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NO MORE QUESTIONS

SUMMER

YESTERDAY

F allon is sitting on the couch, a blubbering mess. Watching her has me stifling a laugh. She reminds me of the reporter hiding in the woods from Scary Movie, snot leaking out her nose, and borderline hyperventilating.

I know she needs someone comforting and soft-spoken right now, but that ain’t me. Between the storm and her high-pitched wheezing wails, I’m overstimulated as shit, treading the line of a meltdown. I can't focus or process a single thing right now, much less formulate any semblance of a plan. Fuck!

Pacing back and forth across the living room, I try to gather all of my thoughts. What did Amber really mean when she said I could do anything to entertain myself? The last time that phrase was uttered, things got messy. Unless… Is that what she wanted me to remember?

A smile pulls at my lips as Fallon’s grating voice pops my happy little bubble. “What....what the hell? What are we going to do? Where’s Amber?” she asks in between sobs.

I don't actually know what’s happening, but I have enough of a brain to guess what’s going on out in those woods, and telling her would do the opposite of calm her nerves.

I kneel down in front of her, grabbing both her hands, making her look at me.

“I need you to go to your bedroom and start packing up all your stuff. I’m going to do the same for Amber and I.

So, as soon as she walks through the door, we can leave.

” Fallon nods, pulling her hands from mine to wipe the tears and mucus from her face.

She better not try and touch me. “Don't ask me anymore questions about whatever might be happening right now because my guess is as good as yours.”

Her mouth opens like she’s going to ask me something but then closes it. She stands, rushing down the hallway without another word, disappearing into her room.

I move to do the same. Changing out of my pyjamas and throwing them into my bag, I pull on a loose-fitting, black band t-shirt and black leggings. I work my red coil-curls up into a tight bun, because having it hanging in my face when I’m already wired is enough to drive me mental.

I finish stuffing all my things into the two bags I had, then dart to the bathroom to collect mine and Amber’s toothbrushes and other things. I carry my bags to the front foyer, dropping them loudly on the hardwood floor.

“Summer!” Fallon calls from her room. I can’t resist the roll of my eyes into the back of my skull.

Maybe if I ignore her, she will go away.

I quickly tip-toe back down the hall, slipping into Amber’s room.

Grabbing her headphones, I slip them over my head.

They effectively muffle the sounds happening around me as I rush to pack up all of Amber’s crap.

If she doesn’t like how I did it, then she should’ve been here to do it herself.

However, I know what she’s doing, so wrinkling up all her clothes is the least I can do.

She is the one having all the fun while I’m stuck here with the baby of the group.

“SUMMER!” she wails again. What could she possibly need me for? “Summer! Can you hear me?” Unfortunately. “Summer! Where are you?” Summer! Summer! Summer! My ears ring as her shrillness pierces my brain, shooting a stabbing pain behind my eyes. SHUT THE FUCK UP!

I silently march to her room. Fallon has her back to me as she hurriedly folds her clothes, trying to neatly place them into her duffle bag on the bed.

She knows this is a matter of life or death, yet she still takes her time to make sure there’s some sort of organization.

Is it a way to help her process what’s happening?

Or, is it making her feel more in control?

“Summer!” she yells, not realizing I’m right behind her. The noise makes me wince involuntarily. I like the quiet.

Palming a Sasquatch figurine on a table by the door as I watch her, I can’t help but think this room would’ve been much better suited to Savannah.

“You haven’t finished packing yet?” I ask, deathly calm.

She almost jumps out of her skin in fright, and I hold back the laugh rattling around in my chest. “Shoot, Summer! How long have you been standing there?” I don’t reply, just wait for her to inevitably blabber on.

“I know, I should be done already, but I can’t stop thinking about Bridget.

Who would’ve killed her? What kind of sick person does that to someone?

” I know. Deplorable, right? “I’m so sad and scared, Summer!

How can you be so calm?” I shrug, she doesn’t need to know anything about me anymore.

“I’m trying to pack, I really am, but none of this makes sense. Why isn’t Amber back yet? What if something happened to her too! How will we know? What will we do?”

I pick up the small statue, turning it in my hands. It’s no bigger than a football, but it’s heavy. I force a somber expression to my face as I find a good grip on the Sasquatch.

I step farther into the room, “Summer, are you even listening to me?”

I raise my eyes to hers, no longer able to hold that sullen expression as anticipation thrums through me.

I said no more fucking questions.

“S-summer?” she stutters as I encroach on her space, cornering her between the bed and I.

“No more fucking questions,” I snarl.

My hand swings up from where it was hanging loosely at my side, and Fallon screams. She turns, shielding herself from the blow, but it’s useless.

I put all my strength into the hit, connecting with the back of her skull.

Her head whips forward, blonde hair swinging erratically as her forehead smashes into the wall.

Double hit, not bad, Summer. I give myself an internal pat on the back, watching as she flops to the ground in a heap.

I toss Bigfoot onto the bed, and dart out of the room, racing to the main door where Amber’s bags sit on the floor.

I rifle through them quickly, looking for anything to tie up Fallon until my bestie returns.

My hand brushes over a neatly bound coil of rope, and I snatch it out.

Standing and turning, I race back to Fallon’s room.

I cross the threshold but she’s not where I left her.

She’s gone.

Shit.

I drop to my knees, checking under the bed, but the space is barren.

I jump to my feet, rushing out the door and calling for Fallon.

“Fa—”

The wind is knocked out of me, and I crash back into the doorframe. Fallon stands before me, chest heaving, looking dazed, and a little worse for the wear.

Did she seriously just push me?

“There you are, I thought you got away from me.”

“What?” she replies, wavering on her feet. “Why did you hit me?”

“You don’t listen very well, do you?” Her eyes snap to mine in a moment of clarity, and I watch the panic grip her like a vice. “I said no more fucking questions.”

Her pupils dilate as the stress takes hold, her fight or flight kicking in, shooting adrenaline through her body.

She takes off down the hall, turning into the kitchen, and I follow behind.

She rounds the island, turning back to see me hot on her heels.

She puts the counter between us, trying to buy her brain precious seconds to form an escape plan.

The seconds tick on as I watch her fear swell and crest, materializing itself in the tears that start to leak from the corners of her eyes.

Growing bored with this stalemate of a stand-off, my hands dart out, grabbing the abandoned coffee mugs, and sending them sliding across the counter toward her. Her instinct kicks in, trying to catch them before they spill or shatter.

She fails.

Miserably.

It’s all the time I need to race around the island, and drive my knee into her stomach. Fallon drops to her hands and knees atop the broken ceramic, crying out in pain. Blood wells, smearing across the floor as I drag her by the hair, kicking and screaming, across the kitchen.

Her fingers grab onto a cabinet door handle, and hold tight.

But I pull harder, ripping a chunk of her pretty blond hair out at the root.

She cries out in pain, but still doesn’t let go.

Pivoting her body away from me, she kicks out.

Her foot connects with my weak knee, and I drop.

How dare that bitch use my weakness against me, she’ll pay for that.

Fallon scrambles to her feet, but instead of running, she turns to face me. “Why!?” she cries.

I grip the counter’s edge, wobbling on my legs like a newborn deer as I try to stand. Giving her the false sense of security she needs to continue to be this close to me, demanding answers.

“Did you kill Bridget?” I shake my head slowly back and forth. “Where’s Savannah?” I shrug. “Is Amber dead?” I shrug again.

Fallon screams in frustration, grabbing me by the throat with both hands, and bending me back over the countertop. Finally, the frigid little virgin grew some big hairy lady-balls.

“What are you going to do, Fallon? Kill me?” I cough out.

“Maybe!” She scream-cries in my face. Her disgusting weak tears splash down onto my face, filling me with annoyance.

“You don’t have the guts,” I snarl.

Her fingers squeeze tighter as I attempt to laugh in her face. Distracting her as my hand brushes over the area to my right, looking for anything I can use to fight her off.

I knew I should’ve grabbed the cast iron skillet, but Amber would have my fucking head if anything happened to that.

I’m about to give up my search, and resort to digging my fingers into her eyeballs when my hand grazes over something cool to the touch.

It’s metal, pointy, and has some weight to it. Good enough for me.

I grip the long shaft firmly in my palm, and stab the pronged end into her bicep.

Fallon screams, immediately releasing me.

Shocked, she looks at the BBQ fork shoved so far into her arm the tips of the prongs are visible on the other side.

I pull it out, cast-off splatter peppering the walls as I toss the utensil aside.

She stares unblinking at the seeping holes in her arm, and I take her distraction as an opportunity to reassess the situation.

However, as soon as I take a step closer to her, she takes off.

Retreating toward the front door, as I’m blocking her exit out the back.

Fallon manages to unlock the deadbolt, and get the door open a sliver, before I crash into it.

Slamming it shut right on her fingers. The crunch of breaking bones is immediately drowned out by her ear-piercing wail of agony.

Falling back against the hardwood, she takes in her crooked and mangled digits.

Her hyperventilating breaths wrack through the atmosphere as I turn to re-lock the door.

Amber has a key so it won’t keep anyone out, just keep the annoying one in here with me.

I turn from the door, back to Fallon cowering on the floor, but she’s gone.

Sweeping my gaze across the house, I catch a flicker of her foot slinking down the hall, and skulk toward it.

Slowly, it recedes into her bedroom, and a smirk pulls at my lips.

Such a stupid idea, cornering herself in a room with next to no escape.

But I wouldn’t expect anything else from the walking embodiment of purity.

I enter the bedroom, no longer concerned with silence.

Fallon turns on her heel, putting her hands up in surrender, cellphone gripped tightly in her fist. Ah, so that’s why she crawled in here.

Hoping to call for help. Unfortunately, the jammer won’t allow that to happen. “Summer! Stop! What are you doing?”

I encroach on her space, forcing her back toward the wall, away from the window.

“How can you be so smart, and yet, still so fucking dumb?” I taunt. “I can’t believe you still haven’t figured it out yet? All of our friends have either been killed or have disappeared…don’t you find it weird that Amber and I aren’t as freaked out as you? As Bridget and Savannah were? ”

Fallon lets out a small gasp, everything clicking into place. “Just let me go…please.”

“No can do, babe.” I quickly close the gap between us, swiping the Bigfoot statue off the bed. The furry, metal beast connects with her jaw, knocking her to the ground in a spray of red. Another hit knocks some of her teeth free as blood paints the walls.

Fallon doesn’t fight back. No screaming, no flailing, no tears, no nothing. The only sound to be heard is her laboured, gurgling breaths.

It’s about time the bitch shut up.

Of fucking course she’d fall onto the hardwood floor and not the bed. If she had, it would make this next part a hundred times easier.

Struggling with her unconscious dead weight is more embarrassing than annoying. Maybe I should just leave her here, Amber and lover-boy can deal with it. However, I know Amber will never let me live it down if she has to help me with another crime scene.

I stand straight, stretch out all my limbs, and amp myself up.

I’ll get this prude onto the bed, no matter what.

But this bitch is heavier than I expected, and the seconds are mounting while I make next to no progress.

All this huffing and puffing really isn’t worth it unless I’m naked.

Which would be weird given the situation.

Finally, I get her upper half on the bed.

Racing to the other side, I hope to grab her hands, and pull her the rest of the way up before she slides back down.

Unfortunately, Fallon starts to slowly slink to the floor, and I dive across the mattress toward her.

Wrapping my fingers tight around her wrists, I get to my feet on the mattress, using my weight as leverage to lift her onto the bed.

Thank fuck, it's working.

Something pops in my shoulder, and the muscles in my lower back burn from exertion, but I can’t stop, I’m so fucking close. My stance is wobbly, the spring mattress working against me as I stagger back, pulling the sleeping twat the last few inches.

If I throw my back out trying to lift her onto this bed, and not by getting thrown into some wild ass sex positions, while I’m getting choked out and my hair pulled, I’m going to be pissed.

Thinking about sex while trying to lift an unconscious—borderline dead—body…let’s add that to a list of things I will not be unpacking with my imaginary therapist.