FOUR DAYS AFTER

Hello once again, Canterbury. I can see you.

"This is getting extremely bizarre," I mumbled, staring down at the burner. 'Death' was certainly an early bird. I always arrived at six-thirty in the morning sharp, an hour and a half before school started. It was six thirty-eight now, which was an ungodly time for most of the morons to even be awake. And if they, whoever they were, could see me...

I swivelled around, sneaking discreet glances at the rest of the hall. It was empty, as expected. 'Death' was obviously no fool. There was no way they would be hiding in plain sight, just waiting for my curious gaze to land upon them.

I see you looking for me, Canterbury. You won't find me.

Just as I had expected. I briefly considered typing out a quick reply to them, but I decided that letting them know exactly how I felt about their murder spree wasn't a very bright idea. Scoffing at what a living cliché they were would probably get me killed too.

Today, there'll be a special assembly in the hall. I'm the only one who knows about this. Some kind of grief counsellor's coming in, considering how everyone is so teary about Avery's death still. I don't understand why. She ruled this place with an iron fist; you'd think they'd be grateful she's gone now, but they aren't. They're actually upset over that pathetic queen bee.

No one appreciates what I do I tell you. NO ONE

Whatever

Im getting emotional

But Im okay Dont worry about me

'Death' was seemingly becoming increasingly erratic, their messages short and lacking more punctuation by the minute. I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to call the killer a therapist when another message rolled in, this one normal and grammatically correct once more. The storm appeared to have been calmed.

I've been waiting for this for a long time, Canterbury. I've been waiting for this moment. Today, there'll be fireworks, and they'll figuratively blow everyone up. I can't wait. Can you?

And hey, don't worry. I don't do mass killings.

Much love, Death.

I wondered how 'Death' knew we had an assembly when even I didn't, but I supposed they had more sources than the regular idiot. After all, most serial killers seemed to be well-equipped for any occasion---except, of course, when they were having a final showdown with the hero, who was always a skinny, blonde, white girl with a strong jock boyfriend. Perhaps that was another reason why I disliked crime dramas. They seemed horribly unrealistic.

I slipped the burner phone back into the side pocket of my khakis. This was no time to muse on bad murder mysteries. I was trapped smack in the middle of one, complete with dead best friend, police scrutiny, ominous text messages, and psychotic killer. I briefly contemplated searching up famous crime dramas when I got home to find out exactly what I was supposed to do, but I rapidly decided against it. Obviously, it would work differently in real life. Besides, I was smarter than any of those dumb final girls.

I pulled my precious textbooks from my locker---which, fortunately for me, seemed none the worse for wear from their short stint in the toilet stall---and quickly sorted out which I needed for the day's lessons. The best thing to do now was to pretend that nothing had happened in order to evade invoking "Death's" wrath.

"Well, well, look what the rat dragged in." I felt a blast of hot air whoosh over the fine hairs lining the top of my head, the sound of heavy, ragged breathing coming to my ears. I instantly froze, debating whether to turn around or pretend I'd never heard the person behind me. "Looks like you can't run away now, you little piece of shit."

I slowly turned, firmly digging my heels into the floor to keep my knees from shaking. "Hello, Nat," I greeted, keeping my voice as calm as possible and plastering my snootiest expression onto my face. It would do no good to show him that I was afraid. I tried my best not to look down at the clenched fist hanging by his side. What is he doing here? He usually comes to school late. There's no reason for him to be this early. "What can I do for you on this fine day?"

"For starters, you can stop being a goddamn snitch," he snarled. "You ruined my fucking business."

I gulped. "Really, you shouldn't swear so much. It's not a very becoming thing for a lady to curse," I hedged. Perhaps going the sarcasm route hadn't been my brightest idea. Nat's nostrils flared as he glared down on me, dwarfing my meager height by at least a foot. He drew his fist back, and I knew it was all over.

When my head slammed back into my locker, I wasn't sure if the ringing in my ears was from the metal making contact with my still-tender wound or the blow he'd delivered to my delicate ribs.

"Not...nice...to punch people who are...just trying to help...you..." I wheezed as Nat punched me in the chest again. His fist felt like it was made of solid iron. I finally understood why he'd come to school early. He'd been waiting for me---waiting to pounce, to carry out his undeserved revenge.

And then it hit me.

Hello once again, Canterbury. I can see you.

The killer had been strong. Extremely strong. Their silhouette had been tall and slim. Nat Evans was strong, tall, and slim. And he'd come to school early, ready to pounce. The pieces were rapidly flying together, a jigsaw puzzle forming in my mind.

Is Nat 'Death'?

"Help me? You could help me by keeping your fucking mouth shut!" The palm of his large hand shoved my shoulder back against metal with a harsh clang.

"Well, if you want to take drugs, I can't stop you. I'm just saying that you shouldn't supply to others. You'll be dragging them to Overdose County with you," I choked out.

"You think I wanna deal that stuff? You think I do it to appease the greed of my little black heart? Fuck off, Canterbury! You don't know shit about my life or my business. Don't stick your nose where it doesn't belong!" He landed a good hit on the side of my face. My head snapped to the left. I bit back a curse as my teeth chomped down on the edge of my tongue so hard they drew blood.

"Nathan, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Nathan?" I squawked at the same time that Nat turned around with a grumbled, "What is it, Lark?"

The chestnut-haired girl running up to him was both familiar and not. I recognised her as the one who'd been staring at me in English---the one with the hungry green eyes and the sequinned turquoise bag. "I need to talk to you for a moment." She completely ignored my presence, tapping on Nat's shoulder with a milk-white hand. Her nails were long and painted the same turquoise as the bag swinging by her side.

Nat shot me one last, hateful glare before pushing me back into the row of lockers and turning to the girl---Lark, he'd called her. "We'll finish this some other time, asshole," he growled. As he walked away with the girl, quiet snatches of their conversation drifted to my ears. Nat was angry, telling her not to call him by his full name in front of others, his voice raised. She replied with something I couldn't quite hear.

Nat's next words chilled me to the bone. His voice grew fainter as they headed down the corridor, but I heard enough to get the gist of what he was saying.

"We're having...assembly today...a grief counsellor or something like that..."

I'm the only one who knows about this.

I rubbed my aching face where Nat had punched me, shoving books inside my backpack with a shaky hand. A killer was baying for my blood, and I knew I wouldn't get off his murdering list alive.

☆☆☆

My left leg had gone numb.

It wasn't that I'd been sitting in the hall for so terribly long, it was simply just because the chair beneath my behind was hard as a rock. Sure enough, as 'Death' had predicted, we'd been herded into the hall around fourth period. I always chose the seat at the very end of the fourth row. The chair next to me was empty---another reminder that Ette was dead and buried. The thought was enough to bring unshed tears to the surface of my eyeballs.

"Anyone sitting here?"

For a moment, I saw electric blue hair and bright eyes dancing with mischief. My heart did a strange, aching twist in my chest. Then they were gone, replaced with strawberry-blonde locks and perfectly-tanned skin. Ezra Sawyer had arrived, and I realised my promise to go out (?) with him for coffee on Saturday still stood.

Without waiting for a reply, he slid into the untaken seat, his lean body slinking into the chair in one fluid movement. He was attractive, yes, in a graceful, Ette-like way. I could see myself starting up some sort of relationship with him in the future. I quickly reminded that I not only had no time to waste on dating---since I could spend that time on improving my already gifted brain---but Nat Evans was a murderer and I was definitely next on his list. What little energy I had to spare would have to be spent trying to evade him in an attempt to prolong my life.

I bestowed a stiff nod upon him. "Hello, Ezra."

"Why so cold today, Canterbury?" he chuckled, his voice light, but the way his teeth tugged at his bottom lip gave me a glimpse at his true feelings---he was anxious, and from the looks of it, terribly so.

I wondered why.

"Yesterday..." My voice trailed off. I didn't know what to say. Did I want to tell him that I couldn't make it on Saturday and spend the day cooped up in my room, caught in a blissful haze of ridiculously simple arithmetic? The answer was yes. Did I want to go out for coffee with Ezra Sawyer? The answer, unfortunately for me, was also yes. I wisely elected to keep my mouth shut---a rarity for me.

Principal Bell stepped up on stage, taking the podium and its accompanying microphone. "Last week, we lost one of our best students, Avery Lang," she said, her booming voice roaring out over the noise in the hall. A hush immediately descended over the crowd of chattering students. Some even started to cry, just at that sentence. I instantly tuned out Principal Bell's next words, scanning the curtains carefully for any sign of the supposedly metaphorical fireworks 'Death' had mentioned. One could never be too careful, after all.

"...and so I've called a renowned grief counsellor, Doctor Ian Jacobs, in to speak about loss and---"

"Stop!" The all-too-familiar voice was a shock to my high-strung nerves. I jumped in my seat with a startled, embarrassing yip that made Ezra look at me oddly. Brittany Yee stumbled onto stage from the steps at the side. Sweat beaded on her forehead, shiny under the auditorium lights. Her hair was unnaturally dishevelled, bangs half-covering her eyes and platinum-blonde curls sticking up in all directions. Her nose, crooked and caked with dried blood, was lacking its bandage. "I have something to say!"

"Brittany, what are you---" Principal Bell began, but Brittany snatched the microphone straight from her hand and lifted it to her gloss-slick lips. When she finally spoke, her voice was high and trembly.

"My name is Brittany Yee," she practically whispered. A few boos and yells echoed from the audience. "I used to be the second-in-command Liar. Avery Lang was my superior, my best friend, and..." She lifted a manicured hand to yank harshly at the gold hoop earring in her ear. When Principal Bell approached, she scuttled away, moving further each time. "And my lover. She was my lover."

Her speech grew more rapid, words slurring as they tumbled from her mouth in a rising crescendo. "I loved her. She loved me back. But we couldn't be together. I had a boyfriend, and she wanted to keep our relationship a secret. I couldn't take it anymore." Sweat ran down her face in heavy rivulets, stains of black mascara flooding her cheeks. "I didn't want to be a secret. I didn't want to keep pretending we weren't something we were."

"Brittany, give me the microphone back and get off the stage," Principal Bell ordered.

Brittany shook her head, backing away even more. "I loved her. I was crazy for her. I wanted her, but I couldn't really have her." She took a deep breath and shouted, "SO I KILLED HER!"

Behind me, I heard someone whisper, "Now die." My head whipped around, but the only people there were a few morons I didn't know, their eyes fixed on the stage.

A gasp echoed around the hall. My gaze swivelled back to the stage. Brittany had collapsed, slumping in a heap of platinum-blonde hair and expensive skirts. As if one, the whole crowd stood up at the same time and rushed over to her---even though she'd been disgraced. My curiousity carried me in the same direction as the tidal wave of people, making my way to the front and standing on my tiptoes to see what was going on.

Principal Bell was the first one at her side, untangling her head from her limbs and lifting her limp shoulders. When her bangs fell to the side, Brittany's forehead was stained with ebony, and her still-open eyes were pure black. Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, and her complexion had rapidly turned ashen.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that she wasn't breathing anymore.

The burner phone in my pocket vibrated against my thigh, and I knew I'd just witnessed "Death's" fireworks.