Trauma

Chapter 8 (Brandon Cruz)

      Once again, because the night was blurry I don't remember much. But from what I can grasp is that we drank. We drank the rest of the alcohol. We put out troubles away and laughed. It was definitely the drink that made us laugh. Because when the morning came by, my emotions completely flipped and I became sad again.

I pushed myself off the ground and stretched. Brandon and Rylie looked peaceful and comfortable on the old rugged couch. It's so funny seeing how being locked in a shack can change everything. I walked into the kitchen as my stomach growled. Desperate for real food, I scavenged through all the cabinets and the pantry. Unfortunately I found zilch. Nothing. I walked back over to my bag that was hanging on the back of the chair. The zipping sound almost woke up the lovebirds. But I managed to get away with opening it fully, without waking them up. Papers and books flew out of the bag as I dug deep, looking for anything to eat at this point. And luckily, at the very bottom of the bag I saw a granola bar. There were two waters on the side pouches, so I grabbed one. I took a tiny bite of the granola bar and then a tiny sip of water. Figuring they would wake up soon, I was courteous on the portions I ate.

"Hey bro." Brandon started. "You got anything to eat?"

I looked down at my bar and contemplated giving it to him. "Here." I said as I threw the granola bar to him. I put the cap back onto the water bottle and threw it over to him. "Don't drink too much at once."

"Alright." He took a sip and looked at me. "Thanks bro."

I walked into the kitchen and began pacing. It sometimes helps me think, but this time nothing was popping in my mind. The circles I was making began to feel like muscle memory. All my concentration went into the culprit of this terrible occasion and not walking. My mind was going through all the possibilities, per usual. I had a habit of overthinking and going through the multiple different ways life could go. But this time it was actually important and needed. I continued to pace and think until Rylie said something.

"Umm, Dylan?" She asked, taking away my concentration.

"What?"

Rylie pointed at the window above the old, broken box TV. "There's writing."

I quickly walked over to the window and saw bloody handwriting written backwards, so we could read from the inside. "Two Down, Three to go." I said, reading what was written.

"Oh my god." Rylie said with her hand covering her mouth.

My facial expression faded from meh to holy shit. I turned around and walked to the bathroom. There was a mark slit into her arm with a note slid inside.

"Guys." I hesitantly said.

Brandon and Rylie walked into the bathroom and I moved to the side, so they could see the note.

Brandon reached for the note and grabbed it. "You're getting close. A little too close. I'm watching and I will kill whoever gets TOO close."

"What the hell does this mean?" Brandon frantically asked

We stood in a half circle in the bathroom around the note and Mackenzie's body. We periodically looked down at the note and back at each other. Too shocked to actually do anything, we just stood there. I looked at Mackenzie's body and it looked as if she had a tear and a slight smile while we stood around her.

"I don't know." Rylie said with actual emotion.

Every time I saw Rylie, she had no emotion. And for once, she had the slightest bit of emotion. Rylie grabbed the note from Brandon's hands and looked at it. With every word, another tear began to flow out of her dark, cold, brown eyes. I don't know how or why, but she must've now just realized the truthfulness of what was going on.