Good For Gone

6 Months Later

My strappy, heeled shoes slipped on the icy sidewalk and I reached out for Tony to steady me. The shoes were a pain in the ass, and nearly hazardous in the snow, but they were gorgeous so I powered through.

"You and those fucking shoes." Tony teased me as I latched onto his arm in an effort to regain my balance.

"You like them, shut up."

He eyed me up and down, "They are mighty sexy. But damn it babe, you're going to break your ass." He said before subsequently smacking the body part in question.

I shooed his hand away and tried my hardest to dig my heel into his toes, but nearly slipped again.

"You were the one who insisted on getting up early to go check out this cool new coffee place off campus." I used air quotes around the word cool, to emphasize how little I cared about the never ending hipster coffee joints that appeared and disappeared like whack-a-moles.

"It will be cool, as long as you make it there alive."

I rolled my eyes, "You're not funny."

But he probably had a point, my recent dedication to clothing was a bit extreme. But I clung to each shred of fabric like a security blanket. That's what it had turned into since the end of the summer.

After what had happened, I ended up moving in with my mom. When I told dad that the house freaked me out because of the murders, he revealed that he'd planned on moving closer to the city after I left (I later found out it was due to a special lady friend who just so happened to live out there). So we packed up and found a renter who would be willing to take care of the animals.

Peter had kept his word, no one bothered us or the new tenants.

The police investigation of the Lottes' murders died down kind of fast due to minimal evidence and suspects. I'd told the cops that the boys had been hiding out in our barn and that they were severely traumatized and saying crazy things, just in case the boys tried to tell them about the place in the woods, despite how many times I told them they couldn't tell anybody.

I hated having to do it. I couldn't stand that they'd had to go through something like that and now they're parents murderers could go free, but I couldn't get the police involved.

The guilt still gnawed at me for that, but I already knew I was far from a good person. I wanted to see that bastard pay as much as the next guy, but I trusted that Peter knew what he was doing, even if he was a damn liar. I just wish he'd given me something else to go on besides all the vague mumbo jumbo.

But it was what it was now, just another mystery being swept under the rug. I didn't even know if any of them were even alive now. Honestly, I wouldn't put it past the master or Peter to kill one another, so that's what I assumed happened.

I sat around, locked in my new room, crying over it for a long time. Every night I dreamed about burning alive. The only positive thing about the dreams was that I usually got to see Peter. Even if he did turn into a monster a second later.

It stumped my mother, who was curious why I was so unendingly devastated by the death of my old neighbors.

I'd shrugged off any attempts at communication with the rest of the world until the very end of the summer when I was packing up all the stuff I was going to take with me to college.

And it just struck me that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't change something. I couldn't bear to look at myself anymore; I felt stupid, desperate, selfish, and truly ugly. What had happened just pushed me way past my usual feelings of empty, lonely distaste for myself into something much darker.