The woods that bordered Cairo's house seemed to breathe a heavy sigh of relief in the mid-afternoon's quiet heat. A single crow cawed harshly, a stark contrast to the cheerful birdsong of Carlsbad mornings. Maya kicked at a cluster of damp leaves, sending them scattering. The necklace, cold and unyielding, hung heavy in her pocket.
Sunlight cut through the trees in fractured beams, the slant of it highlighting the deep grooves in an ancient oak. Maya sank down against its rough trunk, memories of the previous night swirling through her head like fallen leaves caught in a sudden gust. The shouts of teenagers, the insistent thrum of music, the discovery that shattered the night's fragile illusion of normalcy.
She closed her eyes, but the image of the girl on the floor refused to fade. A blonde beauty with a splash of ruby red lipstick, her clothes somehow different, a strange echo of a bygone era in this small, modern town. An air of 50's glamor clung to her even in death, a stark contrast to the pulsating music and neon lights of the party. The police officer's voice pricked her conscience. "Did you know the victim? Have you ever seen her before?" A lie had slipped through her lips, born out of fear and a desperate, misguided notion that she could handle this herself.
There weren't many that stayed the night at Cairo's for the police to question. They'd been given the names of all who may have attended the party the previous night. The investigators had questioned them all for hours, until the mid-afternoon when they were finally allowed to return home. Maya had pleaded for them not to call her parent's, but Maya was underage and they had already done so.
The necklace felt like a live coal burning a hole in her pocket. Maya withdrew it, the delicate chain slipping between her fingers. In the dappled light, it seemed handmade, with small imperfections that made handmade items, especially jewelry, so unique and special. It's only other distinguishable characteristic was a red and black pendant, about half the size of a dime.
Yet, its presence here, nestled amongst the remnants of a party gone horribly wrong, transformed it into something else entirely. A clue. A secret. A burden she wasn't sure she could bear.
A twig snapped behind her, and Maya whirled around, her heart hammering against her ribs. Had someone followed her? Was she about to be caught with the evidence, forced to explain herself when fear had bound her tongue the night before?
But when she turned, only a flash of auburn fur signaled a retreating squirrel, scolding her for disturbing its foraging. Maya exhaled, a shaky laugh escaping her lips. Even the forest creatures were on edge, it seemed.
No. She couldn't let unfounded paranoia consume her. The rational part of her brain insisted the necklace was likely worthless, lost by some careless partygoer. And yet, a nagging voice, the one haunted by overheard arguments and cryptic warnings, whispered otherwise.
Maya turned the necklace over, tracing the smooth crimson and black crescent moon dangling from the silver chain. If this belonged to the victim, it could hold the key to unraveling the mystery that had descended upon Bridgeport. But could she, a newcomer, an outsider, do what the police likely couldn't? The weight of the unknown pressed down upon her, and for a moment, the woods seemed to close in, suffocating her newfound resolve.
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Monday morning brought broken sunlight through puffy gray clouds, dappling her messy bed with squares of light. Clothes were strewn across a chair, the remnants of unpacking. She'd was thinking about the conversation she had with Sarah the night before.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Mrs. Banford was more angry that Maya had been involved with the police again than she was concerned about Maya's health and safety. Bridgeport was supposed to be a fresh start. Her mother was overbearing, constantly asking if she wanted to talk about what had happened at the party. Her tone suggested she was asking out of parental obligation than genuine concern, and proceeded with giving her lists of chores and forcing her to go on errands with her rather than giving her the space she needed. So when Sarah called, Maya was grateful for the interruption.
"I'm still trying to process it all," Sarah said.
"Yeah, me too. Have you heard anything from the police? Perhaps a cause of death?"
"Not yet. It's strange, nobody saw her at all that night. It's like, she just appeared there." There's a tremor in Sarah's voice that doesn't quite match her words. Maya can't shake the feeling that Sarah's putting on a brave face.
"Yeah, crazy. Did you, Emily, or Alex give my number out to anyone recently? Lots of unknown numbers have been blowing up my phone since the party."
A brief pause. Sarah's voice was quieter now. "No, I wouldn't do that. You just got here. Not sure about Emily or Alex, though. We were all kind of, you know, shaken up last night. Didn't really think about it."
Sarah's explanation felt hollow and Maya couldn't tell if she was genuinely unaware or deliberately evasive.
"Listen, I don't feel so great. Think I might take a nap. Big day tomorrow, first day of junior year and all. See you at school then?"
But that was last night, and now she was heading to school on her bike. She had used GPS to locate the school only a couple miles away, past rows of Queen Anne style houses, cute bistros, the Daily Bean, and through a beautiful park, thick and lush with towering pine trees and dense with ferns and other undergrowth.
The last of summer's warmth turned Bridgeport High School's parking lot into a shimmering expanse of asphalt, promising a day filled with buzzing teenage energy and nervous first-day jitters. From across the lot, Maya watched Alex. His letterman jacket, a flash of Bridgeport green and gold, screamed 'popular jock,' but it was the troubled glint in his eyes that sent a shiver down her spine. The same flicker of tension she'd glimpsed beneath the chaotic disco lights at the party, before the night had shattered into something far darker.
"Alex," she called out, her voice sounding small against the rumble of engines and rising student chatter.
He turned, his trademark smirk replaced by a flash of surprise, or was it fear? But the emotion vanished as quickly as it appeared, masked by a careless facade. "What's up, newbie?"
The word stung, reminding her of her outsider status. But she needed answers. Maya swallowed, then held up the necklace, its silver chain catching the harsh sunlight. "I found this at the party. Is it yours?"
His blue eyes narrowed, scanning the necklace, then flicking up to meet hers. As his gaze lingered on her, she noticed thin, fresh jagged scratches on his forearms, angry red against his tanned skin. They hadn't been there at the party, had they?
Alex shrugged off her unspoken question. "Nah. Someone probably lost it during the chaos."
A lie, clear as the morning sky. His voice was tight, and he refused to meet her gaze. Why would he deny recognizing something so distinctive? Dread washed over her as she thought of girl's lifeless body, the whispered rumors at the crime scene.
"Alex," she asked, her voice trembling slightly, "did you see her? That girl — did you see her any time before we found her?"
His gaze pierced her, as cold as the shadow cast by the mountains that surrounded Bridgeport. "This town has a way of burying its secrets," he said, his voice low and menacing. "Best for you to stay out of things that don't concern you."
A chill ran down Maya's spine. He checked his phone, and a name flashed on the screen: "Hawk" – bold and angry.
"Who's Hawk?" she began, but he interrupted her.
"You know, you seemed pretty nervous when the cops came in at the coffee shop. What was it Maya? What are you hiding?"
Maya shook her head. "It's nothing."
Alex's lips pressed tight. He nodded. "Of course."
Maya tried to protest, but Alex was already turning away, blending into a group of boisterous athletes.
Left alone, the necklace felt cold and heavy in her hand. This wasn't just high school drama; it was steeped in danger, in secrets that could drag her under. The scratches on his arms, a fleeting detail she couldn't quite ignore, sent another wave of unease through her. Somehow, she knew that her carefree summer had just morphed into a terrifying mystery – the kind where the next victim might be her.