She tries the engine, kicking it over, making it choke. “Fuck. Come on, baby.” She pets the steering wheel like it’s a living entity. “Don’t die on me today.”
“I can walk,” I offer, tugging on the stubborn seat belt.
“Fuck that. It’s raining.” She scoffs.
The engine kicks over, and she offers me a shit-eating grin. “He’s the only man who never lets me down,” she boasts.
“Why does it have to be a man?” I mock, finally clicking my belt in place.
“I only ride men,” she quips, clasping the gearshift and stroking it to get a rise out of me.
“You’re shameless.”
“Guilty.” She chuckles.
Condensation fogs the windows, making it almost impossible to see through them as she drives twenty miles per hour, squinting to see. “Should I crack a window?”
“If you want to get wet.” She snorts, then flips on the radio and sings along to Harry Styles out of tune while I watch the drops of rain slide down the passenger side window like tears on the cheek of sorrow. The tinkering of rain pounding the metal of the car is soothing, lulling me into a light sleep.
“Is there anyone else on the property?”
“No one’s alive.”
“Shit. What’s this?” Charlotte's voice slices through my memories. Blue flashing lights blur through the raindrops. She slows to a stop, swiping her arm down the windshield, trying to wipe the condensation away.
“What do you think happened?” I ask, a nervous bubble popping in the depths of my stomach.
“Car crash maybe?” She shrugs, gesturing to my window. “See if you can see anything.”
A tremor rattles my hand as I wind down my window and instantly get pelted with side rain. The flashing lights transport me back to my dream.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can come out now.”
“Lizzy?” Charlotte snaps, jarring me.
“I can’t see anything. There’s a crowd of people and a police officer turning cars around,” I mumble.
“Must be bad if they’re diverting traffic. I don’t know a way through to drop you on campus.”
“I’ll walk from here,” I tell her, unbuckling my belt and grabbing my backpack from the backseat.
“I have an umbrella in the trunk,” she offers.
“I’ll be fine. See you later.” I open the door and step out into the torrent of rain, the puddles soaking my boots in rainwater.
My heart pounds at the lights swirling, blinking over my face.
“You’re safe now. Crawl toward my voice, sweetheart.”
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
I don’t know how long I was under that bed. My pee had turned cold, stinging my thighs. The tears had dried against my cheeks, leaving them red and raw. Can you deplete your body of water just by crying?
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
Sirens screamed in the distance, getting closer with every shaking breath I took, then the house was alight with the whirling of those blue lights.
Flash.
Flash.
Flash.
The rain threatens to drown me. I’m slipping under, into my memories.
My fingers seek out the scars to bring me back to the now. “Move the tape farther back,” a man barks, stepping out of a black sedan, a red light flashing on the grill of his car. He’s dressed in a suit and long raincoat, salt and pepper hair soaking to his scalp, a frown tugging at his brow. “Move these fucking people back and get a tent over the body,” he booms, waving his hands frantically.
Over the body?
The body?
My hands begin to shake. Clenching them into fists, I shove them into the pocket of my jacket. A crowd has gathered, concerned whispers floating on the wind. Faces with creased foreheads peer beyond the police line, trying to get a better look. It’s human nature, morbid curiosity to want to see what’s happened. The brain wants to evaluate the situation from the safety of the police tape.
The rain drowns my body, running down my face, wiping any attempt to look presentable away, leaving the fucked-up mess of a girl I am on the inside bare for all to see. My feet move without permission, pushing toward the front of the crowd, not stopping until my stomach makes contact with police tape.
My eyes devour the scene, flicking to every inch of the blocked off area. Rain hammers the asphalt. Rubbish blows across the street from an overturned trashcan. What happened?
“This is a crime scene. I’m going to have to ask you all to move back at least fifteen feet,” a police officer yells out, waving his hands to get his point across, but my legs are frozen, my eyes drifting to just behind him, a female’s legs showing from behind a dumpster. They’re bare with bruises dark enough to see from this distance.
“Don’t look.”
“What happened?” I croak out. My head spins, making me sway on my feet. My eyes can’t look away from the body.
Red polished toenails stand out in contrast to her pale skin. Contusions and discoloration running up her legs scream of angry, cruel punishment. Who is she?