So...it's been real, guys. I've um...I've had a lot of fun, I guess. And I'll miss you all, even though none of you even liked me. Oh, also, I don't give a shit about that, so... 

 Reyna is off with Kellin, the girl who tried to kill her, to go shopping. If there's one thing I'll never understand: it's women. If someone tried to kill me, I'd finish him off fast; not take them out to eat and buy clothes with them. 

While we're on the topic of killing...well, aren't we always? But really, I'm dreading tonight. The killers have been getting us to turn against each other since the very beginning. And nothing screams "tear each other apart" like revealing that I took part in slaying Reyna's friends. But in my defence, Adriano wasn't that close with her, so maybe she won't count that? 

 Kellin is always talking about how our own actions reflect our own consequences. Well...I murdered three people, I tortured someone, I lied a bunch, and I broke myfiancé's finger. 

Granted, I murdered people to ensure Reyna's safety, I freed the guy I tortured, I cleared up my lies, and Reyna wasn't my fiancé when I broke her finger. Does that excuse all the things I've done? Because I sure hope so.

 I go into this party and lose Reyna, then I've lost everything. My brother is dead, my parents hate me, and I don't have any friends for an array of reasons. I didn't realize how much was on the line until I got into this, but there's no turning back now.

You can turn back...you have the choice to do so.

No, I don't. I'm in this now.

At the root of all of these problems, there was the murder of my uncle. This is personal now.

I've been trying to figure out a killer or two in the time I have away from Rain. The clues and stories direct my attention to someone out for the Kings, or maybe someone who murdered him...what if these killers are after the person who killed my uncle? Shouldn't I be working with them?

 Of course, that's if this is even the case. 

Now if there are two killers, then things change. That means two people have a shared hatred, a close bond, and tight lips. I obviously know that my killer title was for a limited time only, so it isn't me...anymore, because I killed Adriano this week, and if this is the end then I won't have to kill more people. Maren and Ozzy could be it, but Maren hates not being friends with Reyna, and Ozzy is such an aloof human being that it couldn't possibly be him. Plus, they were recorded saying who they thought the killer was. 

By the way, Maren and Oscar, thanks for the vote of trust. 

 It could be Makai out for revenge, but his partner would've been Adriano, and he's clearly not around anymore. 

 Maybe Kellin? I've never seen her with any friends, which is a great way to hide an accomplice. But Kellin is too wise and philosophical to be a killer. Have you ever seen a slasher film where the smart, advice-giving councillor is the killer? Because I haven't. 

That new cop that Reyna calls Desk Guy is kind of weird. Like Ozzy, he just showed up. But unlike Ozzy, he didn't stalk us on a website and re-break his arm to get to know us, so I give him props for that. 

 Everything about this has been slowly piecing together, but the crucial parts of the puzzle are still missing, and it's driving me insane. I'm extremely perceptive, and I've yet to figure out the whole case. 

Tonight, we're getting answers. I just worry that Reyna might get too many answers about her friend died. To clear my head, I sigh and lay on my back. I've stayed in my room while Alessa runs out for groceries and Ezio goes to work. I don't know what I'll do yet when one of them gets back, but I'm sure I can figure something out. 

 Slowly, the image of the meadow and the willow tree comes to mind and I start to sink into serendipity. 

 Until my phone rings.

 Yay. 

PHONE CALL FROM: TYPE 

"Ugh," I sigh, grunting and sitting up. I answer and put the phone to my ear. I don't say anything because I don't exactly feel the need to. The serial killer called me, so if they've got something to say, they better say it before I get bored and hang up. When there is silence, I clear my throat. There's still silence. "Was this a butt dial, or...?" 

 Through the phone line and right in this very room, there's a terrible crash as my window is shattered. Dropping the phone, I dash to the noise. I grab the bottom of the window and lean forwards, looking for who threw something in here. I forget about the glass shards and cut my hands up. Hissing with pain, I withdraw them and continue to look.

Jogging across the street is a kid in a black cloak. They might be a high schooler and they might be the real deal. Either way, they nearly gave me a heart attack and they're going to pay.

 Sprinting down the stairs, flinging the door open, and taking off in the direction of the killer, I maintain a cool head. A part of me loves the thrill of chasing someone and anticipating the impact of my fist on my face. But the newly reformed part of me tries to shut the other part up.

 Now, the guy knows he's being followed and he books it. I pick up my pace, breath even, not even breaking a sweat. For an instant, I'm transported to when I used to smuggle drugs; to when I used to haul ass away from opposing gangs and police. Now, I'm chasing after a guy who broke my window and is connected to a serial killer. My, how things have changed. 

 The person takes a quick step to the left and runs through traffic, cars stopping abruptly and honking at them. They're almost across the street when a white car hits the cloaked figure at about 15 miles per hour, knocking them down. The driver door opens, and I'm surprised to see Makai. He grabs the cloaked man by his wrists, puts them behind his back, and walks/shoves him to me. 

"Thanks," I gratify, only vaguely winded.

"What did he do?" Makai inquires, ripping the hood back. This is just a high school teenager, a girl I've never seen in my life.

She threw something through my window," I explain.

"Please!" the girl begs, clasping her hands together. "It was for five-hundred dollars! I didn't want to hurt you or anyone. Don't hurt me please."

Warily, I look at a narrow-eyed Makai and the rest of the watching cars. In a pre-Typescenario, I would've burned her house down. But now people are watching me – people that I need to trust me. "Let's get out of the street," I growl, voice getting that guttural texture that it does when I'm pissed off. "Makai, go ahead and park. You can come with." 

"I didn't need your permission," he scolds. "I was going to come to make sure you didn't torture her, too."

 "Fantastic! Hooray!" I screech. Makai is always going to hate me, and I get it. It'sjustifiable. But for God's sake, give me a freaking break. He doesn't have to harp on me every second we're in earshot of each other. 

Grabbing the girl by her upper arm, I guide her, forcefully, to my side of the street.

"Okay, so who put you up to it?"

"I don't know! An automated voice called and told me what to do. They dropped a box off at my house in the middle of the night with cash on top. And, please try to understand, it was a lot of cash..."

"You're pathetic," I spit at her.

"I'm sorry," she pleads, on the verge of tears.

"What was in the box?" Makai asks, trotting up the sidewalk like a pony or something.

"I don't know," the girl admits. "The only condition was that I didn't open it."

Makai's orangey-brown eyes flick to mine. Sighing, I release her. "Hope your money was worth it...get out of here, kid."

I watch as she runs away, black cloak flying in the wind. "How nice. I wish I got that treatment when you questioned me."

"With your attitude, you're making me think I should've killed you."

"With you existing in the world, I wish you did," he renders.

Stomping down the street, I roll my eyes. "Well, I'm sure we can arrange something, then."

As we walk down the street, Makai continues to make digs at me. "I don't know what my sister sees in you. You're a torturer and a killer. You're cocky as hell, you only care about yourself, and you hurt people for a hobby."

I'm losing energy arguing with this kid. "Aren't Hawaiians supposed to be chill and stuff?"

"And you're stereotypical!" he accuses in a shrill tone. "And most of us Hawaiians aren't tortured and drained of blood."

"Makai, you should be thanking me," I mitigate the situation, entering my driveway.

"All your scars and the story of how you escaped a psychopath makes you more interesting."

"I was already interesting."

I open my door, staining it with hands that I forgot were bleeding. "Eh...everyone has an opinion."

"You're such a dick."

I let out a groan. "The killers don't even need to come after you. You're killing yourself4/5with those so-called insults." 

Makai snorts with distaste. "You just think you're so funny, don't you?"

I pause halfway up the stairs and shrug. "Yeah, I'd consider myself a comedian when I want to be."

"That was your first mistake of many."

"Some would consider not killing you my first, but whatever."

We're upstairs and I open my bedroom door. At first, I'm alarmed by what I see, but I maintain myself with great composure and composition.

Makai Keanu on the other hand... "Oh shit! Holy shit what in the shitting hell is that? Is that the box or is that one of your death scrapbooks?" 

 "Relax, Makee Canoe," I demand, turning around and shooting him an evil eye. "It's a box. You think I'd stain my carpet with all of this?" 

The well-mentioned box is just a shoebox that appears at least two decades old...especially when the company emblem on the box doesn't exist anymore. There are holes in the box that had been eaten away by moths and time. I imagine its colour used to be light purple or something like that, but now it's soggy and stained with blood. The box itself is either full of blood, or there's something bloody inside. But judging by the amount of scarlet staining my beige carpet, I'd say it's just full of blood.

I pinch the lid and flip it up. There's a floating IV bag that has been pierced with a hole. On the bag, two letters had been written with a black permanent marker.AB- 

This could've been the blood used by Reyna's father. Why would I killer only collect blood from those with this blood type? 

 "That's my blood type," Makai says behind me, standing on my bed and peering down at the sight with caution as if the blood will come back to life and swallow him whole. 

"I know," I mumble. "I'll call the police."

"You are the police!"

"I'm not totally on the case anymore."

"Aww, what?" Makai pretends to be sad for me. "Did they say you were emotionally compromised and full of shit?"

"Something like that," I mutter under my breath as I call Sheriff Desario. He answers.

"Hey, someone threw a box through my window. It's full of blood and a message."

"I'll send someone over immediately. What was the message?"

"It was a blood type," I inform. "AB negative."

"Strange," Desario manages. "Someone will be over soon. Thanks for reporting."

"Just doing my job," I bite before hanging up. I cross my arms and heave a sigh.

"Someone's cranky," Makai antagonizes.

"Yeah, the psycho is cranky. So I'd be careful."

"I'd ask what you would do if I weren't, but...I've already been there and done that."

 Rolling my eyes, I stare at the blood. "Do you like playing the victim? You know, not everything turns out the way you want it to! Do you think it was easy for me to switch sides and be with Reyna after what I did to you? No, it wasn't. But at least I handled it like a man. I dealt with the guilt, took responsibility for my actions, and moved on. I'm sorry for what I did, I don't expect you to forgive me, but goddamn it cut me some slack. I'm trying." 

That last phrase was one I got from my uncle. Hah! My father would never teach me about taking responsibility for actions unless they were his own mistakes. Ezio himself would never takes accountability for his doings unless they were positive. If they were negative, he found a way to blame me. 

"I'll never forgive you," Makai seethes. "You got that part right."

"I got all the parts right," I correct. "You're the one who needs fixing, now."