“‘And the fifth girl who was murdered at Manhattan High School was found in the basement of an abandoned church,’” the news reporter said, “‘though the police are still attempting to find the time of death of this girl, but two of the other girls they found passed about one to two years ago.’”
Riley stared at the TV in horror.
There were five girls now? Who would even think to kill this many people? And if it was a student, how would they do it so many times without getting caught? Wouldn’t they falter at some point?
But all the sudden, the TV drained to black, and Riley looked around for a second to realize that the power was still on in the house, and she glanced up to find Violet standing above her, hand on her hip as she held the remote.
A slight annoyance passed over her at her mom’s horrible timing.
“Stop watching this stuff,” Violet said a little sharply. “It’s corrupting you.”
And she walked off with the remote.
Riley sighed and decided to go straight to her bedroom, flipping on the lights and sat in her desk chair.
When she realized she couldn’t draw or write, she stood and paced the room impatiently, rambling to herself with inaudible dialogue that was clearly gibberish.
She was trying to figure out what was going on… What was happening.
But she stopped, looking at the floor below her window.
And what sat there, was another black, shiny feather.
She stepped over to it, picking it up with two fingers and ran her fingers down the edge, but then opened her window and gazed down onto the streets.
He was there again, Paris.
He still had the mask and the cloak, but she knew it was him.
He waved at her, mouth curving into a smile.
Did he honestly leave the feathers there knowing she’d find it and open the window?
It was his way of playing a boom box outside her window and stuff, wasn’t it?
She rolled her eyes and walked off into her room, leaving the window open for him to enter, though she didn’t really know why.
While she waited for him to hop up on the roof and climb through, she decided to do something useful and pulled out her notebook and worksheet, getting to work on her Algebra homework.
Paris came through the window seconds later, brushing off his pants that had grime from the roof on them.
He still had the mask and the cloak, and she would’ve studied him harder if she wasn’t doing her homework right now.
Like she always said: business before pleasure.
In this case the pleasure was the urge for her to grab him right now and wait for him to slip his hand—
No, bad, Riley. Bad.
Think not sinful thoughts.
Paris walked over to her and leaned down to see her paper.
His familiar ocean scent washed over her, but she chose to ignore it.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
“Studying.”
“Ah,” he said, sitting on the desk beside her, “can I watch?”
She gave him a concerned look. “Um, okay? It’s pretty boring to watch, though.”
He was silent, and she continued her homework, feeling his eyes burn her more as he watched her write.
Almost twenty minutes passed, feeling like seconds, and Paris finally broke the silence. “Your hand writing’s really nice,” he commented.
She cast him a look before going back to what she was doing. “Uh thanks?”
They were silent for another moment, and Paris finally focused his attention on her room.
Why was he so curious? She honestly didn’t understand.
He gazed around curiously, eyes scanning her bare walls and bedsheets, and she glanced to see what he was looking at.
His expression seemed very cautious and curious.
“What’s this?” he said, lifting something pink in his hand.
It only took her a moment to realize what it was.
She shot up from her chair and launched over to him, about to grab the object in his hand when he raised it out of her reach, making her grunt in frustration.
“Give it!” she said, jumping for it but he was too tall.
“What is it, Riley?” he said.
She tried to grab it, but he pulled it out of her reach more.
“Riley,” he sang, “is this a vibrator?”
ns 15.158.61.46da2