In the Grass

"Phase 2," Elias repeated, staring at my phone. "What does that mean?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

The names on the list burned in my mind.

*Sloane. Elias. Aris. Elara.*

All of us.

Connected.

Not by friendship. Not by blood.

By a hit list.

"We need to move," I said, my voice tight. "We're not safe here."

I looked at the street. The fire trucks were still spraying water onto the smoldering remains of my house. Police lights flashed against the trees, a strobe of red and blue that made the shadows dance.

But no one was paying attention to us.

We were just two survivors. Two victims.

Or so they thought.

"Where are we going?" Elias asked. He was shivering, his bathrobe soaked through. He looked small. Vulnerable.

"Your garage," I said. "We need the Mustang."

"But Julian... he was there."

"He's gone," I said. "He ran into the woods. He thinks we're dead."

Or maybe he knew we weren't.

Maybe he was watching us right now.

I scanned the tree line. Darkness. Rain.

I grabbed Elias's hand.

"Come on."

We ran back to his house. Through the side yard. Through the mud.

The garage door was still open. The Mustang sat inside, black and sleek, like a predator waiting to be unleashed.

I checked the back seat.

Empty.

I checked the trunk.

Empty.

"Get in," I said.

Elias slid into the driver's seat. I got in the passenger side.

The leather was cold against my bare legs.

"Where to?" Elias asked, turning the key. The engine roared.

I looked at the phone again. The list.

*Sloane: Apartment 4B.*

"My sister's apartment," I said. "We have to get to Sloane."

Elias backed out of the garage. He spun the wheel, tires screeching on the wet pavement.

We sped down the street. Away from the fire. Away from the crater that used to be my life.

I watched the houses blur past. Perfect lawns. Perfect fences.

All hiding secrets.

All hiding rot.

"How did he know?" Elias asked, breaking the silence. "About the book? About the investigation?"

"He didn't," I said. "Not at first."

I looked at the phone.

*Dr. Aris.*

"Aris told him," I said. "Aris was feeding him information. My sessions. My fears. My... paranoia."

"But why?"

"Because it made for a better story," I said. "The hysterical wife. The loving husband pushed to the brink. It was the perfect narrative."

I clenched my fist.

"Until I rewrote it."

We turned onto the main road. The streetlights flickered overhead.

I dialed Sloane's number again.

It rang. And rang.

"Pick up," I whispered. "Please pick up."

*Voicemail.*

"Sloane, it's me. Don't go home. It's a trap. Do not go into your apartment. Call me as soon as you get this."

I hung up.

I looked at the time.

*8:15 PM.*

Twelve minutes since the explosion.

Twelve minutes since my "death."

If Julian was following the script... he would be making his escape now. Changing cars. Changing identities.

Becoming Arthur Vane.

But if he knew we were alive...

If he knew his masterpiece was ruined...

He would be improvising.

And an improvising Julian was dangerous.

"Faster," I said.

Elias pressed the gas. The Mustang surged.

We reached the city limits. The buildings got taller. Denser.

Sloane lived in a trendy neighborhood. Loft apartments. Coffee shops.

The kind of place Julian hated. *Too much noise. Too much clutter.*

We turned onto her street.

I scanned the parked cars.

There.

Her red Fiat. Parked in front of her building.

"She's here," I said.

Elias pulled up behind her car.

I jumped out before he even stopped.

I ran to the building. I punched the code. The door buzzed open.

I ran up the stairs. Third floor.

I reached her door. 4B.

I pounded on it.

"Sloane! Sloane, open up!"

Silence.

I put my ear to the door.

Nothing.

I tried the handle.

Unlocked.

I pushed it open.

The apartment was dark.

"Sloane?"

I stepped inside.

The air smelled... wrong.

Not gas. Not smoke.

*Lilies.*

Strong. Overpowering.

The smell of funerals.

I fumbled for the light switch.

Click.

The room flooded with light.

I gasped.

The apartment was filled with flowers.

White lilies. Everywhere. On the table. On the floor. On the counters.

Hundreds of them.

And in the center of the room...

A chair.

And sitting in the chair...

A doll.

A life-sized doll. Wearing a black dress.

My dress.

The one I was supposed to wear tonight.

Pinned to the doll's chest was a note.

I walked toward it. My legs felt heavy. Numb.

I pulled the note off.

*Draft 4: The Twist.*

*The sister doesn't die in the fire.*

*She dies in the sequel.*

I dropped the note.

"Sloane!" I screamed.

I ran to the bedroom. Empty.

The bathroom. Empty.

The closet.

I threw open the door.

Empty.

She was gone.

"Elara!"

Elias was in the doorway. He was holding his phone.

"She's not here," I said. "He took her."

"Look," Elias said.

He held up his phone.

A news alert.

*Breaking News: Fire at Verdant Hills.*

*One confirmed fatality.*

I stared at the screen.

*Police have identified the victim as Julian Vance, 36. Local architect.*

"He's dead?" I whispered. "But... I saw him run."

"Read the rest," Elias said.

*Body found in the woods near the property. Appears to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound.*

I looked at Elias.

"It's a fake," I said. "It has to be."

"They have a body, Elara. They identified him."

"How?"

"Dental records? Fingerprints?"

I shook my head.

"He planned this. He knew I would survive. He knew I would fight back."

I looked around the apartment. At the lilies.

"This," I said, gesturing to the flowers. "This was set up *before* the fire. He knew he was going to lose the house."

"So he faked his death," Elias said. "And took Sloane."

"Why?" I asked. "Why take her?"

"Because," a voice said from the hallway. "She's the leverage."

I spun around.

A man was standing there.

He was wearing a suit. Dark. Expensive.

He held a gun.

Not a police issue. A silencer.

"Who are you?" I asked.

He smiled.

"I'm the publisher," he said.

He stepped into the room.

"Mr. Vance sent me his manuscript," he said. "It's brilliant. A true masterpiece."

He looked at Elias.

"But it needs an ending."

He raised the gun.

"And you two... you're just loose ends."

"Wait," I said.

I stepped in front of Elias.

"You want an ending?" I asked. "I'll give you an ending."

I reached into my pocket.

"Don't move," the man said.

"I'm just getting my phone," I said. "I have the files. The real files. The ones Julian didn't send you."

He hesitated.

"What files?"

"The outtakes," I said. "The videos of him. The real Julian. The monster."

I pulled out the burner phone.

"I uploaded them to the cloud," I lied. "Set to release in... five minutes."

I showed him the screen. It was just the home screen, but he didn't know that.

"If I die," I said, "the world sees who he really is. And your 'masterpiece' becomes a snuff film."

The man lowered the gun slightly.

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

I looked him in the eye.

"Call him," I said. "Call Julian. Ask him."

The man frowned. "He's dead."

"Is he?" I asked. "Then who sent the flowers?"

He looked at the lilies.

Doubt flickered in his eyes.

"Call him," I repeated.

He reached into his pocket with his free hand. He pulled out a phone.

He dialed.

It rang.

Once. Twice.

And then... a sound.

From the kitchen.

A ringtone.

*Classical music.*

*Vivaldi. Winter.*

Julian's ringtone.

The man froze. He looked at the kitchen.

"He's here," I whispered.

The man turned toward the kitchen.

"Vance?" he called out.

No answer. Just the music.

The man walked toward the kitchen. Gun raised.

He stepped through the doorway.

*Thud.*

A dull, heavy sound.

The man collapsed.

And standing over him...

Was Sloane.

She was holding a frying pan.

She looked at me. Her eyes wide.

"I... I hit him," she stammered.

"Sloane!" I ran to her. I hugged her. "You're alive!"

"He was waiting for me," she said. "In the closet. He tied me up."

She pointed to the pantry.

"I got loose. I hid."

"Where is he?" I asked. "Where is Julian?"

She shook her head.

"He left," she said. "Before the man came. He left his phone."

She pointed to the counter.

Julian's phone. Playing Vivaldi.

I picked it up.

The call was still active.

"Hello?" I said.

Silence.

Then... breathing.

"Hello, Elara," Julian's voice said.

He wasn't dead. He wasn't in the woods.

He was on the other end of the line.

"Did you like the flowers?" he asked.

"Where are you?" I demanded.

"I'm at the airport," he said. "Boarding in ten minutes."

"You won't get away with this."

"I already have," he said. "The police found the body. My 'suicide'. Case closed."

"Who did you kill?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"Does it matter?" he asked. "Some drifter. Someone nobody will miss."

He laughed.

"Just like you, Elara. Nobody will miss you."

"I'm coming for you," I said.

"No," he said. "You're not."

"Why not?"

"Because," he said, "you have a choice to make."

"What choice?"

"Look under the sink," he said.

I looked at the kitchen sink.

"Sloane," I said. "Open the cabinet."

Sloane opened it.

A box.

A metal box. With a timer.

*05:00.*

"Another bomb?" I asked.

"Not a bomb," Julian said. "An incendiary device. Phosphorous. It burns hot, Elara. Hot enough to melt steel."

He paused.

"And it's wired to the building's gas main."

My heart stopped.

"You're going to blow up the building," I whispered.

"Only if you try to follow me," he said. "Stay there. Let the timer run out. And maybe... just maybe... the fire department will get there in time."

He laughed.

"Or maybe not. It's a cliffhanger."

Click.

The line went dead.

I looked at the timer.

*04:30.*

"We have to go," I said. "Now."

"What about the bomb?" Sloane asked.

"We can't stop it," I said. "We have to clear the building."

I grabbed the fire alarm on the wall. I pulled it.

*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.*

The alarm blared.

"Go!" I shouted. "Get everyone out!"

We ran into the hall. Banging on doors. Screaming "Fire!"

People poured out of their apartments. Confusion. Panic.

We herded them down the stairs.

We reached the street.

We ran to the end of the block.

And then...

*BOOM.*

The third floor exploded.

Glass showered the street. Fire roared from the windows.

I watched it burn.

He had done it again.

He had burned it all down.

But this time... I had something.

I looked at the phone in my hand.

Not my burner.

The man's phone. The "publisher."

I had picked it up when he fell.

I unlocked it. No passcode.

I opened his texts.

A message thread with *Author*.

*Package delivered.*

*Target acquired.*

*Flight 815 to Rio. Departs 9:00 PM.*

Rio.

He was going to Brazil.

I looked at the time.

*8:45 PM.*

Fifteen minutes.

I looked at Elias. I looked at Sloane.

"We have fifteen minutes," I said.

"To do what?" Elias asked.

"To catch a plane," I said.

I ran to the Mustang.

"Get in."

They got in.

I revved the engine.

"Next stop," I said. "The airport."

I peeled out.

The fire raged behind us.

But I wasn't looking back.

I was looking forward.

To the sequel.