The Girl From the Woods

I don't know when I fell asleep, but by the time I woke up there was a pounding on the door and a pounding in my head, both of which were pissing me off. So I dragged myself out of bed and across the apartment.

"I know you're in there."

It was a woman's voice, not the hard officer I was expecting since the news broadcast.

"I'm not coming out," I said. "What are you doing here? Didn't you see the news?"

Bridget's voice was rough. "Fuck the news. You're not a killer, Q."

I sighed and rested my head against the door. It was cool, and it eased my headache a bit. But not enough.

"You don't know that," was all I could think of to say.

"I do know that," she said, her voice slightly muffled behind the door. "Please talk to me."

"I'm sorry."

I walked away from the door, went to the cabinet for some aspirin, and turned around to face the TV.

Then my phone rang.

I didn't want to answer it, but I knew it wouldn't stop if I didn't.

"Hello?"

"Is this Quinn Mathers?" a male voice asked.

I blinked and shut my eyes. "Who is this?"

"All that matters is that I know who you are," he said, his tone light. "I know you didn't do what they think you're guilty of."

"And how is that you know that?" I asked, leaning against the counter of the sink.

"Because I killed Rachel Saunders," he whispered.