The Girl From the Woods
30
"I saw Rachel last night."
I was sitting with Bridget, in a park close to my apartment. Her eyes were closed and she had her head resting on my shoulder. But she lifted it and looked at me once I spoke. I already knew what that look was: she thought I was slipping.
Maybe I was.
I was hallucinating a dead girl, after all.
"This must be hard for you," she murmured, tightening her hold on me. "You're stressed."
"Brandt is breathing down my neck," I snapped. "You don't know what it's like to be accused of murder!"
Bridget shifted away from me, her eyes narrowed.
"You didn't do this," she told me. "You know that, Quinn. And as soon as they find the person responsible, the police will too."
"They're not even looking," I argued.
"Then maybe we should," she suggested, and kissed me softly, winding her fingers in my hair and pulling me closer.
Maybe then this will finally end, and Rachel will find peace.
I was sitting with Bridget, in a park close to my apartment. Her eyes were closed and she had her head resting on my shoulder. But she lifted it and looked at me once I spoke. I already knew what that look was: she thought I was slipping.
Maybe I was.
I was hallucinating a dead girl, after all.
"This must be hard for you," she murmured, tightening her hold on me. "You're stressed."
"Brandt is breathing down my neck," I snapped. "You don't know what it's like to be accused of murder!"
Bridget shifted away from me, her eyes narrowed.
"You didn't do this," she told me. "You know that, Quinn. And as soon as they find the person responsible, the police will too."
"They're not even looking," I argued.
"Then maybe we should," she suggested, and kissed me softly, winding her fingers in my hair and pulling me closer.
Maybe then this will finally end, and Rachel will find peace.