CHAPTER XII. THUNDER
My scream rattled the four walls of the kitchen, the vibration through my chest became a pain-staking surge of panic that soon flooded my veins. I didn't comprehend what I was doing, still shaking, as I leant down and hesitatingly picked up the knife, as though I thought it was an object of make-believe; just a figment of my imagination. My hand held it up towards my face, but the clearer view of what I could only assume was blood caused even more of a shattering stir within my being.

Suddenly, the sound of breathlessness boomed from behind me, along with swift footsteps. It wasn't long before I felt a powerful grip latch around my wrist; the wrist of the hand that was clutching the weapon. My head turns in a snap to perceive a confused Harry, his eyes wide with complete shock. He then looks towards the knife and his jaw falls open. His grip on my wrist only tightens.

Nothing happens for a few seconds, I stare at Harry with utter fright whilst trying to urgently decipher an escape plan. He had transformed to a predator within minutes, and even his clutch couldn't prevent my whole being from quivering like a leaf. Only the harsh clatter of the stained knife against the solid tiles of the kitchen floor interrupted the intense moment, I hadn't even noticed my hand loosening around the handle.

Bewilderment takes over Harry's features as he hesitantly peers away from my face and towards the floor, where the knife had made its new home. All colour floods away from his face, he now looked like a pale ghost; I couldn't identify if he appeared guilty or disorientated.

When my shaking becomes too much and I'm feeling truly overwhelmed, I decide to finally speak. It had snapped into my brain that if he was to hurt me, he was going to do it anyway and that I should at least try to get answers before it happens. 'It was you?' His grip tightens further than I thought it could, my arm feels as though it is wrapped in heavy chain.

'Are you seriously going to believe that?' His eyes flash up to mine with a completely disheartened shine and I'm more puzzled than ever.

'You're a fucking psycho!' I begin to scream again, trying to pull my arm away from his but to no avail. The tears fall all at once, like a waterfall from great distance, all leading to my chin.

'Andy! Andy, Stop!' He tries to pull me closer but I keep my distance. 'If it was me, do you think I'd be so invested in the investigation? Do you seriously think I'd put myself in so much risk of being caught?'

This stops me from screaming but my guard is still up. 'That's why you're a psycho! Why would you have this here, in your own home, if you weren't the killer?'

'Somebody has planted it there, Andy! You've got to believe me!' He pleads, his forest eyes brimming with tears; his irises brighter than ever. 'I've never seen that knife in my life, and you have to understand that.'

'Why would I ever trust you? I want to go home!' I yell, still sobbing, but I am surprised when Harry falls to his knees in defeat. A clap of thunder from outside booms at the exact second his knees hit the shiny tiles. It startles us both. His hand is still gripped to my wrist like a padlock, but now he is vibrating with sobs.

'Andy, please.' He peers up to me with soaked cheeks and my mouth falls open. The thunder claps again but is now followed by the individual tapping of rain against the windows of the kitchen. It speeds up gradually, and then all at once. 'I want to phone the police about it, I want to let go of you and phone them. But if I do, I'm scared that you won't believe me and you'll phone them yourself. I can't be a suspect, Andy, it will ruin everything. I can't be a suspect of a crime I didn't commit. You've got to understand. Please try to understand.'

I burst into tears all over again, and so does he. It was finally hitting me that I had to trust him. The signs were all there that he was the murderer, that he had committed these awful acts, but his act was convincing. But was it even an act? Murderers are renowned for acting, aren't they? He was there on halloween night, he knew where to look for murder stories in Maine and it was always weighing on his mind. But, this was Harry. He was only ever threatening when I first met him, he was only ever slightly intimidating through banter and it was never this sinister. Could Harry truly kill somebody?

'Okay.'

'Okay?' We stare at each other, yet I'm still yearning for distance.

'Let go of me. I won't call the police but I want you to; I want to be beside you when you do, and I want to hear every single word you say. Every single word, Harry.'

'Understood.' His grip immediately falls from my wrist and I pull my arm straight up to my chest, clutching the pressure marks left from his fingers. He gets to his feet and I instinctively jump back, he notices this and a sorrowful look flashes across his face. His cheeks were still stained with tears and I couldn't believe that I had seen this side to him. 'Damn, I haven't cried this much since my mom left.' Was all he said as he wiped his tears with the end of his sleeves and leant down to inspect the knife.

'Wait.' An awful thought pops into my head.

'What?' His red eyes swiftly find mine.

'I touched the knife. My fingerprints are on it.' I tell him and his head falls into his hands, he looked defeated by this news.

'Did you touch all of the handle?'

'Every bit of it, I picked it up and turned it around a few times.' I reveal with deep frustration, he groans and kicks the counter island with force. His action causes me to jump and I step even further backwards away from him.

'It's not your fault. I just wish we could have ended all of this here.' He explains, his eyes heavy with regret. 'The police can't look past your fingerprints, can they?'

'They'd suspect me as the murderer.' My voice is as quiet as a mouse. The whole situation had backfired, it wasn't Harry to be suspected but me instead.

'I can't stand in here any longer, the tub is making me feel ill.' He announces, turning around and stepping into the dining room. I follow behind in true mouse-fashion as he sits on a dining chair, his arms folding on the newspaper-filled table before him. He's searching into space as I position myself at the opposite side, taking a hesitant seat.

'What do we do?' I ask with urgency.

There is silence as I gaze at Harry, who had been completely taken by surprise. The sound of rain was usually soothing to me, but not today, it felt like it was washing away every positive thing in my life; every possibility of this situation turning out good.

'Did the maid see the tub?' He questions, more so to himself.

'I don't know.'

'What did the cupboard look like when you were first in there?'

'It was slightly open, I was only going to close it and leave but the knife caught me off-guard.' I explain and he nods.

'That means somebody was recently in there, somebody got into my house and planted it. The maid said she hadn't fully cleaned the downstairs, so somebody must have left it there last night at my party.' He rambles and my eyes widen with every detail. This all felt extremely real. 'I mean, it makes sense, doesn't it?'

'What does?'

'If Blake Redson was killed so nearby, surely it's very possible that the killer could be somebody we know. We just need to know who Blake knew, who he associated with before his death and then we'll get an idea of who to trust.' He explains, and I find myself feeling overwhelmed all over again. My eyes fall to the table, trying so hard to keep the tears inside but they break free and tumble down my cheeks.

'I'm so scared, Harry.' I throw my vulnerability at him like a tennis ball. His eyebrows furrow, visibly thinking of what to do in response to my statement. A shiver runs down my spine as he steps from the chair and slowly steps around the table, towering over me. Each careful footstep is with purpose as he nears my chair. Soon enough, he is beside me and I can physically feel the body heat radiating from him. His body crouches until his head is on my same level. I search for his forest eyes, deep with their own vulnerability, as he does the same. We observe each other deeply for a few seconds before his hand finds mine, this time gently. He's close to me but it doesn't feel strange, it feels oddly comforting.

'I'm scared too. But there's one thing I need you to do.' He begins, pausing for a moment. 'I need you to trust me, because we're both in this together. There are going to be moments where we doubt each other, but we can only get out of it together. I don't know how this will end but it will run more smoothly if you're beside me. I don't know what the future holds, but I know what happened in the past, and our only choice is to use what we know. I wish this hadn't happened, I really do. But, Andy, if this hadn't happened - I wouldn't have grown so close to you.'

The tears had finally stopped. 'I still - haven't agreed to the use of Andy.'

We both chuckle through our sorrow, and Harry looks genuinely glad that the serious moment was over. His relieved expression mirrored mine and his arms wrapped around my waist, my arms flew over his shoulders, and we shared a moment of joined solitude. The hug tightened at first before loosening and my head felt comfortable on his shoulder. Our chests being so close together like this meant I could feel his heartbeat, it was speedy at first but once we had melted into each other, it had stabilised. I hesitantly pulled away from the embrace and he stood, returning to his chair.

'If it makes you feel better, I have a plan in mind.' He announces once seated.

'Do tell.' I wipe under my eyes for the final time with my sweater.

'Let me check something.' He reaches for the most-recent newspaper like he did earlier and opens it to a couple pages in. His face soon looks relieved once again. 'So, it says here that Blake's funeral is taking place on Sunday November 23rd, which is...'

'Tomorrow.'

'Yes. That's perfect. We simply head towards the church and join the service, we mingle with the guests and try to figure out who Blake knew around here.'

'We can't crash a funeral, Harry. If anything is sinful, that's it.'

'We're not crashing, we're paying our respects. It's the only way we figure out our leads, Andy, otherwise what else will we have to go on? It's your choice: we do nothing and stay in constant confusion about the killer's next ploy, or we go to the funeral, speak to the attendees and try to gather information, and hopefully prevent another murder. What will it be?'

'I guess it's the only choice we have.'

'Exactly.'

Returning home that night felt strange and scary. Harry led me to the front door, but after wanting to escape his home for so long, I now didn't feel safe leaving. He stood holding the door open for me, but I halted before stepping out into the chilly air. What if somebody was hiding in the bushes of Harry's front garden? What if there was another knife, but it was instead in the killer's hands?

'You can always stay here, with me, if you feel that's better.' He offers but I shake my head. His hand runs nervously through his hair, I continue staring out towards the front gate of his home where the cab had just pulled up. 'You're safe, Andy, I'll keep watch until you're gone.'

I turn and lock eyes with him, his arm flies up to mine and gives it a small squeeze. The panic floods my voice as I speak. 'Just - just lock all of your doors, okay? And, if you need anything, please don't hesitate to ring me. If my parents answer, tell them you're my tutor or something.'

A genuine grin stretches across his face. 'Who knew Adriana cared so much about me.'

'It's Andy.' I clarify and his shiny eyes soften. He pulls me into a swift hug before I finally leave, approaching the cab with hesitation and waving to Harry once it had began driving away.

Two notes were attached to the fridge that Saturday night, the first read: 'At a literature conference until Monday. Buy any groceries you may need for yourself. Mom.' with a $20 note attached. The next read: 'Going to be spending the day at another art convention, won't be back until Sunday night. Call me if you need me. Dad.' The threatening sound of silence flooded my ears as I read each note stood inside the cold, dark kitchen. Our house seemed more empty than empty, but that didn't even make sense. I guessed my restlessness was merely beginning to talk. Just standing in my kitchen, with similar cupboard doors to Harry, was enough to give me anxiety.

As I double-checked the locks of the back door and front door, as I had a rapid shower and quickly dressed, and as I sat on the empty chairs of my desolate living room, all I craved to do was call Harry. I couldn't call Nico and vent, because he couldn't know of our secret. I couldn't call my dad because he too couldn't know, and he'd also panic about me for the rest of his life. My mom was also out of the question for the same reason. I felt hauntingly isolated and yearned for tomorrow to arrive in the whirlwind of a few seconds, yet at the same time I wanted the seconds to feel like hours, because tomorrow was going to be an unforgettable day, for all of the wrong reasons. I couldn't believe that we'd be attending the funeral for the boy we had found dead. I couldn't believe that this investigation had somehow consumed us whole. I also couldn't believe that my eyes were growing heavier, with pure exhaustion, into slumber all while my throat seemed to be running out of air.

I eventually woke on the morning of November 23rd not knowing how I had even fell asleep. My hands gripped the sofa and pushed my body up. The clock on the mantelpiece read 10.00am, Harry was due to arrive at 11.20am so I left the living room and headed for the bathroom. A shower and subtle makeup application later, and all I had to do was dress in suitable funeral attire. The silence of my home now seemed suitable, the deathly cloud of an approaching funeral was hanging over me, and I just had to bare with it. Not once while I had first moved to Maine, did I ever think I'd be attending a funeral.

My hands rummaged through the collection of dresses in my wardrobe, soon finding a black dress that covered my shoulders and knees. I put it on, along with low ebony heels and stepped back to the living room. A wash of coldness fell over me and the idea of Blake's ghost standing beside me felt all the more real, but I had never believed in ghosts. Only when my grandparents died, did I ever even think about the possibility of an afterlife. But now, the coldness seemed suddenly deathly. I found myself begging that Harry and I wouldn't soon know the answer to whether an afterlife did exist. We were so young to even --

The beeping of Harry's car horn startled me and disrupted my thoughts. I didn't move straight away, instead taking the deepest breath I could muster, and slowly moving to the door. Locking the door took all of my might, and I carefully stepped to his car as though I was myself holding Blake's casket. Harry revealed himself from the driver's seat once I had reached his vehicle, stepping around to my side and opening my door in silence. The suit he wore looked professional on him, it wasn't the usual dress-suit that he'd wear, instead it was fully buttoned and the tie was tightly tied; something about this was the final realisation that we were doing something out of the ordinary.

The church looked gloomy. Its walls hadn't been washed with paint in a while, the old white colour eroding at the edges. The large wooden doors were wide open, we could see that a crowd was gathered inside, with close relatives seated on pews and friends/acquaintances gathered at the back.

'Are you ready to go in there?' Harry softly asks, finally getting a full view of my sorrowful face.

'I never will be, but we'll have to.' I say plainly, turning to escape the car and meet Harry at the other side. We step in unison to the front doors of the building. I can hear the priest's sermon immediately as it booms from each brick wall. Something forces me to stop just one step away from entering. I wonder whether his funeral will be open or closed casket. I had seen his lifeless body so many times in my nightmares already, what was one more time? Maybe, it wouldn't affect me more than it already had.

I suddenly feel the fingers of another touch my own. My head turns to see Harry's face, laced with sympathy, before peering down to watch his fingers gradually intertwining with mine. Our hands delicately clasp together like puzzle pieces and give me the last push I needed to step inside.