now, it wasn’t about me and my guys. Right now was girl time. That was a thing, wasn’t it?
Before heading downstairs, I stopped by the bathroom to grab a hair tie, tugging my black lengths up into a messy ponytail. I hummed as I took the stairs, figuring I’d hear something, my mom and Bobbi talking, or the sounds of crinkling plastic wrap.
But I didn’t hear anything as I headed down the stairs. Not a single sound.
Since I could not stand the silence, I said, “Mom, I hope you’re not doing anything fancy. Bobbi has to leave in, like, an hour to…” I trailed off the moment I walked into the expansive, wide open kitchen.
I didn’t see my mom, or Bobbi, but the air did feel different.
“Uh, Mom?” My voice echoed in the wide room, the marble countertops feeling so cold all of a sudden. Running my fingers along the counter, I moved toward the fridge, where another hall sat that led to the laundry room. Maybe she paused in her snack-getting to switch loads and Bobbi was helping her?
It was as my mind came up with that possible explanation when I slipped in something. My sock caught no traction on the liquid, but since I was near the island, I was able to catch myself.
Ugh, you know, there was absolutely nothing worse than a single wet sock—
My eyes fell, and I looked down to see what I’d slipped on.
It wasn’t clear. It was a bright, ghastly red… and it came directly from the body laying on the floor between the island and the rest of the cabinets.
Suddenly the wet sock meant nothing. Suddenly all I could do was stare down at the body, the scene before me not computing in my head. Her blonde hair was wet, stained in blood. Her eyes, a brilliant, vibrant green, were dilated and unblinking. A deep, maroon gash lay on her throat, still bleeding, as if her heart still beat in her chest.
But, even though I found myself frozen, even though the image of her hardly registered in my head, I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was dead.
My mom was dead.
Like a switch, I came back into my body, and I fell to my knees beside her. “Mom,” I whispered, staring at her face, at her bleeding neck, her stained shirt. The pool of blood on the tile surrounding her head grew bigger by the second. “Mom, no…”
I touched her shoulders, feeling her warm but immobile body. Water gathered in my eyes, and I tried to blink the tears away.
No. My mom was the only family I had, the only person who—
The feeling of wet steel touched the back of my neck, and a low, menacing voice growled out, “Get up slowly, Jaz. I want to look into your eyes when I kill you.” That voice, so familiar, and yet a darkness lingered there, a vileness I never before noticed.
I got up, because what else could I do? When the metal withdrew from my neck, I turned around, facing the killer. When I looked upon that face, I didn’t see the mask. I saw evil. Pure, unadulterated evil, and my heart raced in response.
“Bobbi,” I whispered her name, my eyes on the red-covered knife in her hand. A kitchen knife, but sharp enough to slice through the throat of an unsuspecting person. And then I asked the question I should’ve asked all along: “Why?”
My friend—no, the girl who pretended to be my friend this entire time, looked truly demented. She gave me a cruel smile, her eyes on fire as she stared at me, the knife outstretched towards me.
She didn’t look like Bobbi. She looked like a monster.
Bobbi laughed. “You’re such an idiot. You mean you still don’t get it, after all this time?” The laughter that bubbled up then was hideous, ugly, an awful sound to grace anyone’s ears. “I told you in the beginning, Jaz, but if you’re that much of a moron, let me fill you in. You met me, you met my dad, but you never met my sister.” She shrugged. “I mean, I didn’t talk about her lots, but I did mention her.”
What? Bobbi had a sister? Why didn’t I know this?
“Her name is Alice,” she spat, “and she died that day.” The arm holding the knife held steady. “She’s nothing but a body now, a vegetable. Mom couldn’t handle it, so she ran, leaving my dad to take care of her, of me.”