Chapter 2

I sprawled across my bed, staring at the ceiling, regretting doing all my homework at school. Now, I was completely drained—no assignments left, no distractions. Just empty time that made the room feel smaller.

If some of you are wondering, why I didn't get in trouble for coming home late, the thing is, my mom's a nurse and she can't be home most of the time.

Lucky me, right? I know, you're so jelly.

Since mom wasn't home, I could test out my acting skills, no homework, and I'm done studying for all my not so surprised test tomorrow, it's times like these I wish I saved Bella number and not deleted it after receiving a text from her. Wait, let me think about that for a minute, no, I don't regret deleting it.

Maybe, I should go for a run... Ha, who am I kidding? People call me a nerd for a reason—I flunk gym class every semester. But hey, if a quick jog could bump my grade up even a little, it's worth a try, right?

That's a solid excuse to leave the house. Mom's always said to have a "good, reasonable reason" before heading out, especially since she's rarely home early. Well, boosting my fitness grade seems reasonable enough to me.

I changed into what I assumed were running clothes—sweatpants and an old hoodie—and called it good enough. After all, it wasn't like I was about to win a marathon. I double-checked my essentials: phone? Check. Keys? Check. Money? Check. Spare glasses? Definitely check. Satisfied, I locked the door behind me and started my walk.

My phone buzzed, and I couldn't help but check the notification. One message turned into another, and before I knew it, I was deep in a meme thread. It wasn't until the quiet settled in that I realized something was wrong. No hum of cars, no chatter from the street. Just the faint, muffled sounds of my shoes against the ground.

The alley stretched ahead, narrow and suffocating, the dim light from the street struggling to reach its depths. The walls were lined with faded graffiti and streaked with something dark—oil, maybe? I hoped it was oil. A rancid smell hung in the air, a mix of damp concrete and rotting trash that made me breathe through my mouth. Every step I took echoed off the brick walls, the sound bouncing back at me like a taunt.

I thought I knew this part of town—straight streets, plenty of lights. But at some point, I must've taken a wrong turn. The kind of place where the streetlights didn't bother reaching. I heard a low mumble ahead, barely audible over the pounding in my chest. I know the smart decision was to go the other way but curiousity got the better of me plus there was no other way, it was a one way alley so I went to the light, well... in this case the voice.

I froze when I saw him. A man lay sprawled on the ground, motionless— was he asleep? There is no way he's asleep. Who sleep on a dirty floor other than homeless people. My eyes darted to another figure nearby, an impossibly good looking guy with long shoulder length, black and curly hair, dressed entirely in black. He stood there, calm and collected, like this was just another Tuesday.

"Is he... dead?" I asked, stepping cautiously into the dim light. My voice cracked, but I tried to sound steady.

Blackie turned his head to me, he had a look of shock in his eyes for about a fraction of a second, before his expression became unreadable. "He's about to be," he answer coolly.

Before I could process what he meant, he pulled out a knife and drove it into the man on the ground—once, twice, over and over. The sound of the blade tearing through flesh strangely excited me, When he finally dropped the knife, he turned back to me, his green eyes calm, as if nothing had happened.

"So," I said, with a steady voice, as steady as you can be in this moment "I'm guessing you're behind all the other murders too?"

"Sure," he replied nonchalantly, like I'd just asked him if he liked coffee.

"You know, for a serial killer, you're not great at covering your tracks. What if I were a cop?" I asked crossing my arms than soon uncrossing them.

"No need." He replied with a shrug.

"Uh huh" I muttered. "Do you know the way out of this alley?" Cayse what started as a one way street had some corners.

"Sure. Follow me."

Right, follow a serial killer.

He took off his gloves, threw them over the knife and casually set them on fire before continuing down the alley. The flames reflected briefly in his eyes, making him seem even more unhinged. At least he's cleaning up after himself. My mom would love this guy. "Why did you kill that guy—and the others, for that matter?"

Probably not smart to provoke a serial killer, but I couldn't stop myself.

"None of your business," he snapped.

We walked in silence, though he kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish, as if deciding whether to speak. Strangely, it was cute to watch.

His voice finally came out and he said, "We're here." He didn't have to announce it, I could see but I also found it cute.

"Thanks," I muttered, turning to leave. I stopped and glanced back at him, a grin creeping up on my face, though I felt the weight of the moment settling in. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me." I hesitated, but then, against all reason, I walked away.