David’s eyes were wild. For a moment, he’d forgotten about Ricky’s murder. He’d been feeling so cloudy, he could barely…
Well, no matter. The second he saw Shade, he remembered all the anger. He remembered how afraid he was, to live in a world where he’d seen such tragedy.
Anne’s thoughts were less complicated. They went a little something like this: OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU FUCKING ME HE FUCKING DIED AND CAME BACK TO LIFE I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE THIS SHIT. SHIT FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT.
She felt so shocked, in fact, she didn’t even realize she was making noise.
Rest assured, she was. Mouth hanging open, she rasped, “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.”
David paid her no attention. He focused instead on Shade, who was trying to figure out which crime David was pissed about. Transporting Ricky’s dismembered corpse was an option, to be sure, but it was far from the only option.
“Are you okay?” Shade asked David. “Because you really don’t look okay.”
She was pretty buzzed. Day drinking, it must be said, suited her well.
“You killed him!” David roared.
Shade opened her mouth, then closed it. Hard to respond to that. She tried figuring out a way to say, ‘You’ll have to be more specific,’ without coming off as a total dick.
Seriously, though. He was going to have to be more specific.
“Did I?” Shade asked.
“Don’t lie,” David said, moving towards her, hand outstretched. “I know you did it.”
“This is clearly getting out of hand,” Anne mumbled to herself. She remembered the workbench in her bedroom, where she kept some loose weaponry. All she had to do was get there.
“What did you say?” David asked.
He was very close to Shade, who thought about running.
But Shade couldn’t run. She wouldn’t abandon Anne.
“I said,” Anne repeated herself, “that this all is getting out of hand. Which, like, c’mon. Can you really argue with me on that one?”