit, trying to match her anger.

“I wasn’t,” she says, exhaling. “The screen was already pulled up. I just started reading.”

“Well, it wasn’t meant for anyone to read.”

“You just said you wrote it for your writing group.”

“Not for them.” I’m getting so frustrated, it’s difficult to put sentences together. “I never planned on sharing it with anybody else.”

I sling my computer bag around my shoulder and march for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I have somewhere I have to be.”

“It’s almost midnight,” she says, skeptically.

“Can’t I have plans for a change?”

“Becca, I want to talk about this,” she says, her voice serious. “You’re my friend and my roommate. That story is disturbing.”

“I’m not going to explain my creative process to you,” I say, storming into the hall.

Before I slam the door, I hear Crystal calling me. “Becca!”

I don’t have time to argue with her. I must get to Banyon’s Bridge and deal with Marley.