Boundless

Fingerprints

Chase knew. He didn't know how, but he knew.

It came to him as he sat in class.

His knife. Ashlynn's sister had practically told him Devon's plan the night before when she pointed to his symbol. How stupid he was to not have realized Devon's intentions. He didn't steal it to simply bother him. Devon always had greater motives. He stood up and marched out of the classroom, ignoring his teacher's protests as he made his way to the school parking lot. He jumped on his bike and sped the whole way to Ashlynn's house, hoping with all he had in him that Abby would be there.

He ran into her house, looking around frantically. "Abby!" He yelled, using all the volume his lungs aloud. He tried to focus on his hunter's instincts but he was far too panicked.

"Abby!" He tried again.

He heard a cry. A soft, faint cry coming from the kitchen. Chase almost collapsed with relief. He rushed into the kitchen then stopped dead in the doorway.

Abby was leaning against the fridge, his knife in her hand, sobbing. He felt the weight of realization overtake him.

"Don't," he said, taking a step towards her.

"Stay away from me!" She screeched, clutching the knife to her chest. She was trembling, helpless. Devon's hypnosis was strong, but it couldn't convince someone to welcome death when they weren't ready—Chase wouldn't accept that.

"Abby, you don't have to do this. You don't have to let him control you-."

"I don't know what to do," she sobbed. I took another careful step towards her. Frantically, she turned the knife in her hands, holding the blade a millimeter in front of her chest.

"Don't come over here!"

"Stop it. I'm not the enemy. I can help you." Chase extended his hand to her, his eyes prickled with unshed tears.

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "I don't want to die."

"I know," he whispered. "I know. I'm going to help you, okay?"

She stared at him, something coming over her. "Tell my sister I'm sorry," she whispered, then shoved the blade into her chest.

Chase rushed towards her a second before her body hit the floor. She grasped onto his shoulders with shaking hands, her breath was shallow, her crying soundless.

He almost reached down to grab the knife from her chest, but he knew it was pointless. His knife was designed to kill. It would not release its grip on a person until he or she was dead.

"I'm so sorry," Chase whispered, trying to hold in his anguish. "I'm so, so sorry."

She looked up at him with eyes that were far too comprehending. She nodded slowly. She understood what he couldn't accept—her fate.

Then her muscles slacked, and she grew limp in his arms.

His knife fell from her chest and clattered to the floor.

Chase slowly placed Abby down, cradling the back of her head in his hand before it touched the floor, like he was afraid of hurting her.

Tears still spilled down from her cheeks. Her skin was still warm.

"It didn't have to be this way." It was him who spoke. He dared to show himself.

"I'm going to kill you," Chase promised.

"You can't," he said almost humorously.

Chase rushed at him in blind, stupid rage. He stopped him easily. With a flick of his hand, Devon sent him sprawling to the floor. "You're weak when your angry, Caulfield. Emotional attachment to humans does that to you."

"You killed her sister!" Chase shouted. "You call me weak? You're so weak that you resort to killing people to win over the affection of someone who will never-."

"Shut up!"

"We weren't supposed to murder, Devon. We were never supposed to murder!"

He shook his head almost regretfully. "I had no choice. You got in my way."

"So you killed her sister."

"If I could kill you, I would have," he said, smirking a little. "But this may be even better. See, I even programed her to stab at an angle that would make it seem like someone else was responsible. Someone roughly your height."

He can't kill me so he framed me instead, Chase thought dryly.

Devon smirked at Chase, almost as if he heard his thoughts. Sirens sounded in the background and Chase felt his heart race.

"Looks like someone called the cops," he said, motioning to the cell phone in his pocket.

Chase clenched his jaw, wanting to rip him apart. Sensing his motives, Devon kicked him to the floor again. With that, he turned away from him and began walking away.

"Your DNA is all over the crime scene," Devon informed him. "There's not even really a point in taking back your knife."