Friends Don't Hide Bodies - B1

"Deep enough," Hazell finally said, his voice heavy with finality, sending a chill through my chest. The shovel sank into the earth with a muffled crunch, each scoop landing with a dull thud in the otherwise still night. Together, we lifted the body, its weight heavy and resistant, as though it were aware of the fate it was about to meet. As we placed it in the hole, a fleeting apology formed on my lips, but I held it back—no one would hear me, and maybe no one should. Not Peterson James. Not after all that had happened.

We stood in the clearing, the moon casting an eerie silver glow across the scene, making the shadows from the trees seem even more sinister. The leaves littered the forest floor, glowing faintly in the moonlight, while Hazell and I stood drenched in dark, sticky blood—a grotesque reflection of the pale light above. The beams of our flashlights sliced through the darkness, but the ground beneath us was soft, giving with each step we took.

The air was heavy, the forest alive with the quiet sounds of night. Beneath our feet, the earth crackled with the shifting of leaves and pine needles. The moon hung high above, a lazy crescent barely moving through the treetops. Hazell cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

"This is fun," he said with a strange, almost gleeful edge.

I tightened my grip on the shovel, feeling the tension in my muscles, my body ached as I looked around, swallowing my rising dread. "Fun? We're burying a body." My words felt absurd even as they left my mouth, like a bitter joke I couldn't take back.

Hazell's smile spread wide, unbothered. "Remember our Boy Scout days, Ezra? Besides, who will find us out in the middle of nowhere?" His shovel dug deeper into the dirt, concealing our crime more with each motion, like the world was erasing the truth for us.

"Want to rent a movie?" He asked.

I looked up at him, disbelief thick in my voice. "A movie? Right now? How exactly are we supposed to do that? We're in the middle of nowhere."

A mischievous glint sparked in Hazell's eyes as he continued his work, seemingly unperturbed by the moment's gravity. "Funny," he muttered with a grin, the corners of his mouth pulling into something darker, more twisted.

I clenched my teeth and continued to shovel more dirt into the hole. "First, the grave, Hazell. Then maybe we can talk about movies—if we're not caught by then."

Hazell let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Caught? Out here? You're worried about that?" His grin widened, almost predatory, as he enthusiastically shoved the shovel into the earth. His behavior suggested that he relished every moment of this, treating the entire situation as a game, as if life held no significance.

The soil piled higher, and the pit grew deeper, burying our secret and Peterson's final moments beneath dirt and shadows.

∆∆∆

In the hallway, Liza stood, and my heart quickened at the sight of her. Her brown hair flowed like liquid gold over her ivory shoulders. Her wide, doe-like eyes held a mixture of fear and melancholy. A shy smile revealed her soft pink lips and pearly teeth. I fought the urge to touch her face, wary of overstepping the bounds of our friendship.

Clearing my throat, I addressed her, "Hey, Liza. You heard about Peterson James?"

Liza regarded me cautiously before responding, "Yeah, I heard his remains were found in the woods this morning."

A faint memory flashed into my mind, but it was enough to send chills down my spine. Peterson was restrained on a stool. Hazell held a hammer poised to strike. It was over in two swift blows, and Peterson crumpled to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Peterson..." My voice caught as shock rippled through me. Gazing into his lifeless eyes, a wave of fear and horror washed over me, replaying the gruesome images of his final moments. The once vibrant tan of his skin now lay pale and blood-streaked, the sound of metal against bone reverberating like a solemn gong through the eerily quiet kitchen. Crimson seeped from his head, pooling beneath him on the cracked tiles. His expressionless face contrasted starkly with the warmth of his memory.

My gaze shifted back to Liza in the school hallway, a childhood friend who looked at me with sorrow etched on her features. "It has to be him. Three days have passed, and still no sign of Peterson," she murmured. Hazell feigned empathy, though his smirk betrayed his genuine emotions. Despite my reluctance, I knew he was right—Peterson must endure unimaginable agony. I tore my eyes from Peterson's lifeless form, turning to Liza, whispering, "Let's hope it's not him."

Thomas Chang, an Asian jock with a muscular build and short, slicked-back black hair, donned a brown leather jacket and ripped jeans. Dark circles underscored his eyes, casting an air of weariness over his appearance.

Reality seemed to blur and waver around Thomas as if he were gazing through a desert mirage. Then came Verma Ramirez.

Her hair was gathered in twin buns held by rubber bands. Thick glasses masked her eyes, and a mint green top sported a pink bow at her neck. Although she appeared troubled, her dark gaze showed less weariness than it typically did. I was glad to see her, yet anxiety fluttered in my chest.

"Hey, Verma," I greeted her. "What's going on?" Verma shifted slightly, exuding an air of unease, although she seemed more comfortable with me than with most people.

My thoughts spun with disbelief as Sebastian spoke. News of Peterson's disappearance had reached my ears, yet hearing it from a classmate lent it a stark reality.

Suppressing panic, I struggled to control my guilt, the weight of it suffocating. The gaze of my classmates bore into me, the world a swirling blur of faces and voices. Sweat trickled down my brow, the room closing around me.

Amidst the tumult, Liza's voice broke through. "Are you okay, Ezra?" She asked, concerned. I wanted to confide in her, yet I managed only a weak smile and a slow nod.

"It's a tragic thought, isn't it?" I responded, my voice constricting. "The idea of being slaughtered to death."

A disbelieving snort escaped me, drawing a reproachful glance from Thomas.

Verma drew closer, and her touch sent a tremor through me. Her warmth was reassuring, though it flushed my cheeks. "Chill, Ezra," she whispered soothingly.

Thomas chuckled softly, continuing his words. But I could only focus on the unsettling glint in Hazell's eyes, sending shivers down my spine.

"Somebody needs to take action regarding this? Sorry to say, Ezra, but your dad has about a dozen cold cases lined up on his desk and zero leads. Let us go after the killer, if you ask me." Sebastian's proposal to catch the killer turned my blood to ice. Before I could react, Hazell's fist collided with a locker, and his challenging words reverberated through the room.

"Why not?!" He said, tapping my shoulder. "It would be cool!"

We walked off down the hallway to class, walking in together. With Mr. Pepperman's words echoing, Hazell and I slunk to our seats at the front, the weight of guilt coursing through me. Fear clung to the air, thick as fog, refusing to lift.

∆∆∆

Mr. Pepperman pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat. The hum of the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. "I want you all to know that Peterson's body was found in the woods this morning. It's serious, and... well, it's challenging to process."

He glanced around the room. No one moved or spoke. A heavy silence settled like a thick fog.

"But," he said quietly, "this is not something to be whispered about in the hallways or spread around town. The principal will hold an assembly later today to discuss it properly."

Hazell raised his hand, fingers slightly trembling. "Do we know who did it?"

Mr. Pepperman shook his head, the weight of the news pressing down on him. "The sheriff's department is still investigating. Right now, it's best to let them do their work."

Mr. Woods, standing near the back, nodded solemnly. "If anyone feels overwhelmed or needs to talk, Ms. Hale will be available after school in the counseling office."

The class remained frozen, and suddenly, the ticking clock was the loudest sound in the room.

***

The bell tolled, releasing a flood of students eager to escape. Even Hazell darted away with a look of worry before returning. We hurried down the hallway, but my attention was solely on the sound of my racing heart: thump-thump.

Ms. Hale's gaze, her red hair tied up, bore into me from her desk. My breaths followed the rhythm of 1, 2, 3 in and 1, 2, 3 out, desperate to steady myself. "Did he suffer?" I stammered, my voice shaky.

Adjusting her glasses, Ms. Hale's voice enveloped me. "I can't be certain, Mr. Klein. But perhaps he's found peace now." Her eyes lingered on mine, and her next question pierced through: "Do you believe in a higher power, Ezra?"

Dread seized me, Peterson's shattered skull looming large. His violent end flashed before me, paralyzing my body. "I don't... I don't know," I finally managed, confusion clouding my thoughts. "Why?"

Ms. Hale's gaze remained steady as she answered, "Many find solace in the belief that, despite tragedy or hardship, something better awaits..." She paused, her words sinking in. "Do you ever empathize with those who suffer?"

My breaths grew shallow as I whispered, "Yeah... I often feel it's my fault, that somehow I could have prevented it."

Her gaze held mine, a searching intensity in her eyes. "You need to let go of this guilt, Ezra." She shifted her gaze as she took a sip from her mug, then set it down. I was parched, my hands moist. The news of Peterson's death still weighed heavily, and I hoped that speaking with Ms. Hale would offer some comfort.

Her voice, soft yet authoritative, enveloped me. She offered to excuse my brother and me from class. I declined. I had to remain strong, even if it felt like a struggle for survival.

"Thank you for understanding," I croaked out, the words challenging to form.

She acknowledged me with a nod. She led me away from the oppressive atmosphere of despair and anguish that had settled in the room. My gaze lingered on Alice Sebold's "The Lovely Bones," abandoned on the floor—a tale of tragic violence that now felt painfully real.

I took one final glance at Ms. Hale before reluctantly turning away. Her deep red lips seemed to beckon me, yet I resisted. With a curt nod, I stepped into the hallway.