[ Highest Rank #101 in Mystery/Thriller ]
Time has passed. Things have changed. Isabeth, Benny, and Faith aren't quite the same. They have blood on their hands, a code they honor, and secrets they keep locked away. The Psychopath Maker knows this an...
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Isabeth and Faith stood in the middle of the twelve by fourteen-foot apartment. They were against sitting. Really sitting was against them. They didn't deserve to sit. To sit on the couch Fiona slept for five months. Five months without them knowing she was sleeping on the couch of a man they didn't know. A man that they never heard of because, in all actuality, they knew every person any of them knew. Neither of them had a friend that was outside of their over-privileged trust fund circle. Shame stopped their knees from bending, regret made their feet heavy.
"I saw you girls out the window. You don't see too many Land Rovers on this block." He rifled through the refrigerator. "Beer. Water." He pulled out a bottle of both.
"Driving" Isabeth held up her keys. She was adamant about not being a precautionary tale, something parents told their teens about before going to prom. She was the designated driver. She was always the designator driver only having the dutiful Malachi to switch with if she wanted to taste a drink, although she stopped drinking beer after graduating from the academy.
"Water then." He pulled out another bottle of water. Faith frowned at the non-brand bottle of water. Faith didn't want it. She only drank Voss or Evian but she took it anyway. "I would've been at the funeral but no funds you know how it is." They didn't but Isabeth politely smiled anyhow.
"Well, we're not from around here," Isabeth said. They weren't from anywhere close to there. She was born in Cedars-Sinai in Los Angeles. Although she was educated in Texas and vacationing in Massachusetts she was a Cali girl at heart.
"Where are you from?" He asked using the Formica countertop to pop the top off his beer.
"Why are you asking?" Faith tried not to touch anything in the decrepit little apartment. Roaches could be lurking anywhere. Behind the black mold that was protruding from a crack in the wall, Faith shielded her nose. Or one could be hiding, right now behind the central air unit rammed in the small prison-like window.
He gulped down his brew, "Just getting to know Fiona's friends. I've known her for—"
Faith groaned. "Five months." She rolled her eyes. Fiona should have never known him and if he brought the duration of their little affiliation she would pull her thumbnail off. "We know. You told us that, that's the only thing you told us." Faith felt like she was being strung along. She was ready to hear whatever little knowledge he had and get out of this shantytown.
"What do you want to know?" Santiago sat the lukewarm bottle on the plastic yellow table as the old fridge kicked on, humming.
"We want to know why Fiona was here?" Isabeth asked twisting open the clear water bottle top.
"Because here is so bad?" Santiago started with a face hard as concrete.
"Did you see the hamster-sized roaches downstairs," Faith pushed her hands deeper in her back pockets. "Or the crying baby behind the paper-thin door, the pee-stained carpet, the hobo on the sidewalk, and the non-girl scout selling her cookies that aren't thin mints on the corner." Faith elaborated.
