A while later, he is parked just outside Flint. He picks up his phone and rings her.

“I'm outside,” he says. He hears the thumping of footsteps over the phone before she replies, “I- I don't see you,” he can hear the confusion in her voice.

“I mean, outside Flint, not the house,”

“What?” She says, “Why would you? . . Cole,” she's inpatient, and he can practically feel her panic.

“I got caught up,” he lies, “I can't come to you, you'll have to get out of Flint by yourself. I'll meet you right out -”

“What the hell does that mean?!” She interrupts angrily, “Caught up? Cole, I called you because I can't leave!” He brings his fingers to his eyes and rubs them quietly. Truthfully, the reason he hasn't gone to her exact location, which she sent him, is because he can't. Not that he would disintegrate if he went into Flint and picked up his cousin. It's that if it's as bad as she says and there's a dead body, he would rather not put himself at the scene of a crime in broad daylight.

“Daisy, I can't be there right now. I need you to get out of that house, leave Flint, and come to me,” There's a strangled silence before she speaks. “If I could do that, don't you think I would've?” She asks rhetorically. In all honesty, he knows how ridiculous he sounds, but he cannot put his reputation at risk right now. All eyes have been on since he was assigned chief of police — eyes that would see him fail. It's not every day a man in his late twenties is assigned chief over men with far more experience in the force than him. Despite his hard work, there is and always be people claiming he got where he is through nepotism — which isn't entirely false. He acknowledges the privileges he has had over the course of his life because of who his parents and relatives are. It's because of that that people want him to fail. So they can be right about him being 'undeserving' the past couple of weeks have been grueling.

He can almost feel eyes watching him at this very moment. Chief of police going into the shit stain that is Flint unprovoked like some patrol cop would raise eyebrows. He loves his cousin, but he can't let one of her fall-outs shake things up for him, not now.

“I know. I know,” he sighs, “if you want me to help, you'll have to wait a little longer. At least just until the sun sets and the streets clear. Caper is a small town. I can't have people see me leisurely driving into Flint, you know,” he waits for a response. It doesn't come. “Daisy?” he calls, “you understand that, right?”

“I need you to get me out of here, Cole,” she grits out.

“I know, just not now. Get comfortable, trust me. It's for the best that we do things my way,” he hangs up before she can argue.

“Get comfortable!” She shouts, incredulous. “Get comfortable. . .” She repeats as if waiting for the words to make sense. Daisy paces about the room biting her nails. She can't believe it! He practically blew her off! Chief of police, and he can't move things around to get her out of this retched house. She shakes her head wildly as if to shake away her irritation. This is getting increasingly worse by the minute. She's trapped in a house with a dead body until sundown. How could Cole do that to her? She wipes the wetness off her face, which makes her realise she is crying. She looks at her fingers, still coated in now drying blood. She whimpers before falling to the floor and breaking into silent sobs.

***

2:20 pm

Daisy walks out of Wes's bathroom and lies on his bed. She brings her knees to her chest in the fetal position. It's been two hours since she'd called Cole. In that time, she'd taken a shower and cleaned herself up. She couldn't bring herself to clean the rest of the room—pointedly where she'd been sick in fear that it might make her sick of over again. She shuts her eyes tightly, trying to push away the thought of being in this room and in the bed where she and Wes had fucked not long ago. It doesn't smell like him anymore, nor does it smell like her. It smells like blood and it makes her stomach twist. She gets up immediately and sprints out of the room. She can't think about that right now. She'll be sick.

She walks down the stairs and into the living room, where she spots her sundress on the floor. She walks towards it and slowly puts it on. It's the only thing of familiarity in this house, and it brings her comfort. Daisy picks up her phone, unlocks it and begins to scroll through it mindlessly when it rings. It's her mother. Her breath catches—Eleanor would know something is wrong, she always does. Is that why she's calling because she knows? Daisy wonders. Did Cole tell her? She feels her earlier irritation with him bordering on anger. No, he couldn't possibly. . . Eleanor and him are close, but telling her about a situation this dire wouldn't make any sense. Reluctantly, Daisy answers: “Hello,” she says, in the most stable tone she can muster. “Are you alright?” Her mother asks immediately. Fuck, Daisy curses internally. She can always tell.

“I'm fine, mom. Why wouldn't I be?” She replies in a chipper tone.

“Oh, well, you just sounded like you weren't. Where are you? I'm at your house, I wanted to see you.” Daisy raises her eyebrows questionably. Why would her mother want to see her without an appointment? Daisy and her mother haven't been remotely close for years, and they certainly don't make unannounced house calls to each other, so why?

“I know you're wondering why,” she says matter-of-factly. “I'm not,” they are silent for a while. “I am,” she admits.

“It's family related. It's important. And something I'd rather we talked about in person,” Daisy's feel her chest constrict. Is she going to tell her they are getting divorced? Her heartbeat quickens. “What do you mean” She manages to say?

“Come home, and we'll talk,” Daisy takes her phone from her ear and stares at it at a loss for words. They can't get a divorce, not after all she's done. That can't possibly be what she wants to speak to her about. Divorce is unspeakable! They've been married for over twenty years, surely they can fix things. Surely, they wouldn't risk being the talk of the town for months, even years on end because they couldn't endure a few more years of their lives together. Right?

“Daisy. . . Daisy. .” She hears the distant call of her mother on the other end of the line. “I'll be there,” she says, too low for her mother to have heard, hangs up and wills herself to focus on anything besides this place - besides her mother. She hears the sound of laughter outside, kids playing on the sidewalk she surmises. The sound of skateboards rolling and scraping against the pavement. The distant chatter of Wes' neighbours, and the rustling of the wind in the trees around his yard. Cole was right, leaving now is too risky. People would see her, she doesn't belong here - they know that. And they would instantly recognise her, daughter of the mayor. She has no business in this place.

She sits silently - listening to the sounds around, it's oddly peaceful. There's a knock at the door. Absentmindedly, she gets up and heads for the door. She reaches for the door knob when she hears a voice call “Mr Wes?” Daisy stops in her tracks—recalling where she is. This isn't her house, this is Wes' house, Wes is dead and someone is outside looking for him. She can't open the door, instead she reaches for the key and turns it. It locks with a soft click- but not too soft for the person on the other end to not have heard.

She hears the person- a woman, sigh softly. “Mr Wes, I need to speak to you. The people, they came back,” the woman says, in a thick European accent that Daisy can't quite place. She knocks once more. “Mr Wes,” she says before breaking into a language Daisy recognises as Italian. Of course, Wesley is Italian, and whoever this woman is, she is Italian too. Whatever relationship she and Wes have it's a comfortable one, enough for them to speak their native tongues around each other. Daisy remains painfully still holding her breath hoping the woman would leave. As the woman's voice fades, Daisy breathes a sigh of relief, only to tense up again when the voice reappears, this time coming from the kitchen. Daisy sprints to the room and quickly draws the curtains, catching a brief glimpse of the woman before she retreats. Feeling her heart racing, Daisy wonders if the woman saw her as clearly as she saw her. “Uhmm, I come back later. Sorry,” the woman apologises, her voice thick with embarrassment. Daisy backs away from the window slowly. The woman must've thought she was one of Wes' hookups, or she wouldn't have been so flustered.

Daisy looks down at her feet that are now bloody and gags.

****

3:45 pm

It has been over four hours since Daisy called Cole, and to her, these hours have dragged on unbelievably slowly. Her paranoia is only increasing as she stands with her back against the door, anxiously waiting for the sun to set so she can leave this foul-smelling house. She had hastily put on her shoes, not bothering to wipe the blood off her feet from the kitchen.

With each passing minute, her head spins and the smell of blood and decay seems to worsen, even though she knows it's impossible for a body to decompose so quickly. But the stench is overwhelming her. Tears well up in her eyes as she struggles to cope with the nightmare of being trapped in a house with a dead body. Daisy tries to focus on her breathing to avoid a panic attack, knowing she must stay calm to get through this. Clutching her phone tightly, she finally decides to text him in desperation.

Daisy: Can't you come now?

Cole: No, I'm sorry.

She whimpers softly, her body trembling in agitation. She doesn't know how much more she can take. The blare of the lighthouse siren fills her ears, making her heart race with fear. It's 4pm, she notes, and the light coming through the kitchen window indicates that the sun is still not quite set. She shakes her legs rapidly, growing more anxious as her mind spins with questions. What if the Italian lady returns? Or someone even more persistent? What if Wes knows someone with a key to his home? She's in Bleaker, what if someone breaks in? Daisy bites the inside of her cheek in hopes of calming her mind, the taste of iron fills her mouth.

****

Daisy's phone vibrates in her hand. It's a text.

Mother : Where are you? I've been waiting for hours!

She checks her other messages there's one from her father he is wondering if she will be attending the Prescott's fundraiser, even though she has never missed a single one, he asks her every time. There's another from Lena, are you and Cole still out? He must've told her they were meeting. There's one from Eve, her long-time friend: Are we still on for coffee on this weekend? Text me <3. Daisy sighs, an exasperated sigh, if only they knew how much she's had to deal with these past few hours, hell, these past few weeks! All of their questions and schedules all seem tedious to her right now. There are bigger things to worry about than coffee. If only she knew, of course Eve has never had any real problems - she wouldn't get that there's a whole world outside partying, shopping, and hitting up cafés on the weekend. Daisy rolls her eyes. And types as response.

Daisy: yes, we are. Can't wait!

Immediately Eve responds, almost like she had been waiting for Daisy to speak to her.

Eve: Great! I can't wait. It'll be so wonderful to catch-up. We haven't seen each other in ages.

The last time Eve and Daisy spent time together was over three weeks ago, before Eve had left for Mykonos. Although they typically vacation together, Daisy did not accompany her this time. She was feeling frustrated in her relationship with Luke, making the idea of enjoying a vacation seem impossible to her.

Eve: we should go to that café by the sea.

Daisy: Eve, we live on a peninsula, every café is by the sea.

Eve: lol, that's right. Omg, should we invite Sabrina?

Daisy frowns deeply and types a reply furiously.

Daisy: No! Absolutely not!

She watches the three little dots dance on her screen before she receives a response.

Eve: gasp, I thought we like her now.

Daisy chuckles. Only Eve would type out the word gasp. But her laughter quickly turns to concern when she hears a deep groan coming from the kitchen. Startled, she jumps. Wondering if there is someone in the house with her Daisy calls out “Hello?” her voice filled with worry. There is no response, she stands frozen, straining to hear any noise. After a minute of silence, she convinces herself that she had imagined the groan and lets out a sigh of relief.

However, her temporary sense of relief was swiftly interrupted when the groan resurfaced, exuding a heightened level of anguish similar to the wail of a wounded animal. As far as she knew there were only two people in the house, and one of them was dead.
“Who's there?” She calls out again. “I'm not afraid of you,” she says in a trembling voice, silence answered, but the groaning grew more insistent. With clenched fists - Daisy made her way to the kitchen.

“Daisy. . .” Dread washed over her, it couldn't be. The body in the kitchen was long dead. Lifeless and cold. But that was his voice, Wes'—ragged and familiar. “Daisy. . .” His twisted voice compelled her forward against her better judgement. She had to know what was happening, it was impossible for him to be alive. But she couldn't mistake that voice for anyone else's.

She turns the corner, as she approached, the shadows twisted in the doorway. She reached the entrance and froze in place. There he was, on the floor twisted and grotesque - crawling on the floor drenched in a deep sheen of red, like a nightmare come to life.
“Hel…p m. . me,” he rasped, panicked surfed through her. She stumbled back, adrenaline igniting her flight or fight instincts. She screamed- a blood-curdling scream of horror and without a second thought, Daisy turned and ran for the door struggling with the key and door handle - her panic only making it increasingly difficult to open.

“Hel…p,” he groaned, Daisy's screams echoed through the house before she successfully unlocked the door and bolted out. Running onto the street - her vision blurred by tears. The warm August breeze bit at her skin as she ran down the street, her breath coming in frantic gasps. With every step the memory of his bulged pleading eyes, his twisted body and open neck surged in her mind, even as she ran, she could feel his presence and the horror of the moment chasing after her.

Cole is sitting in his car, tapping the steering wheel with his finger, feeling anxious. He spoke with his fiancé Lena over three hours ago before leaving her at his house. He told her he needed to help Daisy with an urgent errand and adamantly refused when she asked to come along. He glances at his watch, it's already half past 5pm and the sun is setting slowly. Cole can't help but wonder if the sun always takes this long to set. He hasn't heard from Daisy in a couple of hours, which is making him even more worried. Despite telling her to wait earlier, he doesn't trust that she would stay put, especially given her past behavior. Daisy has always been unpredictable and tends to get herself into trouble. Cole keeps a close eye on her at her mother's request. When she would have episodes in the past, he brushed it off as childish behavior. Now, at twenty-two, he questions if it's a matter of her age or her mental state.

He drags a sweaty palm down his face, wondering how he is going to fix this. Surely, she couldn't have killed someone, she said someone was dead, not that she was responsible. Surely, Daisy wouldn't be capable of homicide. Cole's head swirls with questions when he hears the sound of a woman's panicked screams- instinctively, he immediately gets out of his car to investigate. It's then he sees her, running as if someone had lit a fire under her shoes. She cries and screams, drawing a lot of attention. Hurriedly, he jogs towards her and grabs her - earning the disapproving look of an elderly woman walking her small dog. He weakly smiles at her, and she carries on, unbothered. He shakes her in his hands, calling out her name. She's in a panicked frenzy, unsure if she can even hear him, he calls out again.

“Daisy,”

“No, please. I'm sorry, please leave me alone,” she wails.

“Calm down, Daisy. It's me. It's Cole,” she responds in screams. Unsure of what else to do, he smacks her and she stops screaming.

“Daisy,” she looks at him for a moment before her eyes widen, and she throws herself on him.

“Cole. He's not dead. He's not. I saw him,” she says, clinging onto him.

“Hey, lower your voice,” he pries her from himself and walks her to his car while she rambles anxiously beside him. Once inside, he grabs her by the shoulders. “Hey. Tell me everything. Slowly,”

“I- I…"

“Daisy. It's OK, you're safe,” With that, her panic seems to subside, and she tells him all that's transpired over the past week, spilling her guts and not leaving a single detail out. From their parents' affair to her tryst with Wes and finally, what he'd been dreading all alone - his death and. . .resurrection? He scrunches his eyebrows, “Are you sure?”

She huffs in annoyance, “Yes, I'm sure! I saw it. He talked to me, and he was. . . Cole, he was alive!” He sighs. It would be wildly impossible for a man whose throat was slit to speak to her. Much less craw towards her. “Daisy, I think you were tired and stressed out, so you must've hallucinated. . .” He trails off, regretting his choice of words as they left his mouth. “You think I'm crazy?” She says, her voice breaking at the words. “You and Aunt Kitty both think I'm crazy,” his heart sinks as he recalls their last disastrous family dinner where his mother had implied what they've all been thinking but wouldn't say: something is wrong with Daisy. “Of course not,” he holds her hand gently, “I don't think you're crazy. I just think that, maybe, the stress of being in the same house as someone you had. . .” He pauses, not wanting to say the word, “someone you hurt was a little too much to handle. I've seen this frequently happen. Listen. If you like, we can go back there and check-”

“No!” She interrupts, “no, absolutely not. I'm not going back, Cole. You can't make me go back. I can't!”

“Ok, we won't,” he sighs, “let's, let's just get out of here, ok?”

****

They drive in a deafening silence for a while before she asks: “Where are you taking me?”
“Home,” he replies, distracted. Of everything he thought she'd say, a murder confession wasn't on his bingo card, and her description of the crime clearly shows it was premeditated. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She looks horrified, sick, and upset. Not at all like someone who had planned to seduce and kill a man in cold blood. As chief of police, he should be driving her to a police station in handcuffs. And not home to the comfort of her bed. “Why did you kill him?” He blurts, irritated.

“He isn't dead,” she says stubbornly. He glares at her, and she seems to shrink in her seat.

“I told you why,” she says, her voice so low it's almost a whisper, “there could've been multiple ways to handle this Daisy. You had to go and choose the worst one!” He shouts, making her flinch, “Do you realise how bad this is? For your mom, your dad, for you - for me!” He empathises. He should turn her in for this. Every bone is in his body screams at him to, but a murder and affair scandal would be precisely the kind of ammo someone would need to tear him and his family down.

“Exactly!” She yells, cutting him off. “I did it for my mom! For uncle Heath, my dad, and by extension for you. I did this for our family trust me, Cole, I know how this town works,” she talks rapidly—waving her hands around restlessly, making him twitch with each swing.

“I did it for all of us! He would've ruined us, Cole. Our family, our lives, our reputation.” Cole knows how important status and reputation are in a town like Caper. One bad rumor and entire businesses could crumble.

His father would lose clients if the news got out, Katherine would be devastated, Santè wouldn't be able to get any good recommendations from his high-school, all his hopes of going to an Ivy League university like Boulder State would be crushed. Their family would be shunned. And he would lose his job! The thing he had worked so hard to earn. Nonetheless, murder is still inexcusable they could've found a way to deal with Wes and his threats. They are a powerful and influential family. The gardener was never a threat to them. He wishes Daisy would've understood this before she went and did what she did.

“I know I did a bad thing,” she says, her tone regretful. “Trust me, I do. I. . . Frankly I don't even remember doing it,” she shakes her head slowly, “But I know that I did. If you're going to be angry with me, fine. But please, Cole. Help me,”

He looks at her, fragile and terrified and yet so sure of herself. Presently, she reminds him of his mother. She is right, getting angry with her won't change anything. Certainly, it won't bring him back to life. Daisy did what she believed to be the best option. It was the furthest thing from the best option; however, it's done now. And neither of them can reverse it.

“I am angry,” he says to his visibly agitated cousin. “But this isn't the time for us to be divided. You did what you had to do. We can still fix it,” he watches her grab a Kleenex from the dashboard and dab her tears away.

He softens, and a wave of sympathy washes over him. She's just a girl. A good girl who'd done an awful thing. “Alright, it'll take me a couple of hours to get everything I need, but I'll take care of it.” He takes her hand and holds it firmly. “Now, you listen to me,” he says, with his eyes fixated on the road ahead. “Your phone, where is it?”

“I don't know, I think I must've dropped it when I ran,” he scrawls, “Ok. I'll track it later, don't worry,”

“You'll have to purchase a prepaid phone. Those can't be traced. Stash it somewhere you know no one will find it. We'll use them to communicate while we clean this mess up,” while I clean it up. He mentally corrects. He takes his hands away from hers and begins tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “I should be able to get everything done in one night” he looks at her, “Daisy, I'll need you to be tough now. Act the same way you always have and not any different. Do you understand?” She nods. “If you do exactly what I tell you to do from now onwards. This'll blow over quickly.” He doesn't believe a word coming out of his mouth. Someone must've seen her run out of the house and went into investigate, he should be expecting a call soon. This will not be the walk in the park he is making it out to be.

“What if someone saw me,” She says, abruptly, as though she'd heard his thoughts. “I can't go to jail, Cole,” she trembles.

Cole glances at his cousin, who is visibly shaken. He wonders how long it'd take her to crack under the pressure of interrogation. If he helps her out, and she cracks, they'll both go to jail. If it comes down to it, what would he be willing to do to protect himself? “Daisy, that doesn't matter,” he lies, “it doesn't matter if someone saw you with him, or leave the house. It'll be your word against theirs. And you're a Strong. No one would believe them,” he excludes the fact that her fingerprints are all over the house, and it wouldn't take a genius to know she was the culprit. “If we do everything right, it won't matter. He works for you, it wouldn't be odd that you'd be around him.”

“What about my fingerprints?” he looks at her curiously, wondering if she truly can read minds. “They're all over the house, probably,”

“You don't have a criminal record. They won't be able to identify them,” he is grasping at straws with these excuses.

They fall silent before he says, “If it happens that nobody saw you, you'll need an alibi. A strong one,” he glances at his cousin, who looks like the wind has been knocked right out of her. He wonders how she had the stomach for murder, and yet, she clams up when it's time to cover it up. Granted, she says she had done it in a fit of rage- but now isn't the time to hesitate.

“Will you tell her? Lena, I mean.” He thinks it over. Would his fiancé stand by him if she found out? Surely, she'd understand his need to protect his family. She's a practical woman, and she loves him. “No, I won't,” he says, the last thing he wants to do is make the love of his life an accessory to murder.

“And you, don't tell anyone. Not a soul. Do you hear me? No one but us can know about this,” they make eye contact and nod briefly. They have a secret now, one no one can find out about. How long can they both keep it for? How long until one of them cracks?