The morning sky is like a widow - weeping and obscured. The gravel-grey clouds stretch out through the sky like the tentacles of a Kraken. The rain plummets with a vengeance and Amelia is thankful she's managed to seek shelter before she got caught in the shower. However, in this tense moment, she almost wishes the flood of water could wash her away.

She never pictured spending Saturday afternoon in the home of Ethan Crawford, but this entire month has been nothing but surprising. She'd contemplated pushing the entire project to the side and risking a failure - but an unforeseen text from Ethan lured her here. She woke up to a text from an unknown number which she'd read over at least four times before replying. He apologized for being rude to her in class and asked if she could meet him at his home to work on the assignment. How could she say no? She'd dreamed of a text from him for ages.

She awkwardly drums her fingers against her knees as she glances around his quaint living room. He'd excused himself to check on his younger siblings as he'd been assigned to babysitting duties while his mom was at work. She rubs the back of her neck adding pressure to a tense spot as she curiously glances at a framed picture on the coffee table in front of her. She recognizes a younger-looking Ethan but everyone else is unrecognizable. None of his siblings are in the picture - only him and an older man and woman. She leans forward for a closer inspection the very moment Ethan enters the room with an apologetic look.

"Sorry about that." He doesn't question her nosiness and sits beside her placing his laptop on the table between them.

Her body unintentionally stiffens at his proximity. She tried to distract herself by glancing at the glaring screen, but she could feel his arm brushing against hers with the slightest movement. She shivers.

She'd been in such a state of overthinking that she hadn't noticed he'd started discussing topic points for their essay.

"I have to confess." He pipes. "I haven't read the book." He gives her a perplexed look.

The corner of her lip subtly rises before she shrugs.

"That's cool." She feigns nonchalance. "I know enough to help us out."

He exhales a sigh of relief and his shoulder slouch before they dive into an in-depth discussion of the rise and fall of Julius Caesar.

"You don't talk much, do you?" He questions as she finishes writing down some notes.

"You're not exactly easy to talk to." She said with a shrug and Ethan smirked.

"I see you've been listening to the rumors." He said and her eyes furrowed in confusion.

"Everyone thinks I did it." He said staring at the bookcases on his right.

He seemed extremely deep in thought and she decided not to disrupt him.

"They think I murdered her." He said still not looking at her.

She put her forearms on the table and silently clasped her hands together.

"To everyone else, I'm weird and troubled and that seems to make me a prime candidate for murder."

His green eyes were so intense, and they held a certain emotion within them.

"It's not like you give people a reason to believe otherwise." Those were the cruelest words she has ever said to someone and she instantly wished she could take them back.

I accused him of murder to his face. His eyes widened and she swore she saw a hint of sadness before they turned ice cold. He stood up from his seat so fast that she almost got whiplash. He glared at her and she hurriedly packed her things before exiting his home. She wanted to say something but was in so much shock that she could barely get a word out.

She could feel the guilt eating her alive and she wished she could turn back time and do those few minutes over again, but she couldn't.

The darkness felt almost supernatural, as the night would swallow you up into nothingness if you weren't careful. Jake could barely see his hands in front of his face as he brought the nicotine stick to his lips. The fiery red ember brings light into the darkness as he inhales deeply. He relishes the smoke filling his lungs before exhaling. He groans as his phone buzzes in his pocket for the umpteenth time.

Abigail Westcliffe.

He shoves the device into his back pocket followed by a roll of his eyes and another heavy puff of nicotine. The phone buzzes again but he opts to ignore it as he leans against the porch railing. The dim streetlights barely provide any luminosity as the neighborhood is taken over by sleep. However, Jake has been tossing and turning for hours. He forced his eyes close but his mind has been running rampant. It's been like that ever since he came home. All the memories simultaneously hit him the second he drove into town and he's still suffering from the whiplash.

Once the cigarette is nothing but a bud he drops it to the ground and stomps out its last breath. He stares into the abyss of the deafening quiet night as his tense shoulders visibly relax as they do after every nicotine fix. His return home has been ambivalent. He'd missed the familiarity and comfort. Black Hill has been the only home he'd ever known, however, the comfort has been tainted with sinister misfortunes.

He gazes across the street to the home of the Becketts. Even with a sheriff across the street, he can't help but feel doubtful that any of them are safe. Lives have already been lost and the pessimist in him believes that more blood would be shed.

He straightens his posture and soothingly rubs a tense spot on his right shoulder. An identifiable red appears in the corner of his vision. His entire body freezes as his gaze locks with the cloaked figure. Neither of them moves as if one is willing the other to make the first step. Like a sadistic game of chicken. Jake's hands are clenched at his sides as he attempts to look intimidating, however, the sharp silvery blade in the mystery person's hand overpowers his attempts. His breath is lodged in his throat at the sight of the menacing weapon. He fights his body's catatonic impulses and bolts into his home, checking multiple times that the door is locked behind him. He leans against the door as his wobbly legs struggle to hold him. His uneven breathing is the only sound to be heard in the dense silence. He places a hand over his wildly palpitating heart as any trace of exhaustion flees his body. He couldn't imagine ever falling asleep again after that hair-raising encounter.

His phone chimes and it echoes through the silent home. He hurriedly retrieves it from his pocket. The screen glares at him through the darkness and he squints against the brightness to read it. Unknown. His interest is piqued as he opens it up.

Your secret is safe with me. For now xx

His heart seems to show no signs of slowing down as the text repeats in his mind. There's only one other person besides himself that knew of this secret - and they're already dead.

With a hefty sigh, Amelia returns home from a tiresome day of school. She enters the kitchen and stops in her tracks as her dad is sitting at the counter with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hands. The delicious aroma greets her as she enters and she can sense a hint of caramel. Her favorite.

"I didn't know you'd be home so soon." She greets as she ventures to the coffee machine to grab herself a cup.

"I thought I would look over the cases at home." He speaks after a generous sip. "I don't feel comfortable having you home alone."

She doesn't respond and instead clutches the mug in both hands as the steam invades her pores and the warmth soaks into her hands. Her father had left her home alone countless times before.

Only this time a deranged killer is threatening my life.

She'd never seen her father so concerned in her entire life. He'd been a police officer for longer than she'd been alive. He'd seen it all, dealt with it all. Only, this time, it's his own daughter's life at risk. The stakes have never been higher for him.

"Well, I have a ton of homework to do." She awkwardly states. "I'll be upstairs."

Things between the pair have been tense ever since they moved to Black Hill. Despite slowly beginning to fit in and make friends, a part of her still holds resentment for having to leave her old life behind. She'd tried to get over it and look at the positives but she'd often find herself pining for the past, to the times when she didn't have to constantly look over her shoulder in fear of someone lurking behind her. Fear is a predator and she's the sustenance.

Ding!

The familiar Facebook notification alerts her attention to her laptop casually laying on her desk. She makes herself comfortable before opening the app. Her breath hitches in her throat as if a golf ball had been brutally lodged into her esophagus.

Hi Amelia :)

The message itself isn't what disturbed her, but rather who the message came from - May's account. She clicks on the profile to make sure it isn't some sadistic joke and, to her dismay, it's truly May's account. With eager fingers, she hurriedly types out a reply.

This isn't funny.

She bites her bottom lip as she waits for a reply.

I agree.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, but the mystery messenger is quicker.

Consider this another warning. Tell your father to stop investigating - or else.

She isn't foolish, this person is fearful of her father figuring them out and they're using every tactic in the book to frighten him off. She'd learned from her dad and seen enough True Crime series to know these are actions of someone panicked. The adrenaline flares in her veins and sends her heart into overdrive as her fingers thoughtlessly move around the keyboard. She hits send without a second thought.

Try me, I'm not scared of you. Bitch.

She felt empowered by the bold reply. However, the empowerment fled her body the second the chime notification echoed through her soundless room. The adrenaline froze as her blood turned ice cold.

Don't say you weren't warned. The next one is on you.

As much as she wanted to convince herself, she knew this was no empty threat. Someone has access to May's account. The very someone that brutally murdered her and potentially two others. And who knows how many future victims? The thought sends cold shivers down her spine. The sickening individual is trying to provoke fear inside her and it makes her sick to her stomach that they're successful. They'd provoked her and she took the bait. Hook. Line. And sinker.

The leaves are waved by nature's hands as the grassy park is lost to darkness. Jake aggressively rubs his hands together in an attempt to generate warmth. The crickets chirp, the only sound to be heard alongside his uneven breathing. He ventures into the void of the night - the glimmering stars and moon hidden under the mask of the gray and rain-filled clouds. The moisture in the air is a sign of imminent showers.

He doesn't have much time.

With a sudden impatience, he hurriedly approaches the nearest bin but far enough away from any prying eyes. With haste, he reaches into his coat pocket and retrieves the incriminating images and a lighter - the only source of light in the calamitous night. No evidence. He glances at the polaroids in his hand as a wave of nostalgia nearly knocks him out cold. The back of his eyes begins to burn and he hastily pushes the emotions away. He doesn't hesitate to draw the flame from the lighter closer to the flammable images. It immediately attracts the flame and he watches as the images slowly melt away, dropping them in the trash as the flame finishes up the rest. The memories may forever be in his head, but there will be no more visual reminders of that night. No more evidence.