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𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗥𝗧𝗬 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒆
◟ ◞
・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・
Kyla walked along the runway with Rafe and Tara by her side, the soft wind blowing her hair back. "It's such a beautiful day," Tara commented, looking around with a grin on her face.
"It is," Rafe agreed before he took Kyla's hand in his, sending her a loving smile. "And you're such a beautiful girl, Ky," he complimented, making Kyla blush.
"Ugh, get a room, you two," Tara teased in a joking tone.
Kyla let out a giggle as they continued to walk down the runway, the sun shining brightly on them. "So, why'd you guys take me here?" Kyla asked as her hand swayed with Rafe's, back and forth.
"We wanted to have some fun," Tara told her with a smile before she looked at Rafe, who nodded in agreement.
They then reached a plane that Kyla hadn't even noticed was there until they reached it. She examined it, thinking that they were going on some type of vacation before she felt something else in her hand that wasn't Rafe's hand.
She looked down, seeing that it was a gun. Her eyes widened and she looked up at Rafe and Tara, who now had bloody noses and bruised faces. "Oh, my God, what happened?" Kyla questioned in concern and worry.
"This is your fault, Kyla," Tara said slowly with a scary smile on her face before she grabbed onto Rafe's hand.
"You murdered Peterkin," Rafe told her, inching in closer to Tara. "This is all your fault."
"Wh — What?" Kyla breathed out in confusion. "No, I didn't," she told them, shaking her head rapidly in fear.
"Yes. You did," Tara replied before she pointed behind Kyla.
Kyla slowly looked over her shoulder before she saw Sheriff Peterkin, bleeding out on the ground. She gasped, quickly dropping to her knees to help her. "Who did this to you? I'll call the police!" Kyla exclaimed, forgetting the gun was in her hand for a moment.
Sheriff Peterkin slowly brought her hand up, extending a finger towards Kyla. "Y-You...did...this," she forced out before her hand dropped to the floor, her eyes drooping.
"No, I-I," Kyla stammered before she looked down at her hand, her finger pressed up against the trigger. She then felt something wet on her face so she brought a hand up and touched it before she brought it back down, seeing that it was blood.
Kyla let out a shaky gasp, dropping the gun on the floor. "I-I didn't do this. I-I couldn't have — have done this," Kyla spluttered, looking down at the now dead Sheriff Peterkin.
