There's someone in the house.

Adrenaline surges through me as I peak around the corner of the wall, creeping down the stairs on silent feet, trying to listen for any noise, for any indication where they are.

A thump echoes above me and I whip my head up, eyes wide.

They're upstairs.

I make my way to the stairs, knowing the layout of the house like the back of my hand, each corner on the wall, every doorway, where the furniture lies. The marks on the wall where we used to record our height.

My fingers run over the slight indents from the shoddy paint job trying to cover up the childhoods lived here.

I take the stairs one silent step at a time, palm running along the smooth banister, eyes on the door above me, the one that I know Savannah had made her own since her parents passing.

Music begins from the room, a slight humming beginning to accompany it and I will myself not to hum along to the familiar song, to keep silent.

I enter the room, glancing around the new furniture but it's all known to me, all I've been studying the last few weeks.

There was not one speck of this place that I hadn't looked over with a fine tooth comb. Every new piece of furniture, how many coats of paint had been applied to each wall. If it had been recorded, I knew of it.

Savannah had a routine after her shift at the diner on Wednesdays. Every night she would return home, cook herself a pasta dish and with a glass of wine in hand, she would take it upstairs, play her favourite song and soak in the tub.

She'd been doing the same since we were teenagers, minus the wine of course.

You would've thought that I'd be sick of the song, having heard nearly weekly from the age of thirteen. But I hadn't, in fact it had played in my dream numerous times as I'd imagined this scenario, perfected it.

I slip into her room, eyes slipping from one corner to the next to make sure that everything is where it should be.

It is.

I place my bag down carefully, sure to not make any noise or disrupt anything.

The bathroom door is ajar, Savannahs soft voice accompanying the notes of the song, hitting every low hum and high tune.

It was a skill of hers. Of course, if the girl had only had loyalty as one of her skill sets then I wouldn't be here.

But alas, she did not.

I push into the bathroom, walking in silently and clutching the kitchen knife tighter in my hand and then I creep closer.

It takes less than ten seconds for one hand to grasp her beautiful blonde locks in my hand and pull her head back, another five to position the knife and five more to slice it across her neck.

She doesn't have the time to scream fully before it's cut off.

I let go of her hair, watching her sink further into the tub with no strength to keep her upright.

Her gurgles are buried beneath the tunes of the song and I walk towards the player, turning it up just that slightest bit more and then I turn to my former best friend, finding those brown eyes of her on me, wide and fearful.

I smile, "Miss me, Savannah?"

She looks confused, hands trying to hold her throat closed but it won't do anything, she'll bleed out soon enough.

"You don't recognise me?"

I stalk closer and drop to a crouch beside the tub, forearms leant on the ceramic lip and tilt my head back at her.

She tries to lean back but the tub stops her from moving, the soap that she put in the water causing the ceramic to become a bit too slippery to be of much help to her.

"Let me give you a hint." I say slowly. "After you watched my boyfriend and his gang murder me, you helped them stage my body at the bottom of a bridge." I lean impossibly closer. "And then you claimed I jumped, even if the wounds weren't consistent with a jump." I raise a brow like she'll answer me but she's too busy trying to survive.

I tut and stalk out, grabbing my bag and bringing it back in with me before rummaging for the item I'd brought specially for this.

Holding it in my hands, I look back at her and notice the light leaving her eyes. "My sister loved to paint." I say slowly, staring blankly at the brush.

"Pai-" Savannah coughs out. "-sley."

I position the tip of the paint brush at her chest, lining it up with her heart.

When I look back at my former best friend, she finally recognises me.

"Pa-"

I stab the knife through her heart, silencing her forever.

"My sister was better than me. She would've walked away."

I walk back through the house in pitch darkness, wiping my blood stained hands on the fabric of my jeans, feeling the blood crust beneath my short nails.

I turn down the same hallway I'd stalked down before, knowing the house inside and out, after all, I'd practically grown up here.

Though it had changed in the decade I'd been gone but in the weeks I'd been back I'd had time to study the house, find the changes, and learn her routine.

Savannah thought she'd gotten rid of me, but all she'd done is push a girl to become a monster.

• • •

The bell dings above the door and I glance up, catching Detective Vincent Conway on his phone, yet he still manages to give me a smile in greeting.

I move to the machine, beginning to make a coffee, keeping the detective in the corner of my eye while he walks closer.

". . . Yeah, I'll be there soon." His voice trails off, "Send me the address."

He hangs up, eyes exhausted and on mine. "Mornin' Dani."

"Vincent." I say in greeting.

"Can I get a-"

I slide the coffee towards him, "flat white, oat milk, extra shot."

His smile is slow, "You've got it, Dani."

I smile back, and reach for the paper bag, "and a donut."

"Are you trying to make me fat?" He jokes but takes the paper bag and peaks inside.

"Just doing my job."

"And this is why I keep coming back." He says with a wink.

"Yeah sure." I laugh, and move to the till, Vincent following me to pay.

"So when are you going to let me take you on a date?"

"What's this, the third time you've asked?" I cock my hip against the counter, smiling back at him.

Sure he's cute, exactly the type of guy I would normally go for, but a detective? Not the best person to get involved with when my favourite hobbies include the very thing he's trained to hunt.

"Fourth, but who's counting." He lifts the coffee to his lips, taking a sip, eyes hooded with pleasure.

I did that. Well, my coffee did anyway and that's good enough.

"Not you." I lift my head towards the door, seeing another person walking past.

Vincent follows my gaze before dipping his chin in goodbye, "I should get going."

"A case?"

He nods, "turns out murderers don't just stop just because it's the weekend."

"Oh, if only."

I wave him off as he begins backing away, "see you tomorrow, Dani."

"And the next day and the next and the next." I muse.

He grins. "Turns out I have an obsession." He winks and lifts his coffee, "Call me a bastard but I blame you."

"Have a good day, Detective Conway." I laugh.