The air was thick with grief, a blanket woven from the collective mourning of the crowd gathered in the stadium's stands. I sat next to Hazell, my twin, the other half of a dark secret we shared, as we honored Thomas's memory at his memorial college football match. The weight of his absence pressed down on us all, but for me, it was a leaden shroud heavy with guilt and remorse.

"Damn," I heard Hazell mutter beside me, but his voice sounded distant, swallowed up by the thick blackness that enveloped us.

I could feel my pulse racing, thudding against my temples with such ferocity that it threatened to burst forth. My hands fumbled for something, anything to ground myself, but they grasped only the cool evening air. The weight of unseen eyes felt heavy upon me, probing, accusing. I fought to steady my breathing, to calm the rising tide of panic within, yet every shuffling movement around me seemed to whisper Thomas's name.

"Hey, easy, Ez," Hazell's voice cut through the stillness, his touch light on my shoulder. "It's just a power outage."

"Just a power outage," I repeated, trying to believe it and ignore the gnawing suspicion that this darkness was an omen, a harbinger of truths clawing their way into the light. With each passing second, the pitch-black stadium became a canvas for my fears, painting scenes of retribution and exposure in stark, unforgiving strokes.

"Should've paid the electric bill," someone joked nearby, a forced laugh trailing into uncertain silence. But there was no laughter in me—only the relentless drumbeat of anxiety, echoing the rhythm of my heart as I stood blind and vulnerable in the dark, waiting for the world to see.

A hesitant flicker teased the edges of the stadium, a precursor to the emergence of a dim, otherworldly glow. The emergency lights stuttered into life, washing over the bleachers and field with an unnatural pallor. Shadows stretched and twisted, transforming friends and strangers alike into gaunt specters of mourning. I squinted against the sudden contrast, my eyes tracing the outlines of figures huddled together for comfort or standing solitary in their grief.

"Looks like we're not completely dark after all," I murmured, but the relief that should have accompanied the light was curiously absent. Instead, the sparse illumination only seemed to deepen the sense of foreboding that clung to my skin like a second layer.

The crowd's restlessness shifted, a murmur rippling through the stands as attention was drawn upward. Banners unfurled from the rafters with a silent, accusing grace—a stark proclamation scrawled in letters that bled across the fabric: 'Friends Don't Keep Secrets.'

My breath caught, hitching painfully in my chest. There, in the half-light that turned everything it touched into a macabre tableau, the message hung heavy with intent. It was like a noose, tightening around the fragile facade I'd constructed, threatening to unravel me before this sea of onlookers.

"Who would do this?" I heard someone whisper. Their voice was tinged with a fear that mirrored my own.

"Probably just some sick joke," another replied, unconvincing even to themselves.

But it didn't feel like a joke, not with Thomas's absence, a gaping wound among us, or the guilt that gnawed at the edges of my conscience. Someone out there knew—or thought they knew—the monster that lurked beneath my skin. As the banners swayed gently in the evening breeze, I couldn't help but wonder if the darkness had ever indeed lifted or if it had simply changed form, waiting to consume us once more.

A shiver crept up my spine, a silent specter whispering truths I dared not face. My heart was a drumbeat of panic, pounding out an erratic rhythm that threatened to betray the calm I struggled to maintain. The words loomed over us, stark against the gloom, and I could feel the weight of every pair of eyes in the stadium, their gazes heavy with unspoken questions.

"Quite the spectacle, isn't it?" Hazell's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts, calm and detached. He stood beside me, his posture relaxed as if he were merely a spectator at an elaborate performance rather than the subject of an ominous accusation.

The difference between us was like night and day; where shadows clung to me, ready to pull me under, he seemed to stand in a sanctuary of indifference. I envied him then, the ease with which he shrugged off the gravity of the situation, all while my anxiety clawed at the inside of my skull, seeking an escape I couldn't provide.

I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to look around, to search for the one who had cast this net of dread over what should have been a sad tribute. My fingers twitched involuntarily, physically manifesting the turmoil I felt, each beat of my heart echoing the threat.

"Let them watch," Hazell said with a half-smirk, reading the unease in my eyes as quickly as one might read the headlines of a morning paper. His nonchalance was a fortress, impenetrable and unwavering.

But for me, every shadow now held a watcher, every whisper a potential accusation. The banners hung like guillotines, ready to sever the thin thread of composure I clung to. And within the depths of my being, in that place where fear and guilt intermingled, I knew that the darkness had always been there—lurking, waiting. It had just chosen this moment to reveal itself.

I rubbed my arms to soothe the chills that weren't just from the cold. "Hazell," I murmured, keeping my voice low, "This isn't just some sick joke. Someone knows—"

"Knows what, Ez?" His eyes were on me now, a challenge lurking in their depths. "That you're too easy to rattle?"

"Those banners..." I glanced at them again, feeling like the words were attached to my bones. "They're a threat."

"Or a bluff." Hazell leaned back, his posture relaxed as if we were discussing the weather, not an accusation hanging over our heads. "Who'd be gutsy enough to pull this during a memorial match?"

"Someone who wants to scare us," I said, the truth heavy on my tongue.

"Relax." Hazell's tone was dismissive, but his gaze was sharp, scanning the crowd. "Even if it's not a prank, they've got nothing on us."

"Nothing on you, you mean." The words slipped out before I could stop them, a whisper of the divide between us.

"Same difference," he replied with a shrug, but there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Let's just watch the game, huh?"

"Right, the game." I focused on the field, where players moved like specters beneath the dim emergency lighting. But the thrill of the match had evaporated, replaced by a suspicion that turned my stomach into knots.

"Besides," Hazell added, a sliver of a smile playing on his lips, "if someone's watching, let's give them a good show."

I nodded, but my heart wasn't in it. A good show felt like a lie, and lies were getting more challenging to live with daily.

Sebastian sauntered up the metal steps of the bleachers, his sneakers squeaking faintly with each step. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty field, painting everything in muted gold. He held a greasy paper bag in one hand, the smell of grilled hot dogs wafting into the crisp autumn air. His lopsided grin was a poor match for the tension etched across the others' faces.

"Whoever this sorry piece of shit is, is definitely going to land their ass in jail. Also, the girls couldn't decide if they wanted a hot dog or not, so I got you four," Sebastian joked, his voice cutting through the silence.

"I'm hitting the Lou," Hazell abruptly declared. I hoped this trip wouldn't turn out differently than the last one.

Verma and Liza barely acknowledged him as the crowd's roar rose to a crescendo, eyes glued to the football field. I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something wasn't right. I turned my head, searching for Hazell, to no avail. I looked at the people around me, all beaming joyfully. It was beautiful to see, so pure and untainted by any trace of malice. But that was gone too quickly when I realized that Hazell hadn't returned yet. Instinctively, I pushed away from the stands and bolted towards the restroom at the back of the bleachers. My mind was racing with possibilities, none of which were good.

Every atom of me wanted to chase after him, to make sure he was okay, but I knew it was an impossible request. Instead, I watched his retreating figure until it disappeared around the corner, unable to decipher what lay beyond those dark eyes of his. I interrupted my thoughts as Sebastian cracked a joke–a much-needed reprieve from this painful silence.

Verma and Liza cheered joyfully as they scored another touchdown. They did not know what we had just experienced. Despite the heaviness in my heart, I couldn't help but smile. But then Hazell hadn't returned yet. I was feeling a deep dread.

A sudden urge surged, and I shot up from my seat. The thunderous roars of the crowd seemed to drown out all hope as I spoke, but I couldn't focus on that now. I darted against the tide of people overflowing around me, desperately searching for a glimpse of my brother.

I glanced around for Hazell, but he was nowhere to be seen. I knew he had yet to go as far as we had just arrived. Maybe he's still in the restroom. I rushed towards the back of the bleachers where the bathrooms were located. As I ran, I couldn't help but feel dread weighing me down. What if something happened to him?

When I reached the bathroom, I was out of breath and practically trembling with fear. I knocked on the door and almost screamed, my voice croaking. "Hazell?!"

Where could he have possibly gone? I backed away from the door, not wanting to consider the many possibilities that crossed my mind.

As I went to the door, dread unfurled in my heart as a stream of maroon streaked under the doorway. Please don't let it be what I think it is, I pleaded silently.

With a deep breath, I opened the door and stepped inside. The first thing that hit me was an indescribable scent of copper and dirt that sent shivers down my spine. My gaze traveled across the room until it fell upon Hazell, standing over a body surrounded by a pool of blood. A wrench still clenched in his hand. I gagged as reality crashed into me like a tidal wave.

"Hazell," I choked out, "For the love of God."

He only grinned in reply and asked, "Hey, who's winning?" I grabbed him by the arm without another thought. Wild cheers greeted us as we left, with our team emerging victorious - though he struggled to break free from my grip.

I refused to let go until we reached our car, threw Claire's body in the back of the trunk, and got inside. It wasn't until then that I remembered why I was so angry.

"Did you know Thomas was two-timing Verma with Claire?" Hazell spat.

Yes.

I grumbled and didn't take my eyes off the road. "Is that why you killed her?"

Hazell paused for a moment before responding. "Not really. I had already decided on that before discovering the affair... I did her a favor. That way, we can reunite her with Thomas."

His words reverberated in the car like thunder echoing across the night sky. I slammed the brakes sharply, pushing them both forward against our seats.

"Wow, Ez! Be careful!" said Hazell with a hint of terror in his voice, the realization of their situation dawning upon him.

I turned to look at him and spoke solemnly. "Or what? We might die?" That wouldn't be the worst thing to happen.

The moon illuminated the night sky, only to be disturbed by a slam of a car's trunk. A quiet roar of the river and the wild cricket symphony were the only things that accompanied Hazell and me—as we arrived near its edge.

Hazell quickly put on the clean clothes I had given him while I stood still, looking to the sky for answers or comfort.

"So," Hazell started as he threw the stained apparel to the roaring waters of the river to hide them from our father, "the dirty ones go to the river? Very smart, Ez."

My body trembled with frustration. After all those years of trying to look away from my twin brother's actions, I finally couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm tired of this bullshit of yours!" I yelled over the sound of water crashing against sharp rocks. "Why do you kill people, Hazell? Why not just leave them be?"

A sinister smirk formed on Hazell's face as he answered calmly, "It's fun."

"You're sick," I spat out. "You need help."

Hazell just shrugged, unfazed by my anger. "Maybe. But you know what they say. Blood is thicker than water. You'll always be there for me, won't you?"

I gritted my teeth, knowing Hazell was manipulating me, trying to turn my guilt and love against me. I could feel myself getting angrier by the second, my hands shaking with rage.

My stomach churned at his words, and I wanted to punch that smirk off his smug face. But deep down, I knew he was right—no matter how much he hurt others, I would still love him.