𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕚𝕧𝕖

𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔, 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 — 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐬𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐞

"I happen to know for a fact that you don't have a boyfriend."

Billy was grinning through the phone as he watched you pace anxiously through the kitchen window. He'd been watching you all evening from a safe distance, crouched down low in the tall dead grass that encased the house. From there, he could see everything.

He saw every flinch you made, every time your bottom lip fluttered nervously at his words. Every yelp and stutter that passed through your lips. He saw it all and he saw it while remaining completely hidden. It was just the way he liked it.

They'd been practicing for weeks: scripting phone calls, building up their arsenal of weapons, crafting the perfect alibi. It'd been easy to get his hands on the knives. Child's play, even. Billy even bothered to cop a pistol from the safe in his dad's basement a few nights back. But he had no intention of ever using it unless things went bad really quick.

Now it was the opening night of their performance and somehow the two of them combined managed to overlook one teeny-tiny, critically important detail.

You slept over at Casey Backer's house every first Saturday of the month.

Billy was too stubborn to fall back onto the drawing board. They could work with this, he convinced himself when he first saw you parading through the house wearing the cutest pair of pajamas he had ever seen. They only needed to tiptoe around you a little bit. A few alterations to the plan, that's all.

Earlier that night, Billy spied through the windows, chewing on his bottom lip as you twirled around the granite kitchen countertop, talking to him on the phone without a single care in the world. God, there was something about how effortlessly angelic you were that made him want to drop the phone and crawl up through that window just so he could feel you in his arms.

But he didn't. He couldn't. It was too costly. Besides, the ball was already rolling. He'd get his hands on you one way or another. Even if it took a little longer than he had in mind.

Stu was stationed in the backyard somewhere between the treeline and the poolhouse. That's where they stashed the body of Steve, who they killed pretty quickly into the night due to excessive whining and ugly sobbing. For the sake of both their dignities, he got a knife to the throat.

And Billy was right. Gutting people felt amazing. Like getting high but his mind was as clear as day and the rush is twice as powerful. He never felt more in control. More like a god.

Billy never really understood addiction. The weed didn't stick and neither did the cigarettes that he used to bum from his dad's bureau when he was fifteen. But he knew somehow that he could get addicted to ending people's lives, blissfully unaware that he already was.

Stu called dibs on killing Casey, using the same knife that he had just plunged into her boyfriend's gullet. It went without saying that you were off limits tonight.

Billy felt like a lion, eyes narrow and steady as he watched you pace back and forth. Casey was standing a little ways behind you, biting her nails and looking out the sliding glass door every so often. Maybe she'd caught a glimpse of Stu lurking there. Or maybe it was just the paranoia creeping in. Either way, he loved watching people squirm.

All of a sudden, you drew the blocky landline back up to your ear, parting your lips and blinking your wild eyes rapidly."Yes, I do!" You insisted, your voice deliciously shaken through the phone. "I do too have a boyfriend. His name is..."