Halloween House Party (4)

Chapter 4:

“What did she just say” I whisper to myself, her words haunting and ringing through my ears.

“She said Sly’s dead? Who’s Sly?” My girl looks up at me with curiosity and none of the fear that’s draining all the blood from face.

“He’s uh” I lick my lips stopping the words from coming out. She knows I have an abusive ex, but I never gave her any more detail, and I intend to keep it that way. He was an anonymous asshole in life and should remain so in death. “He’s uh the singer of some up-and-coming band.”

“Oh shit” she curses still huddled in my arms, both of us wishing we had another drink right about now, at least I do. “Is anyone going to call 911?” She asks, looking this way and that, everyone just standing about with a drink in hand too stunned to act. With the music turned off completely the space is ghostly quiet and setting me further on edge.

“Cas, we shouldn’t get involved” I try to draw her attention away from the phone she’s plucked out of her chest, tits acting like a cushion.

“Quinn, what the Hell? Someone is dead and you don’t want to get involved?” I can feel the disgust in her tone, the judgement in each word spat at me.

“It’s not like that, but we don’t actually know what happened. This could be a complete misunderstanding, and he could just be passed out and perfectly fine.” I rub my arms, trying to calm the nerves, explain away the impossibility. There’s no way he’s dead. He can’t be! He was alive when I left him, I know it! Fuck, they’re gonna think I had something to do with it. No, fuck they’re going to think I did it! Shit, fucking shit.

“Well, I’m at least going to go check since you don’t want to get involved.”

For fucks sake! Throwing my hands up with a groan I follow after her, if only to get ice for the girl who fainted, my heart beating a hundred times a minute as I near the kitchen. The feel of his hands on my skin, hot breath accented in beer, the defiling words he whispered in my ear. Shaking my head, I try to rid myself of the images once more, before Cas switches on the light giving me another image, I wish I could make disappear.

“Oh my god” she dry heaves into her hand as we both attempt to take in the sight before us. There, leaning up against the bottom of the sink is a very dead Sly, his stormy grey eyes staring out into nothing, left open forever. The wound I left on his head dripping a deeper shade of red down his face, the fake blood and real mixing together on his lips, trickling further down his body. It all looks freshly spilled, some of it still dripping down to melt into the puddle surrounding him painting the floor. And that’s when I see about four stab wounds in his abdomen and stomach, a broken bottle neck jutting out of his midsection and a red stain on his ripped jeans in the middle of his legs. Who else could have known I threatened his dick?

The metallic smell of so much blood shed forces me back a step as Cas stands still stunned and horrified. But as I really take in the sight, my gaze wandering over every inch of his corpse something catches my eye. Is his chest moving?

Curious enough, I step over to the body, careful not to step in the, what looks like gallons of spilled blood on the floor, before resting two fingers at his pulse, painting my hands in red gore too. But nothing beats beneath my fingertips, yet this close I can clearly see his chest rising and falling. What. The. Fuck!

“Oh my god” she screams again, forcing my attention back. Standing I let her curl into me as I keep my blood-stained hands at a distance, unable to comfort her as she sobs into my shoulder. “Quinn, what happened to him” she asks nervous as I try to come up with an answer. Turning her eyes up to look at me she takes notice of the two punctures on the side of my neck, turning my head for a better look. “Wait, what the Hell? Did something stab you?”

I turn away, stepping out of the embrace to get ice from the fridge. “It’s nothing” I shut the door hard, devoid of all emotion, not wishing to relive the moment again, seeing as we’re literally at the scene of the crime.

“It’s not nothing, it looks like you got stabbed or jabbed by something. And there’s blood running down your top.”

“Cas, drop it” I say with more bite than I intended as I wipe my hands on my leotard, seeing as it’s already ruined before placing a frozen bag of peas in a dishtowel, stepping out of the kitchen and back out into the yard.

“Quinn, what fucking happened when you went to go get another drink?”

I ignore her question as I crouch down to help the pink Zombie Cheerleader. “You okay” I ask, her eyes slowly opening, staring back out into the world as she gradually sits up a hand to her head.

“I think so” she groans as I place the peas in her fake blood covered hand, the other hidden beneath her costume coming out to help steady her on the grass.

Deciding I don’t need to be here anymore, a group of girls in similar looking costumes, kneeling down with looks of worry on their faces as they help their fainted friend to a couple seats off to the side, I start making my way to the front of the house.

Taking a quick glance back over my shoulder, I slow my strides as I notice Cas isn’t with me. Stopping in front of the garage I watch a cop car with the lights on and siren blaring skid to a halt, parking at the foot of the sidewalk.

“Police, put your hands where we can see them.”

Arms raising in surrender I peer down remembering I’m still wearing a blood covered leotard. “Fuck.”