~~Carson's POV~~
"Fuckk!" Griffin exclaimed, bulging his eyes at the board. "Is he really counting down?"
"My head's pounding right now," Sawyer said.
Their voices swirled in my head, just floating around my mind already indulging in the smiley faces in the photo. It was count down to the next victim if the theory was right…
Count down to the next victim.
4 weeks?
My eyes locked on Mia's, the vivid image of Daniil, Ashley, she, and one other person conversing on date night replaying in my head. Was that why Daniil was with her? Because she could be the next victim? But he didn't approach her, they did. What were the odds that he had it all planned out?
"Now we know when. But who? Who's next?"
"Mia," I blurted absentmindedly before the voice even settled to be Griffin's. "Mia is the next victim," I resounded a lot more intentionally, flitting my eyes between their faces masked with confusion.
"Mia?" Sawyer reechoed.
"The first one by the right," I described, sending their eyes flying back to the board.
They watched the photograph closely, nursing a bloated silence.
"And how do you know for sure?" Griffin cross-examined, narrow-eyed.
"Trust me on this one," I said simply. I hadn't shown them the clip so bringing it up now was out of the question. But my hunch as a cop kept telling me Mia had to be the next victim. Being together on date night could not have been sheer coincidence. Especially with the recent revelation. "Griff, dig into her."
He nodded slowly with a scrap of skepticism still in his eyes.
~~Ashley's POV~~
My mom had somehow made me begin to dine with the rest of the family. Well, technically, she was the only 'rest' so I found myself gradually not minding and just going with the flow. As long as it was just us, then it was no problem at all.
But I could see an extra serving – one not mine or my mom's either.
"You didn't tell me dad was coming," I said, not the least excited, screeching out a chair beside hers. We rarely had guests join us for dinner so I presumed the extra plate was for my dad.
"Carson's joining us for dinner."
With my butt hanging just an inch from the seat, I asked with creased brows, "Carson?"
She nodded.
"Why?" I asked, dropping my butt on the seat. "Did you invite him for dinner?" I interrogated.
"No," she said with a shrug. "He said he wanted to join us for dinner so I could not say no."
Although still on her, my eyes went distant, traveling back in time to what happened earlier today. Carson had shown me a pic so could he have been joining us for dinner because he had more clues to share? Because as I could remember, seeing Jacklyn in the same photo with the victims of that case wasn't something to be thrown under the carpet. Something was fishy and I could not help but wonder what the connection was between the serial killer and Makayla's cousin. And friends.
A maid walked in on us just when I was about to dig in, to announce Carson's arrival. My mom asked for him to be ushered in, and he joined us for dinner after a series of exchanging pleasantries.
I remained my usual self on the quiet side and occasionally exchanged stares with him sitting across from me. And during that time, a lot of unsaid words vaulted between us.
"Let's talk." My patience snapped as I dropped my cutleries, letting an emphatic clink emphasize that. His plate was empty, and so was my mom's. Mine only had a few crumbs left so yeah, dinnertime was basically over.
Without waiting for a reply, I stood up and started heading for the door, walking out on an "I'll talk to you later" in a manly voice, followed by a muffled "Fine" and a screech.
We met outside.
"What is it you want to tell me?" I asked directly. Cutting corners had never been my thing.
"You're not as interested in this case as you used to be. Is something or someone distracting you?"
'Distracting me?' I narrowed my eyes thoughtfully.
I used to be obsessed with Makayla's case because of the pain it brought me. Because of the agony I had to live in. I wanted to bring the killer to justice to finally find peace. But for the first time in history, Carson just brought it to my notice that I was being distracted.
Could it be that the withering pain was also taking away my need for revenge, or Justice?
"Is it Daniil?" encroached into my ears.
"Daniil?" I found myself blurting, not knowing the exact second it forsook my thoughts for reality. Felt more like it was dragged out forcefully.
Was I really being distracted by Daniil, my arch-enemy?
Daniil?
Come to think of it, my bedtime thoughts lately had sparsely consisted of Makayla's death. Instead, it was either Daniil bugging me the entire day, or my head trying to crack the code as to why he was being exceptionally nice and helpful.
Was I slowly forgetting Makayla? My best friend? Really?
"Is anything going on between you two?" My thoughts weren't halfway collected when the same voice intruded, towing me back to square one and leaving me discomfited.
"Wha-wha-could – " I paused, the fact that I was stuttering, which was atypical of me, latching on to my senses. "Wait, why is everyone just asking me about this?"
"Your mom did?"
"Daniil did," I corrected. "He asked me what our relationship was."
"And you told him …." he stressed in expectation of a reply.
Not an impulsive reply, but a calculated one. He wasn't just asking to know, now there was a hunger for my definition of our relationship etched around his tone somewhere. But of course, Ashley would always like to put him on hold.
"You don't need to know." I shrugged.
He sighed softly, giving up. It'd be useless trying to persuade me otherwise and he knew that.
"The night is well along, Carson. Don't you have work tomorrow?" Now I wanted him off my back.
"Yeah, sure," he answered spiritlessly, sounding like a guy whose ego had just been punctured by the needle called 'crush's rejection.'
He walked out of our porch, into the open where the moon cast its light on him, bringing the bandage around his knuckles to my notice.
I remembered him being overprotective of the injury. He had also refused to tell me anything concerning it, acting awkward. Was it a mere coincidence that Daniil also had a cut around that time?
No one in our school would dare to hit him knowing who he is and what he is capable of. And I would not say it was his dad because the injury was fresh like something just inflicted.
Moreover, Carson delayed. Could he have sent me out of the class on purpose?
"Why did you hit him?" I asked instinctually.