There was something different about today.

Perhaps it was the fear that ran through me, making me fidget and jumpy as I watch Jasper walk towards Jasmine's house. It was late in the morning when we decided it won't be such a bother anymore for the old woman. He walked lightly, as if the events of the morning didn't bother him.

I, on the other hand, kept glancing around. Whoever this was knew where I lived and even managed to get open my window without me noticing it. I was terrified. I imagine a shadow of a figure watching me while I slept. I shiver as we reach the front steps of the house.

He rings the doorbell and finally glances my way. He hasn't looked at me since this morning and maybe that was one other thing that kept bothering me. Was he afraid too? If he was, I could see no trace of it in his eyes or his expression. He just seemed really exhausted. I could not blame him, though. He started this chase, this sick game, long before I even became one of the players. He stares at me, but I feel at ease with this. As if his eyes were enough to tell me everything would be okay, but somehow, I could not leave out this nagging feeling gnawing at me from the darkest parts of my mind. Something was wrong. But what?

Jasper get's impatient waiting by the door. He had rung it three times. Even Mrs. Bradshaw won't take that long to answer. Instead of retreating, he goes around back. I follow him silently, slightly fearing what he might do. When we reach the back door, he takes a key from under one of the potted plants and turns to wink at me. I am not surprised. Pretty sure he visited this house often when he and Jasmine hanged out.

I hear the lock click and we step inside.

"Mrs. Bradshaw?" Jasper calls out, his voice is gentle, and I wonder how he can control it that well. We walk down the hall and into the living room.

"Odd, she never leaves the house except Wednesdays, right?" he asks, and I give him a soft nod. Something about this doesn't feel right. When we search the first floor and find nothing, save for rotting apples by the table, we head upstairs.

I instinctively latch on to him. Gripping his arms like a scared child. I could feel his muscles under neat his shirt, flex under my grip and I wonder if me touching him had the same effect I had when I touched him. When we reach the top floor, he goes to Jasmine's room.

The flowers were no longer on the table. Mrs. Bradshaw might have thrown them out already. But dead petals still littered the floor, making my skin crawl.

"Mrs. Bradshaw?" Jasper calls out again and I am suddenly hearing the frantic beat of my own heart. I could tell by how tense Jasper was, he felt the same way. When we stand outside Mrs. Bradshaw's bedroom, he looks at me. Eyes reassuring and affirming, before his hands grab the handle and turn.

At first, I think she is sleeping. But she does not stir when we enter the room, nor does her chest go up and down like a normal person's would when they got air into their lungs. I stifle a cry. Jasper holds me close to him. His hand anchoring me in place as he fishes out his cellphone to call his uncle, probably. And paramedics, to see what happened to her. But we both know what happened.

I let myself cry on his shoulder as we wait outside the hall. I could hear the sirens from a distance, but all my mind would see was the dead bouquet of roses on Mrs. Bradshaw's chest.

--

Life had a funny way of playing out. When Jasmine disappeared, I had become a suspect, and so was the beautiful green-eyed boy in front of me. Now, the only living family of the girl was found dead. By no other than the two of us.

I stopped crying when the police came and asked us for our statements. And now, as we sit side by side at the police station, I didn't even feel like crying anymore. Instead, I felt like getting angry. Shouting at them to find my best friend. But what good would that do? It'll only make things worse. And I don't think I can handle anything worse.

The Sheriff steps out of his office and heads over to us. He looks at Jasper the way a father would, after scolding his son way too many times.

"She died of natural causes," he explains to us and I look up at him, not wanting to believe it but hoping I didn't look guilty because of it. Jasper remains quiet. He doesn't even look at the sheriff. He gives us both a shake of his head, and a deep sigh.

"You children have had enough trouble for a lifetime, go home and get some rest," he says.

"What about the funeral?"

"It's being taken care of, she had prepared for it," he explains to me as he walks away. At first, I think Mrs. Bradshaw, but then I knew it had been Jasmine. She was always telling me how afraid she was of finding her grandma dead the next morning. I wish I could cry for her, but I can't now. She was somewhere out there being held captive and now her grandma just passed away. She won't even be able to attend the funeral.

Jasper takes my hand in his and I do not jump at the intrusion. His hands felt safe, and reassuring. I hold on to them like a life line.

"What are we going to do?" I ask him, my voice weak and small.

"We make sure Jasmine gets to attend her grandmother's funeral," he answers, and I nod softly. Of course. We were both playing now. Him and I. Players of a very dangerous game.

--

When we get to the field were Jasmine's usually sprouted, it was empty. No flowers sprouted yet, but the soil was good, and Jasmine's would blossom here soon. We took Jasper's motorbike because it could get us here faster and he, nor I, didn't want to be inside a car right now.

We walk down the field, watching birds fly and animals frolicking around. I could smile at the wonder of this place, if it wasn't somewhere, I would most likely find my best friend's body.

There were houses by the borders and an old man met us as we approached.

"You young folks seem to be finding more and more places to hide from your parents," he says this, and something sparks up inside me. That could mean he saw something, or someone like us in these fields.

"Just don't get your girl pregnant, I tell you, you don't want a child in your age," he laughs, and I feel awkward and conscious. Teens like us go here to have sex? They are talking when my phone rings and I answer almost immediately.

"Nathan?"

"Hey, love, how are you? You off to somewhere?" he ask's, and I look around, feeling like he was actually watching me right now.

"Yeah, I'm somewhere up north, a field- it's really pretty," I say, and he laughs at this then I hear the distinct sound again. Muffled voices and something like banging on a wall. My heart does a flip.

"Where are you?" I ask, and then there that classical music again. Where they still in his rest house?

"Me and the boys are going to go somewhere tonight, grab some beer and all that," he says, although his voice seemed strained.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, baby. I'm alright. What about you? It's cold today. You didn't bring a jacket," he says and something cold runs down my spine.

"What?" How did he know? Was he watching me? I turn around, but all I could see for miles was Jasper and the man, talking.

"I'm asking if you brought a Jacket," he says but I don't answer him as Jasper turns to look at me and motions me to follow.

"I- I didn't," I reply before, "I have to go, there's a tour of some kind. I want to see the animals." I end the call before following Jasper who was being led by the man towards an old looking barn.

"Where are we going?" I ask, making sure my voice was low enough so that only Jasper could hear me. He glances at me sideways over his shoulder and there is something about the way he looked at me that made my stomach flip. In a good, exciting yet dangerous way.

I don't ask him anything else.

When we get to the barn the man opens the door to the barn and I don't step in, afraid of what I might find. Then I hear the man's voice echoing inside.

"Most of the people who come here are virgins, or with virgins, or drunk or high," then he glances towards our direction, specifically at me, "I think I've seen you around here before."

I stare at him, surprised. I don't remember being here. Well, I don't remember most of the nights before I met Jasmine. I could feel Jasper's eyes on me and I stare at a spot on the barn's wooden walls. If I did come here once, in my life, I am pretty sure I did what this old man is think me and Jasper would be doing. Heat rises to my face and I cannot stand to be under his stare any longer, so I turn to him, raising an eyebrow as if in a dare. He smiles, a mysterious glint in his eyes and I sigh in frustration. That old man should have kept things like that himself.

The barn was well kept, with a few boards missing letting in a good amount of light for me to notice someone had placed a mattress in here along with a blanket and more cloths. What was this place? I would laugh, if it didn't feel so familiar. Have I been here before? I walk towards the bed where a few melted candle wax scatters around it and head towards the far end where a single chair laid. Something about it seemed off.

I turn to sit at it and from where I was, I had a clear view of the outside through a small hole in the wall. I could see the exact spot where I had been standing a while ago when Nathan called me. Something rushes inside me and I find it hard to breathe for a moment.

"I'll leave you guys here, although you guys are the first ones to actually ask permission to use this place," he chuckles before leaving me and Jasper in this made up love shack.

I could not look away from where I sat. It was only when Jasper laid a firm hand on my shoulder that I turned my attention to him.

"Something wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," he says, and I want to tell him about Nathan and the phone call. But it would seem weird that I was suspecting my boyfriend of something when I am the one going to strange places with Jasper. I shake my head at him and gather my thoughts. It's obviously a coincidence. I'm just being paranoid. I stand as Jasper wanders around the barn but my eye catches something stuck between two wooden boards from where the chair was.

I pick it up, and notice that it was freshly cut. Violets. Attached to it was a simple note. When I open it, I nearly knock of the chair as I stumble back, dropping the paper on the ground. The words still clear as day from where I stood. Mocking me.

I see you.