Alcohol is man's greatest enemy. Steer clear of it at all cost.

While I’m sure I came up with the plan, I have reasons to believe that was mostly the alcohol's doing. But it worked. The girl left in a hurry, more aggravated at having her clothes soaked in chemical foam than having her time with Colt cut short.

I did it. I soiled Colt Bradshaw’s plans.

What startled me was the thought that occurred after that victory. Should I just beat him down with a fire extinguisher?

That’s when I knew the alcohol had taken over. I left shortly after that.

It’s been ten hours since then, and now I’m laying in a bed more comfortable than I’ve ever known. I almost don’t want to get up, maybe because for the first time in a while, I feel at peace.

And also because my head is killing me. God, how much did I drink? It feels like there’s a band concert going on inside my head, more drums than any other instrument. My vision is beyond blurry; I can hardly focus my eyes. What the hell happened last night?

When I do eventually get a sense of my surroundings, I quickly realize that this isn’t my apartment. I’m in someone else’s room. Queue in the panic, because apparently the headache wasn’t enough. I can’t focus at all with my head this full.

But then I spot the movie posters on the wall and the overabundance of pink. This is Jenny’s dorm room.

And she steps out of the bathroom in a two-piece pajama set and a pair of stuffed slippers. The ones I got her for Christmas.

“Looks like you had fun last night.” She says, almost amusingly.

If only I knew to what she was alluding. I hold my head; the headache still won’t dial down. “I can hardly remember anything.”

“Well, you weren’t that bad,” says Jenny, handing me a glass of water and a pill of remedy. “You did throw up in a flowerpot, almost stripped. And you went around yelling, ‘Colt Bradshaw is a life ruiner’.”

You would think I would be more embarrassed, but I really don’t care at the moment. That’s what happens when you’ve witnessed scenes of horror. You tend to grow indifferent to anything less than.

I’m surprised I didn’t do worse.

The mention of Colt’s name jogs my memory a bit too forcefully, and soon I’m reminded yet again of the incident in the bathroom. That’s right. The girl. His victim. I need to make sure she’s okay.

But I have no clue who she is.

“Right, here’s your wallet,” Jenny hands me a pouch the size of my hand. “You dropped it when I tried dragging you here.”

But this isn't mine. My wallet isn’t black but brown. I check the content anyway, just to be certain. And it really isn’t. Instead, the ID belongs to a girl named Savannah Gardner, same age as I am. Red hair, hazel eyes.

That’s when it clicks again. It’s the same girl from the previous night. The one with Colt. I remember it vaguely now. She dropped her wallet after leaving, and I retrieved it in the hopes of having it returned. Only to have the rest of my sanity depleted by alcohol.

Well, this is perfect. All I have to do is track the girl down from the information in her wallet. There’s a phone number and an e-mail address. This is turning out better than I expected.

“I forgot,” Jenny starts again, surfing through her phone. Then she shows me a picture that drives my headache through the roof. “You also did this.”

The photo has me in it. Me with a fire extinguisher in my hands . . . blasting both Colt and Savannah in the face. Who, what, why, how? When was that photo taken? I was so caught up on saving that girl that I didn’t see the attention I amassed.

Christ, my life is just one big circus, isn’t it?

“W-who sent you that photo?” I say, scrambling out of bed to get a better look.

“A friend of mine,” Jenny tells me. “Who got it from a friend of theirs.” She’s laughing now, breathless. I don’t have that luxury because Colt could very much be plotting my death this very second.

Jenny takes a seat on the bed, gasping, eyes full of tears. “Why did you do that?”

To prevent another murder scene. But I don’t tell her that. Instead, I chalk it up to alcoholic influence. “I had too much to drink. But don’t show that photo to anyone else. Please.”

“Sure. But I should let you know I’m not the only who’s seen it.”

This is just great. I’ve become a laughingstock. And not in the same way as having your underwear on display as I did in third grade. Because at least back then, there were no cameras. But we’ve entered a digitalized age where the most minute incident can be captured and scrutinized.

Who the hell thought it was a good idea to invent technology?

But perhaps this is all for the better. I ended up saving that girl, and since the photo went viral, it’ll be hard for Colt to prey on her any further. All eyes will turn on him if he decides to do so.

Yeah, this is for the best. For the meantime, I need to find the girl. Savannah Gardner.

___

The meeting is set in front of the science building, to the side where a statue of an eagle – the school’s mascot – stands.

I’m the first one to arrive, only because I came earlier than the agreed time. And yet I end up waiting longer than anticipated due to Savannah’s tardiness. I understand being a couple minutes late, but isn’t thirty minutes pushing it?

If I were any less willing, I would have dropped the wallet in the shrubs and continued on. But I have some questions that need answers. Starting off with Colt’s parents. I want to give them the benefit of the doubt. After all, what kind of parent turns a blind eye to their kid murdering an innocent woman?

If I’m going to crack down on this case, I need to have a word with them. Maybe they could be of assistance.

So instead of bringing the matter to Colt himself and risk painting a big red target on my face, I’ve decided to go behind his back. The better, more appropriate choice.

That still doesn’t mean I have enough patience. I give it six more minutes before I toss this wallet to the gutters. But lo and behold, Savannah shows up on the fifth minute. Lucky her, I guess.

“Sorry I’m late.” she tells me, not sounding sorry at all. She looks rather annoyed than sympathetic. I understand, though. I did spray her with a fire extinguisher.

Let bygones be bygones. “I apologize for what I did yesterday. I may have had too much to drink.”

She scoffs. I guess bygones won’t be bygones. “If you knew you were such a messy drunk, then maybe you shouldn’t have been drinking in the first place.”

I saved your life, you stupid bitch.

I have to force calm upon myself. This isn’t why I’m here. After taking in some deep breaths, I hand her wallet over and tell her a brief story of how it came to be in my possession. By the end of it, I seemed to have garnered some specks of gratitude. Turns out, she really was freaking out over losing her wallet.

Then I steer the conversation towards Colt. “Since you’re close to Colt, I was wondering if you knew anything about his parents. How do I get in touch with them?”

“Colt and I aren’t that close,” Savannah starts, smacking on some piece of gum. “I mean, we do hook up once in a while, but I don’t think that’s enough to consider us close, you get what I mean?”

Wow. None of that were answers to my question.

It sounds like she’s bragging over her undefined relationship with Colt than ranting. If only she knew the kind of monster he was.

“And Colt doesn’t have any parents,” Savannah continues. “He’s an orphan.”

An orphan? Somehow, that makes perfect sense. Of course, he is. That’s why he’d been so bold inviting me over to his home, storing the body under the same roof. His parents are dead. Gone.

And I have a pretty good idea who the perpetrator is.

___

I don’t go seeking Colt. I run into him - by the convenient store right outside campus, next to his car. He must have been out shopping judging by the plastic bags in his hands.

How come this always happens? I came here seeking an extra bag of pads, and instead I bump into Colt. Should I take some chance and run into the store? I contemplate it, but then I deem it unnecessary. We’re outside, in public. He’d be a fool to try anything now.

Still, it sucks that I can’t read into him. I want to know if he’s holding a grudge, either for soaking him with foam or having the incident blow up. But his eyes are cold. Dead. I can’t read a thing.

“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” Colt starts, filling the silence. “I actually like her. She does whatever I tell her to do.”

I don’t have any reason to believe him, but somehow, I can’t take Colt for a liar. He means the things he says.

Similarly, I should be worried about his stance on that photo going viral, but I have more pressing issues that I need addressed. “Your parents. They’re dead.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t react. He only places his grocery bags in his car and slams the door shut.

Then, without much conviction, he says, “You think I killed them.”

I don’t give him a solid answer, though I’m sure my silence is enough. And it is.

Colt sighs. “You’re right.”

And there it is, the thing that’s worsened my image of Colt Bradshaw, something I didn’t even know was possible. For him to admit it so blatantly, without shame. Is there no humanity behind those eyes of his?

“Well, it depends on which ones you’re talking about.” Colt adds.

Now I’m two steps away from losing my mind. “What?”

“My adoptive parents died in a car crash. As for my biological parents, I killed them.”

This is all too much for me to take in. I think back to the photos in his home, of the ones with the women embracing Colt. Were those his adoptive parents? To think he received a loving family after what he did to the first one. That’s just unfair. It’s unjust. Colt didn’t deserve that life. He didn’t deserve to be loved and cherished.

Before I’m given any more time to mull over the specifics, a car drives by us. A police car, and it stops right in front of Colt.

The officer rolls his windshields down, and at first, I think this is it. Colt Bradshaw’s time has come to an end.

But the officer greets us with nothing but a warm smile. “How’s it been, Bradshaw?”

Colt gives him the same courtesy of a smile, seeming far more spirited than earlier. What a two-faced bastard.

“Pretty great, Mr. Brady,” He tells the officer. “We have a game coming up next Wednesday. You should stop by.”

“I’ll do my best. And I apologize for not keeping in contact much these days. The station has us all cooped up on this kidnapping case.”

Colt waves his hand, as if it’s no big deal. “Don’t sweat it. Justice first, am I right?”

The officer agrees, nodding profusely. I guess nothing grinds his gears more than serving justice. “I’m sure your mother would have already cracked the case if she were still here.”

One of his moms was a detective?

“I’m sure she would have.” Colt replies, with a hint of sorrow. What irks me most is the fact that I can’t figure out if it’s real or not.

The officer then takes notice of me, and his smile widens. “And who's the young lady?”

Colt pats my shoulder. “A friend of mine.”

Like hell I am.

I’m not the only one who doesn’t like the answer apparently, because the officer sighs. “I thought you'd finally caved in and gotten yourself a girlfriend.”

“You know me,” Colt chuckles. “Football is my number one priority.”

And killing people.

The officer turns to me. “How's it going?”

“. . . fine.” I answer, still trying to gather my thoughts. I can barely do so, though. Colt Bradshaw sure has the entire world fooled, doesn’t he?

As soon as the officer leaves, my body stiffens up. Because I’m once again alone with Colt.

But not for long. Colt takes one last look at me. “See you around, I guess.” Then he enters his car and drives off.

Meanwhile, I’m still swimming in a sea of suspense, trying to make it ashore. But I drown just meters away.