Asher Banning still mourns his mother after three years. When his friend, Caden, decides to get their group of friends together for Christmas as a way to help Asher not feel lonely for the holidays, things quickly turn upside down.
MATURE: for expl...
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I hoped something from my father's office would help spark some kind of inspiration or sign.
With a sigh, I searched the shelves for whatever it may be. My eyes, while wide awake, had bags underneath them, heavy from exhaustion. My body didn't want to sleep. And I didn't blame it. Going back to the gory memory didn't sound like the wonderful dream a human should have. I wanted to get as far away from that recollection as possible.
A creak in the floorboard broke my train of thought. I snapped my head toward the door. Caden stood with puffy, red eyes and a bare chest. "Can't sleep, either?" he said.
Although his flushed face was a reddish hue like he had been crying, he didn't sound like it at all. His nose wasn't stuffy or red either.
"No," I finally answered him, "I can't. Why are you down here?"
"I should ask you the same thing."
I laughed. Not because I found his reply funny, but ironic. "That's what everyone else has said."
Caden's eyes squinted as if he found the fact to be odd. "So, I guess I'm not the only one to find you here . . ."
I shook my head. "No, unfortunately. Freyja's found me in here in the early morning and so has Nick . . . at night, I mean. I'm sure if I keep on coming down here, the entire group would ask the same thing."
He scratched the back of his head, giggling. "That is pretty ironic, huh?"
I nodded.
"Anyway, I heard your footsteps 'cause I was still awake, and thought I'd . . . I don't know. Talk to you? Maybe see if you were an intruder or something?"
I pursed my lips. How could he and Nick think the same thing? They both came down here, thinking I was an intruder!
My thoughts went back and forth on if I should expose my theories to him. Of course, he knew about the shack, but he didn't know that Freyja and I knew something more was going on, or for a better lack of words: how we thought there was something more. How the deaths weren't accidental at all. But instead, I ignored that path of conversation and said, "How are you doing?"
Even though he was my best friend, I couldn't expose this secret to him too fast. For all I knew, he was in on it.
But why would he kill his own fiancée?
I couldn't forget the pain he endured every day now, how the love of his life was gone. It didn't make sense if he killed her or why he'd want to kill her. There was no reason, no motivation. Was there?
He looked down. His eyes darted everywhere like he dreaded the conversation.
