3 days before Ms. Kathy died

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  The day I got called to the office was the day the tides turned. Not in my favor.

  Apparently, Amy’s parents were worried. She hadn’t come home. So naturally, her boyfriend—me—was a prime suspect.

  I had to sit there while the police asked their little questions:

  “When did you last see her?”

  “Has she been acting strange?”

  “Where were you last week?”

  I’ve danced this dance before. Well—Lachlan Welles has.

  Something I picked up along the way: you don’t have to give law enforcement your full name unless they’ve got reasonable suspicion.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  They always had suspicion.

  Strange things kept happening when I was around.

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  I told them I’d gone home with friends. Stayed over for the week.

  But the school cameras caught me leaving early. Alone.

  Ten minutes before I was taking Amy’s eye apart like a puzzle piece.

  They’ve been watching me.

  They know I lied.

  I have no alibi.

  I fucked up.

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  If Amy’s parents start asking questions, they’ll stop sending money.

  The sad little orphan boy becomes the deranged daughter-killing orphan boy.

  She can’t die.

  No—wait.

  She has to die.

  But how?

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  Starvation? Too slow. Too quiet.

  It’s almost Thanksgiving.

  Instead of turkey, I could hogtie her. Build a bonfire. Slow roast her.

  There’s a potluck at school.

  They all loved her.

  I’ll share. This time.

  Then I’ll leave.

  I’ve been getting too comfortable anyway.

  There’s just one loose end I need to fix.

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