CHAPTER THREE
SMOOTHLY

     IT was nearing two in the morning when Rafe Cameron heard it: the creak of a door opening from somewhere downstairs.

     He sat up abruptly, his chest tightening as he listened to the faint sound echo through the stillness of Tannyhill. His room was dark, save for the faint glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, casting ghostly patterns on the walls. Furrowed brows hovered over tired, bloodshot eyes as he stared at his bedroom door in confusion.

     It had been a few weeks since Rose's murder, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Tannyhill was theirs again. The house no longer felt like a crime scene, but the lingering weight of her absence hung heavy in every room, every shadow.

     What the hell?

     He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cool hardwood floor. Wheezie, wasn't home—she was spending the weekend at a friend's house—and he couldn't think of a logical reason for his father to be up at this hour.

     Sliding open his bedside drawer, he retrieved the knife he'd bought after the murder of his stepmother. He didn't bother with the lights; better to have the element of surprise. The air in the hallway felt colder than it should have been, and every creak of the floorboards beneath his feet seemed to echo unnaturally loud.

     Descending the grand staircase, he kept to the edges of the steps where the wood was less likely to groan under his weight. His heart thumped in his chest as he reached the ground floor, his grip tightening around the knife handle.

     The kitchen light was on, casting a warm glow into the otherwise dark living room. A shadow moved across the threshold, stopping Rafe in his tracks.

     "Hello?" He called out, his voice steady despite the unease creeping up his spine.

     No response.

     He edged closer to the kitchen, pressing his back against the wall. Slowly, he peeked around the corner—and froze.

     Ward Cameron was tied to one of the wooden kitchen chairs, his arms and legs bound tightly with rope. A rag was stuffed into his mouth, muffling his attempts to speak. Ward's eyes, wide with panic, locked onto Rafe's, silently begging for help.

     "What the f—" He started, stepping fully into the room.

     The air smelled faintly of sweat and something metallic. His gaze darted around the kitchen, searching for any sign of who had done this.

     "Hang on, Dad, I'll—"

     Before he could finish, a sharp blow struck the back of his head. Pain exploded through his skull as his vision blurred and darkened. He staggered, the knife slipping from his fingers as the ground seemed to tilt beneath him.

     The last thing he saw before everything went black was his father's muffled scream.

...

     Rafe woke to the dull throb of pain in his head and the uncomfortable sensation of something digging into his wrists. He groaned, blinking against the harsh light of the kitchen.

     As his vision cleared, the reality of his situation set in. He was tied up, his arms bound behind the chair he was sitting on, his ankles lashed to its legs. Panic surged as he tugged at the restraints, but the ropes only bit deeper into his skin.

     Across from him, Ward was still tied up, his breathing ragged and labored.

     "What the hell is going on?" He demanded, his voice hoarse.

     He glanced around the room and felt his stomach drop. Standing a few feet away were two figures dressed in identical Ghostface costumes. The masks' black eyes and gaping mouths stared back at him, cold and unfeeling.

     "You think this is funny?" He spat, his voice rising with anger. "Untie me, you freaks!"

     The taller figure tilted their head, almost curiously, but neither of them spoke.

     "Do you realize who you're fuckin' with right now?" Rafe growled, his voice cracking. "You think you can just come in here and pull this shit? You're dead! Do you hear me? I'll fucking kill you!"

     Still, the figures remained silent.

     His frustration boiled over into rage. He thrashed against the ropes, his muscles straining, but the chair barely moved. His breath came in short, sharp bursts as he glared at the masked intruders.

     Then the taller one stepped forward, holding a large hunting knife.

     "Wait—" he started, but his words caught in his throat as the figure approached Ward instead.

     "No! No, stop!" Rafe screamed, his voice booming through the once homely mansion. "Leave him alone! You want someone? Take me, you cowards!"

     The shorter figure moved to hold Ward in place, though the older man's bindings made resistance impossible. The knife flashed in the kitchen light before plunging into his chest.

     Rafe screamed, his voice raw and desperate. He watched in horror as the blade sank in again and again, his father's struggles growing weaker with each thrust. Blood seeped from the wounds, pooling on the kitchen floor.

     "Dad!"

     Ward's head slumped forward, his body going completely limp as blood began to seep through his shirt.

     Tears burned Rafe's eyes as he looked away, his entire body shaking with pure rage. "You motherfuckers," he hissed through gritted teeth. "You're gonna pay for this. I swear to God—"

     He didn't see the knife coming until it was too late.

     The shorter figure turned toward him, blood dripping from the blade as they took it from the taller one's hands. The restrained man's heart pounded as the masked figure took slow, deliberate steps in his direction.

     "Don't," he demanded, his voice far more aggressive than before. "Let me go!"

     The taller figure tilted their head again, as if considering his words, but no mercy came.

     The first slash came across his chest, sharp and searing. He yelled out, jerking against his restraints, but the second cut came swiftly, followed by a third. Blood poured from the wounds, soaking his shirt as his vision began to blur.

     The last thing he saw before darkness claimed him was the hollow, black eyes of the mask.

...

     The sun hung high above the waves, its golden light glittering off the endless blue expanse of the ocean. The air was warm, the breeze salty and refreshing, and the sound of crashing waves was interspersed with laughter. It was a perfect day on the beach, the kind of day that felt like it was made for forgetting the rest of the world.

     JJ Maybank leaned back in the sand, his blonde hair damp from his earlier swim and clinging to his forehead. He held a beer loosely in one hand, watching as Jordyn sprinted toward the water with her surfboard under her arm. She threw a grin over her shoulder, her dark hair catching the sunlight, and he couldn't help but smile back.

     "She's getting better," Pope remarked, nudging him with his foot as he lounged beside him.

     "She's a natural," he replied, taking a swig of his beer. "She'd out-surf you in no time if she cared enough to try."

     Pope rolled his eyes but didn't argue. A few yards away, Kiara was sifting through a cooler, handing out drinks and snacks with her usual flair of efficiency. The four of them had made a habit of these beach days lately—a temporary escape from the unsettling news that had gripped Kildare over the past few weeks.

     Jordyn caught the next wave with a bit of a wobble but managed to stay upright, whooping as she rode it toward the shore. JJ watched her with pride, his fingers twitching with the urge to join her.

     "Where's the peanut butter pretzels?" Kiara called, digging deeper into the cooler.

     "Probably buried under your five bags of trail mix," their academic friend quipped, earning a playful glare from her.

     JJ's grin widened as Jordyn jogged back to them, her surfboard trailing behind her. She plopped down beside him, her cheeks flushed from exertion. "You're up next," she teased, poking him in the side.

     "Yeah, yeah," he chuckled, leaning in to kiss her temple. "You're just trying to make me look bad."

     "Don't need to try," she shot back, smirking.

     Kiara finally unearthed the pretzels and sat cross-legged in the sand, her usual sunny disposition dimming as she glanced at the rest of the group. She bit her lip, her gaze shifting between Pope and the water.

     "You guys have been keeping up with the news, right?" She asked cautiously, her tone far more serious than it had been all day.

     The couple exchanged a subtle glance, but neither of them spoke.

     "About Rafe and Ward?" Pope said, sitting up straighter.

     The curly haired girl nodded, her brow furrowed. "It's just... It's crazy, right? I mean, first Rose, and now them? And they were murdered in their own house. Like, what kind of psycho would break into Tannyhill twice in less than two months?"

     Jordyn leaned back on her hands, her expression carefully neutral as she listened. JJ felt the tension in her posture but kept his own demeanor relaxed.

     "The cops think it's some kind of serial killer," Pope added with a thoughtful nod. "They think someone finally ended up having enough of the Cameron's bullshit."

     Kiara shook her head, her discomfort evident. "I don't know. It feels too close, you know? Like, Kildare isn't supposed to be this... dark. This violent. Especially so close to.." She glanced over at her friends, allowing the sentence to drift before moving her gaze to the ocean, her unease clear in the way she fidgeted with the hem of her cover-up. "Rafe and Ward might've been assholes, but they didn't deserve that. Prison, yeah, but getting murdered in their own home?"

     JJ didn't flinch at the mention of their names, though he felt Jordyn's knee press against his. She was waiting, sensing if she needed to step in, but he gave her a subtle shake of his head.

     "Let's not ruin the day with all that," the blond said casually, taking another sip of his beer. "The cops'll figure it out eventually. Until then, we're safe, right?"

     "Yeah," the other boy agreed, though his tone lacked conviction. Kiara didn't seem convinced either, but she let the subject drop as he gestured toward a massive wave forming in the distance. "Yo, that one's all you, Kie. Go show 'em how it's done."

     Grateful for the distraction, she grabbed her board and jogged toward the surf. Pope followed close behind, ready to try his luck with the wave as well.

     Left alone, JJ leaned closer to Jordyn, his voice low. "Wonder who'd possibly wanna target the Cameron's..."

     Jordyn smirked, tilting her head so only he could hear her. "No clue. Don't think we'll ever find out, really. The cops are still playing catch-up."

     "Two steps behind, as usual," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his tone.

     He turned his attention back to the water, watching as Kiara and Pope paddled out to meet the wave. The sound of their laughter carried over the breeze, but his focus was elsewhere.

     Jordyn reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. Together, they sat in silence, their knowing smirks fading into something darker.

     The sun shone down on them, and the world seemed perfect on the surface. But beneath that perfect day, secrets churned like the restless waves of the ocean that took the only family they'd ever known.

—b speaks!

happy thanksgiving to those who celebrate it!