In the Middle of the Bed (A Saira Collings Story)

July 4, 2006 (Chase's Story)

The Fourth of July. A great time for Americans. Celebrating our independence from England. A great time for laid back fun with friends around a bonfire.

It's also a great time for a murder.

Since no one had discovered my crime in the past year, I had decided that no one honestly cared about me. After all, who'd ever care about small, quiet, and lethal Saira Collings?

This bonfire was like all others. A bunch of high schoolers around a blazing fire, drinking, joking, and having sex in trucks. A true American dream.

I just sit on the tailgate of my truck, watching everyone. I had learned earlier in life that alcohol had no effect on me. I couldn't get drunk, so I was harder to get into someone's bed than others were.

But that never stopped them from trying.

I see him coming from a mile away. Chase had taken an interest in me in the past year.

He sidles up to my truck, swaying as he walks. A beer is clutched in his hand, and his gray eyes are unfocused and glazed.

"Hey, Saira. You wanna get outta here?" he asks, his words slurred. I shake my head with an eye roll.

"Not with you. Or anyone else, for that matter," I say, looking around the clearing at the dancing people.

I see some of Chase's buddies cheering on two stripping girls, and feel my stomach curl in disgust.

Yeah, I can handle murdering someone and watching them die, but stripping? No can do.

"Ah, really, Saira? You don't wanna have sex with me? But I'm the best in town! And without your brother or your daddy around, no one can interrupt our fun."

My blood runs cold, and I feel the way I felt when I planned to murder Justin: cold, hard, and unwilling to let anything slide.

I stand, and face Chase. He smiles a cocky smile, thinking that he's won. But my voice is cold and sharp as it leaves my mouth.

"Take that back." Chase blinks, confused by words and his alcohol-adled brain.

"I said take it back. Take it back, and you won't be hurt," I say in that frighteningly calm voice that I used on Justin.

Chase blinks again, then his face turns into a scowl.

He steps up towards me, and I see his free hand clench into a fist.

"What if I don't take it back? What if I took you right here, right now? No one else would know or care," he says, his words hard and angry.

I don't remember how the gun got into my hand. I just remember pressing the barrel of it against Chase's forehead, and staring him dead in the eye as I placed my finger on the trigger.

His gray eyes grow wide, and his skin turns pale. But his eyes stay locked on mine.

"Take. It. Back," I growl. Chase stands there for a second, then his eyes harden and he glares at me.

"Not until hell freezes over," he growls back.

"Good," I say as I put a little pressure on the trigger. "Because you're going there. Give me a weather report sometime."

Chase's eyes have just enough time to widen before I pull the trigger fully.

The gun rattles in my hand, but the silencer leeps it from sounding. Chase's body drops to the ground, spilling blood and brains everywhere.

No one reacts for a long moment. During that moment I calmly put the gun in my jeans, and move to my truck. It's time to get out of here.

Chase's death was recorded in the paper. It was ruled as a suicide.

Chase's shard is red like his blood. His scar runs from my left ribs to my tailbone. It burned like fire when it was put on, and bled a lot.

He still haunts my dreams at night. But not as much as the next person.