Leave Her Hanging: A Noir Thriller

Chapter Forty-Five

I waited in the dark lounge with my head in my hands and soft music playing on the stereo until I heard a key in the front door. The kitchen knife was snug in my hand. Footsteps made their way down the hall towards me. A silhouette appeared in the doorway, muttering, fumbling for the light switch. Light filled the room.

“You didn’t set your burglar alarm before you went out,” I said, standing up. “Anyone could break in.”

Megan jumped and stared at me wide-eyed. She was in jeans and a loose-fitting white top, with her hair up in her usual ponytail.

By the time she’d recovered I was on my feet, my knife arm dangling at my side. Her eyes flicked to the blade and then back to me. “Spade, they’re all talking about you at school. They’re saying you…you killed…. It’s not true, is it?”

“Shut up.” I raised the knife, waved her away from the door. She seemed to shrink into herself as she stared down the point of the blade. “Come in, take a seat. Get comfy.”

Megan licked her lips and shuffled slowly to the side, never putting her back to me. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “My parents—”

“Are out. Friday’s their date night, remember? They must’ve been going somewhere flash, the way they were dressed up when they left.” I’d been hiding in the bushes as I watched their car pull out of the driveway. They didn’t wait for their garage door to roll all the way down before they drove away. I’d slipped under the door and taken the side entrance into the house.

“You can’t hide here,” Megan said. She edged towards the phone hanging on the wall near the entrance to the kitchen. “You should call the cops and turn yourself in.”

“You know I didn’t kill anyone.”

“I know, Spade, I know.” She gave a little reassuring smile, like a mother trying to soothe an angry toddler. “But this is making it worse. If you didn’t do anything, it’ll work out.”

I smirked, even though I didn’t feel it. “So responsible. So sensible. Sensible Megan. Sure, pick up the phone, call the cops. Go on.”

She licked her lips again, took the phone off the hook and pressed it to her ear. Something in her eyes went dim.

“No dial tone?” I asked. “What a shame.” I crossed the room quickly, knife at the ready. Megan cowered. “Mobile,” I said, holding out my injured hand.

Her hands shook as she reached into her pocket and passed me the cell phone. I dropped it on the ground and stomped on it, hard. Something shattered. Now that I was this close to her I could smell her fear mixed with her perfume. With her back pressed to the wall she stared up at me.

“What is this about?” she whispered.

“You. It’s been about you the whole time.” I showed her my little finger, where the homemade ring sat. “Recognise this?”

She looked at it and said nothing.

“I found it at one of the places where Ella had been working. The place I told you about. I thought it was Ella’s. But it’s not, is it? It’s yours.”

“I don’t know—”

I slammed the point of the knife into the wall next to her head. “Don’t lie to me!”

She trembled and went quiet, a single tear falling down her cheek.

“You and Ella made these for each other. Like friendship bracelets. Only you lost yours. You lost it while you were at that place, stealing their footage. Didn’t you?”