Chapter 1
I pinched my eyes shut as his body slowly fell numb in my arms. I was clearly in shock because the bullet wound on my arm didn’t even hurt, nor did my sprained ankle. If this is what death feels like, then I sure as hell can’t wait to die. Time goes by slowly, lying in the dark painlessly, but I can almost guarantee that death will not be painless.
The rain started coming down harder, and thunder soon awoke. I focused on his heartbeat until it finally slowed to a stop. His shirt became soaked with a mix of my blood and tears. I stood up, gently resting his head back into the pool of his blood. It caused me more pain to walk away from him than being shot.
My body soon went numb, and my walk slowed to a limp. I dragged my left leg behind me every step of the way.
The streets were wet from the rain, and so were my clothes. I marched through the streets as the lamps began to flicker on and off. I was left with nowhere to go. No witnesses. No cell phone. No way back into town. Even the slight memory of how I got here in the first place slowly faded to nothing. All I can remember clearly is when the back of the gun hit my head.
A black BMW pulled up at the curb beside me.
“What’s a young lady like you doing out here in the middle of the night?” A bright smirk rested on his face. He was an old man with almost grey hair and a beard. His eyes were dark green, looking me up and down. I tilted my hands towards him to show him the blood. His eyes widened as fear filled them.
“Give me your phone,” I demanded.
“No, who gives their phone to a serial killer?” He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
“How many people do I have to kill to make it a serial?” I questioned him.
“I don’t know five.”
“Give me your fucking phone,” I demanded again. “I need your goddamn phone.” He caved and handed me his phone. I called Asher. I attempted to stop the tears from flowing by thinking of him as Asher answered the phone.
“Asher I need you to come pick me up,” praying that I wouldn’t have to say my name in front of this pedophile.
“Where are you? Who’s phone is this?”
“I’m-” I don’t know where the fuck I am. I asked the man in the BMW.
“I’m in Morinville on 149 Ave., on the corner by the Boston Pizza.”
“How the fuck did you get there? It’s the middle of the night, and you’re like an hour away.” I hung up the phone and threw it at the guy in the car.
Morinville. They drove me almost an hour and a half away from home. I am trying so hard not to cry right now. But all I can think about is that he’s dead, and it’s my fault.
Asher’s car pulled up at the curb. He got out and saw the bloody bullet wound on my arm.
“Fuck, are you okay?” He helped her into the car.
“Tori? Are you okay? Look at me!” He gently turned my head.
"He’s gone, Asher; he died.”
“Who’s he? Fuck, you need to go to the hospital,” he started speeding. I watched as his grip tightened around the wheel to the point where his knuckles turned white. The next thing I know is that I’m being wheeled away in a wheelchair and put into a dark room as they hook me up to all these machines.
I woke up in a hospital bed as my lungs filled with the smell of cleaning chemicals. I was hooked up to multiple machines. My heartbeat was steady. I glanced over at the clock. 4:46pm. Where’s Asher? Fuck! I’m alright with someone here, right? It’s one goddamn person.
My name was written big on my file that was sitting on the table next to me. Victoria Anderson. My file was thin; I haven’t had many medical problems. My sister, on the other hand, She started taking drugs when she was 16 years old, ended up screwing herself over, and is now in a metal hospital suffering from four different diseases or disorders.
The door opened, and a tall man walked in, dressed in dark blue scrubs.
“Victoria Anderson, it’s nice to see you again,” he said.
“Nice to see you too.”
“Do you remember anything that happened last night?” He asked me. I picked my brain for any memory, but the only thing I could remember clearly was that someone died in my arms; I was shot, but I don’t remember how I got there.
“No, I have no memory of last night.” I twisted my fingers together out of stress.
“Do you remember who died?” His words cut through me. Slicing through every bone in my body. Would you remember the death of your fucking best friend? When he died in your arms? Of course I fucking remember who died.
“Yes,” as much as it pained me to say, I spat out the word as if it had no meaning at all.
“Do you happen to remember where they died? The police have no evidence and no leads, so we’re going to need a little cooperation from you.”
“Cooperation? What do you think I’ve been doing? Hiding everything I know about what happened last night? No! Why the fuck would I do that? I’ve been shot; I probably have minor amnesia from my concussion, so yeah, I’ve been doing and saying everything that I’m goddamn capable of saying.” I took a breath.
“I want Asher; bring him in here now.” I tried to clear the tears running down my face. He stood up. He mumbled something to a nurse before shutting my door. Out of all people, why did God choose me to punish? What did I ever do? More importantly, what did Tristan ever do? And who the fuck did he make so mad that they dragged him and me into Morniville, beat us up, shot us, dragged our somewhat dead bodies into an alley, and left us there?
My thoughts were interrupted by Asher walking through the door. A smile grew on his face when he saw me awake.
“Asher!” I smiled back. He walked over to the side of my bed, careful not to disturb any of the machines I was hooked up to. He bent down and gave me a hug.
“I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but what happened last night?”
I turned over so my back was facing him. If I wouldn’t tell the doctor sh*t, why the hell does he think I would tell him? He’s probably just going to get up and tell the police anything that I say anyway.
“Hey, Tori, come on, I’m sorry.” Asher placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Fuck, I don’t want to be here anymore.” I pinched the heart rate monitor on my finger and pulled it off, along with the IV drip in my arm. I slowly got out of bed, trying to cover myself with the little hospital gown they put me in.
“No, wait, what are you doing? You can’t leave.” He grabbed my arm.
“I’m not staying here to be interrogated by the entire city of Edmonton.” I walked over to the chair and found my clothes, and my phone rested neatly on top of it. Asher must have grabbed it from my apartment. I took the hospital gown off, leaving me just in my underwear and bra. I don’t think Asher really cared. I pulled the black crop top over my head and slipped my legs into my shorts. Careful not to bug the cast on my arm.
“Damn,” Asher said, running his eyes up and down my body, locking on my pink lace bra. His eyes widened as he saw the cleavage peeking out over the edge of my bra.
“What? You’ve seen me in my underwear.” I glared at him.
“No, I just mean, your body,” he shook his head. “No, no, no, I mean, you’re just really tan,” he corrected himself just before I cut in. I laughed.
We marched down the hallway, not exactly caring too much about nurses and doctors. Nausea flew over me. Just ignore it; you’re fine; you just need to push through until I get home. But then comes the question: where is home? I live alone in a downtown apartment. The summer before I leave it all and move away for university.
I limped my way into the parking lot. Asher opened the door for me, making sure I was okay. He drove a charcoal grey Mercedes CLS. I didn’t even have a family car growing up.
“Are you sure you should be doing this? You were shot, and you have a concussion.”
“Asher, I’m Victoria Anderson; since when have I let people tell me what to do?”
“I guess, but leaving a hos-”
“Just drop it,” I interrupted him. He kept his eyes on the road, clenching the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.
“You’re staying with me.” His eyes didn’t move whatsoever.
“Why? I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself.”
“What if you faint? What if you hurt yourself?” He said. “You’re staying with me for a bit, end of discussion.”
I slumped back into the seat; staying with Asher wasn’t going to be that bad.
He pulled into the parking lot of his apartment. Though I’ve known Asher for at least three years, I’ve never been to his apartment. I looked up at the tall, never-ending glass building. Wow. I knew Asher’s parents had money, but I didn’t know they had this much money. He clearly got a good chunk of that cash.
He led me into the building and up to the 11th floor. He unlocked apartment 232. My jaw hit the floor as he opened the door. The place was huge. I grew up in a mall parking lot. Sleeping in my small tent trailer. Every day we skipped breakfast and dinner. You were extremely lucky to find a good lunch. He clearly grew up happy in a house that kept him safe; his parents probably loved him and gave him the biggest trust fund I’ve seen. Meanwhile, my parents hate me; I was the biggest mistake of their lives, to the point where my mother left after birth. My dad became a drug addict and kicked me out the second I turned 18.
“Ew, rich kid, gross,” There’s no way in hell I’ll be going back to my apartment anytime soon while I can stay here with Asher in this beautiful apartment drinking expensive alcohol.
“I see your drugs have worn off,” he smiled, walking over to give me a hug. I ducked under his arm, and he glared at me.
I slowly marched over to the alcohol cabinet. I’m laying my hands on a $900 pinot noir.
“Dude, you’re concussed and you cannot drink.”
“Then why the hell would I stay with a rich kid if I’m not even allowed to drink their alcohol?” I groaned and laid flat on the ground.
Asher grabbed a small silver key and locked up the cabinet.
“Not fair,”
Yes, it is fair; you can drink when your concussion is gone.” He smiled and patted me on the head. All I want to do right now is drink alcohol. I don’t care about the drugs not being worn off or the fact that I’m concussed and have partial amnesia; all I want is some sort of alcohol to drown my sadness and envy in. Why, of all the people to envy, did it have to be my best friend? The one that always helped me, the one I care so much for, is now the person I envy the most.
“Are you hungry?” Asher asked, turning around to look in the fridge. Please tell me we will order something. I swear I will get salmonella from anything that he cooks.
I nodded in agreement. He reached into the fridge but ordered me to close my eyes.
“It’s a surprise; you can’t look.” Oh, fuck no. “Go into my room; I’ll call you when it is ready.”
Fuck yeah, I get to be alone in Ashers room. I got up and marched my way down the hall, trying to hide the widening smirk on my face. I opened the door, and the air around me instantly smelled like him. His wall is dark grey. Boring. He had a queen bed in the middle of the room with navy blue bedding. Also boring. This man needs some Disney princesses. He had a lot of gym equipment in the corner of his room. I turned on the lights, and it showed me what it really looked like. Everything fits together perfectly. It would have been better with a little bit of Disney princesses. He lives in an expensive apartment with a beautiful bedroom, expensive wine, and an expensive car.
I flopped back onto his bed, looking up at the ceiling, trying with everything I had not to start crying. I’ve lost everything—my best friend, my mom, my dad, my home, my life. It’s tunnelling down into a spiral of nothing.
This man has a life I could only dream of. I have a small, broken-down apartment in the middle of Edmonton. It’s three stories high, and half of my windows don’t even have glass. It used to be an abandoned mall until they turned it into a cheap rental. My job alone barely covers it. No, no, we are not thinking about my tragic life until I have to go back to it. All I know now is that I’m a rich kid living with my rich friend.
I stood up and walked to the bathroom, wiping my tears from my face.
