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Her eyes never left the surface of the coffee table in front of her. It didn't change, nor did it do anything to erase the image looping through her mind—John B with a gun, Peterkin's body crumpling, the sickening bloom of red against her clothes..

Death had a way of leaving fingerprints on Annabelle, smudges that no amount of time could scrub clean. She'd learned that the night she found her mother—sprawled on the cold floor, skin a waxen shade no living person should wear, eyes open yet unseeing. The silence afterward had been deafening, so heavy she swore it pressed into her bones. Those images had rooted themselves deep inside her, coming back in flashes she could never predict, like a cruel trick her own mind liked to play.

Now, as she sat staring at the marble surface in front of her, that lifeless and expressionless face switched between her mother's and the cruel imagination of Peterkin's. The thought tightened something in her chest until it hurt to breathe.

Annabelle had never been particularly close to Peterkin. After her mother's death, she'd pushed away everyone who tried to be there for her, clawing at her isolation like it was a shield. She had tried to push away the helping hand Peterkin reached out for her, like she did many others but the woman had been one of the few who wouldn't let herself get shoved out of Annabelle's life. And she was eternally grateful for that.

Peterkin had been her refuge in the months after her mother's death—a steady, unshakable presence when everything else felt like shifting sand. A lot of the time, she was a pair of warm arms to wrap around her. But she was also the pair of ears that listened without judgment and watched with sharp eyes when Annabelle didn't realize she was being guarded.

Annabelle only remembered the night of her mother's death in fractured moments. But one memory was less vivid than others. Between the flashes of red and blue light, police and ambulance sirens, and the many questions thrown at her as she sat curled up on her porch, she remembered Peterkin sinking down in front of her, looking at her with a pair of eyes that didn't demand answers. She remembered her gentle hand on her knee and her tone that was sweeter than any of the other cops.

She spoke to her about her well-being and didn't ask her to relive the moment when she found her mother's body. It had been a peaceful break between the interrogations and Annabelle realized, with a stab of guilt, that she'd never properly thanked her. The realization shattered whatever composure she had left, and her body folded in on itself as sobs wracked her chest.

She lost track of time but she knew that it was still late at night when she caught the sight of movement in the corner of her eye. Through the open curtain, she watched as the front door to Tannyhill across the street opened and Rafe marched out. Despite there being yards between the two, Annabelle recognized the tightness in his shoulders, the balled fists, and the determined steps that the boy took to his car.

Before she knew it, she was standing, the blanket falling off her and she hurried to the door. It was colder than most nights and the chill bit into her bare arms as she paced down the driveway, not minding to grab a jacket or even lock the door.

She burst onto the street, the headlights of Rafe's car blinding her as she stopped in the middle. Rafe must have been looking at his phone or not paying enough attention because he stopped dangerously close to the girl's body. The tires squealed as he slammed down the brakes and he was out of the car in an instant.

"Christ, Annabelle-" He slammed the door after him and hurried up to her, his eyes wide in panic but brows close in anger. "What the hell are you doing?! I almost hit you, dammit-"

She planted herself there and looked up at him, her chest heaving under her T-shirt. "Where are you going?"

He blinked like she had just asked him to explain quantum physics. He shook his head and let out a humorless scoff, his hand going through his hair before taking a step closer, towering over her with his eyes narrowed at her face. "Get out of the road, Annabelle." He bit out.

"No." Even Annabelle was surprised at how stern her voice was. "I'm not moving until you tell me what's going on."

"Move, Annabelle." He said, through gritted teeth, like he hadn't even heard her.

"Rafe, I'm so done with your bullshit." She raised her voice, not caring if she woke up the whole neighborhood. "Talk to me! Whatever it is, I want to know. I'm so tired of you running off."

Rafe looked away, pinching the edge of his nose before letting out a sound that was something between a grunt and a huff. When he finally looked at her, she could see that every muscle in his face was tensed. "Kelce called." He said. "John B is in his house. They have him locked in a room." Annabelle opened her mouth to say something but Rafe got before her. "Don't ask me why or how. I have no idea. All I know is that I'm going there now and we're calling the cops on the fucker."

The girl in front of him blinked and realized she was damn near gaping and shut her mouth, swallowing hard. That image flashed before her again, John B's fingers wrapped around a gun, pressing on the trigger.

"Then I'm coming with you."

Rafe grabbed her arm even though she hadn't even tried to move toward the passenger seat. "No, you're not."

"Ye-"

"Annabelle. You're. Not." His grip on her tensed slightly despite her, once again, not moving an inch.

"I am, Rafe."

"I don't want you getting involved in this."

"Well, too damn bad." Annabelle shoved Rafe's hand off her arm. "You got me involved the moment you told me what happened at the tarmac. Actually- no- you got me involved the moment you and I became... this." she motioned between the two, not really sure how to even label them. He called them boyfriend and girlfriend the day before that, but they had been that for much longer than that, just unspoken.

He stared at her like her words physically hurt him. Like something was actually clawing at him for allowing Annabelle to get mixed up in his own personal shit. He breathed out, his fists clenching and unclenching a few times before he finally huffed. "You stay in the car."

She nodded, pleased with herself before storming to the passenger seat. She buckled up while Rafe remained in his spot in front of the car, his face twisting and tensing under whatever storm of emotion was going through him.

When he finally sank down in the driver's seat, Annabelle could feel the tension instantly thicken the air in the car.

The drive was cloaked in silence, thick enough to feel in Annabelle's lungs. Neither of them spoke. She didn't dare to break it—and maybe didn't want to. They rolled into the sea of blue sirens and neighbors crowding around Kelce's house to watch the potential arrest of John B. Annabelle's stomach twisted. This whole nightmare was becoming way too real.

Her fingers reached for the door handle, but Rafe's hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist. "You stay in the car."

She turned to him, voice low but urgent. "He's my best friend, Rafe. Please, I-"

"No!" Rafe snatched her hand away from the door handle and the tone in his voice made her flinch. Not violently but a little, enough for her to feel the chilling feeling of something crippling that she could never quite describe, creep up her spine. She stared at him with widened eyes and as the boy took in her expression, he let go of her wrist slowly.

"Sorry, sorry... sorry." He repeated and wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel, putting all his tension into his grip which made his knuckles whiten. "It's just.... the guy's a murderer. I want you as far away from him as possible. I'm sorry."

Annabelle swallowed hard and looked toward the house. "Honestly, Rafe, I'm probably safest from John B here." She looked back at him.

Rafe didn't meet her gaze, instead he, too, looked at the house. "That right there is the damn problem. You're too trusting. Even when it comes to a murderer." He finally looked at her, releasing his hand from the steering wheel to gently cup the side of her face. "I'm trying to protect you. Now will you please stay in the car?"

His voice was sweeter now and she found herself nodding. He looked relieved and leaned forward, pressing his lips against her forehead before slipping out of the car. "I love you. Stay put."

And then he shut the door. Annabelle watched as he walked through the audience that had formed in front of the house, his frame towering over everyone else's which made it easy to follow him with her eyes. He stopped in the front just as Shoupe and a small group of officers moved into the house.

Her chest thudded with each second that passed. If John B were smart, he'd give himself up without a scene. But she knew him. That wasn't in his nature. She braced herself for the crack of a gunshot—yet none came. Instead, Shoupe and his men came out, shouting something, and suddenly, the cluster of people was in chaos. They looked around frantically, some running off, some shouting.

Annabelle got out of the car, the sea of yelling, screaming, and gasping only getting louder. Then she saw it before she heard it. A figure that she'd recognize anywhere swept through the shadows, stopping behind one of the cars parked far off. John B.

"He was just in there! He can't be far!" Topper shouted.

"I want three deputies to hit the backyard now!" Shoupe shouted out instructions.

John B hadn't seen Annabelle yet. His eyes were trained on the officers as they spread out, running off in the other direction.

"We'll get him for you Sheriff!" Rafe's voice cut through the murmuring and shouting and as if on cue, John B's gaze met Annabelle's. And time froze. His expression was a knot of things—fear, anger, hurt—and her own chest constricted under the weight of conflicting instincts.

Annabelle remained still, by the open car door, staring at the pair of eyes that were barely visible in the dark behind the car, her mind wondering how those innocent eyes belonged to the boy who had done such a horrible thing. To the boy whom she used to sneak into the marina with at sunset to race each other along the docks barefoot, laughing as the wood burned their feet from the heat of the day. The boy with whom she used to make up fake constellations with while lying on the roof of the boat shed, telling each other ridiculous stories about what they meant.

In that moment, it felt as if time had stretched itself so that the two best friends could stare at each other for longer, suddenly not sure what side they were on.

"I told you to stay in the car, dammit!" Rafe came up beside her and she tore her gaze from John B, looking up at him and he guided her back down into the car. His hand lingered on her arm, surprisingly gently. "Hey, I know that this is a lot for you, baby." His voice was low and not as rushed as earlier. "I'll drive you back home, just say the word."

She shook her head, suddenly mute as her full focus went to not letting her eyes drift back to the boy hiding a few feet away. She could just glance over there or shout or tell Rafe, but she barely moved. She couldn't. Even if it meant a murderer was on the loose, she knew she could never do that.

"Okay," Rafe whispered, as if he was disappointed in her answer. He looked up and waved at someone and within a second, Topper and Kelce were there.

Annabelle felt them staring at her, slowing down a little as they passed outside her car window and she realized that she had no idea of how much or little they knew about hers and Rafe's relationship.

They jumped into the backseat and Rafe was quick into the seat behind the wheel, driving off. Annabelle made sure no one was watching her as she glanced back to where John B had been but all she saw was pure darkness and she knew that he was gone.

The four of them drove around the corner and Rafe barked out orders to his friends to split up. Topper and Kelce ran out and went in different directions while Rafe once again told Annabelle to stay put.

She just waved him off and he hurried out, rushing out into the darkness, toward the church past the trees.

Annabelle felt dizzy trying to take all of it in but it was all too bizarre for her to even realize that this was really happening and that it wasn't some wicked nightmare. The girl sat with her face in her hands, doing her best not to throw up when the church bells rang.

Three Sheriff cars came from different directions and parked around her, cops emerging from them and sprinting the same way that Rafe had just run off in. Annabelle cursed at herself as she followed them, running through the cold night to the church.

She came around from the side, watching in horror as the cops got in formation in front of the wooden building with Shoupe in the front. Her eyes flickered between them and the small light coming from the belfry when suddenly something else caught her gaze. Rafe and Kelce came out through a door in the side of the church and Annabelle instinctively took a step back, melting into the shadows as they passed. The two boys passed her without noticing her and joined up behind the half circle of cops that surrounded the entrance.

A small orange light swirled around inside the door that Rafe and Kelce had just come from. The light transformed into a flame that quickly multiplied and soon became a fire, devouring the back of the church, creeping closer to the belfry. Annabelle's heart sank into her stomach, refusing to make sense of what she had just seen. Then the truth slammed into her chest.

Rafe had lit it.

Her breath hitched, a sick, disbelieving churn in her stomach. The fire climbed higher, faster, painting the night with its roar.

She watched Shoupe make a phone call, people crowding behind the officers as the flames danced over the roof and walls of the church. Annabelle paced forward, out of the dark and she could psychically feel Rafe's eyes focusing in on her but she didn't care. Not when the fire was getting dangerously close to the belfry.

"No!" She cried out, pushing past two officers, however, she didn't make it far before Rafe wrapped his arms around her and forced her back, hugging her against him at an angle that strained her arms behind her back.

It didn't matter that she was making a scene. It didn't matter that John B was a murderer. Her best friend was being burned alive up there and there was nothing she could do about it. As the belfry went up in flames, a sob clawed up her throat, echoing into the night filled with the crackling and roaring of fire and the static from radios.

Her eyes blurred over but she blinked it away the moment the large door into the church opened, smoke billowing out, carrying with it a figure.

"That's him! The cop killer!" A woman shouted behind her.

Every gun was pointed at the boy as he stumbled out of the church with his arms raised. Despite the circumstances, Annabelle felt a wave of relief wash over her to see that he at least was alive

"On your knees, Routledge!" Shoupe shouted.

The boy was leaning forward, the hood of his hoodie hanging over his face as he slowly stepped out onto the grass surface in front of the church that was getting buried in flames.

"Shoot him!" Someone yelled.

"Stand down!" Another barked.

In the ear-defining shouting, the shaky voice somehow managed to cut through. "It's Topper."

Just like that, the relief twisted into another ball of worry, as the boy who she had thought was John B, pushed down his hood to reveal Topper's face.

"Topper?" Shoupe and Rafe huffed out at the same time. Every gun lowered and every pair of eyebrows raised in confusion.

"I don't know what the hell happened in there, all right?" Topper said as an officer cuffed his arms behind his back.

"That's bullshit," Shoupe said. "I ain't buying it. You need to tell me what's going on."

"Is this how you treat people who try to help?" Topped scoffed.

"All right, smart ass." Shoupe shook his head. "Tomas, get him in the car!"

The officer behind Topper violently dragged the boy to the nearest cop car and shoved him into the back of it while Shoupe ordered everyone to back up. Annabelle's eyes kept flicking back to the blackened church, to the doorway Rafe had come from, and the fire that was still devouring it.

The crowd thinned out, everyone returning to their desperate attempts to find John B and Rafe assisted Annabelle over to the car, followed by Kelce.

"Here, baby," Rafe said gently as he opened the car door for her but instead of sliding inside, she tore her body out from his arms, her eyes wild as she stared up at him.

"Don't-" She took a step back. "Don't touch me, Rafe."

Rafe froze, his head tilting just slightly, a crease forming between his brows. "What?"

Kelce had stopped awkwardly behind the boy, staring at the car door handle like it was the most interesting thing in that moment.

"You... You did that." Annabelle's voice trembled and cracked slightly as she spoke, pointing toward the church with shaking hands. "You started that fire."

Rafe took a step closer, glancing toward the group of officers waiting by the church for the fire truck. His hand came up to her arm, his touch feather-light. "Hey, keep your voice dow-"

"No," She slapped his hand away and backed away enough to create a thick distance between them. "You knew that he was in there and you still lit it."

His eyes darted to hers, his hand lingering awkwardly in the air. "Bells, I don't know what you're talking about."

The fire roared behind them like an aching reminder of what Rafe had just done and what he had attempted to do. The girl's eyes swelled with tears before she could stop it. "Stop lying to me, Rafe."

His jaw flexed, a dangerous twitch, but she kept going, the words spilling like they'd been waiting for a crack in her self-control. "You tried to kill him. Can't you see that that makes you just as much of a murderer?"

It was a knife to his chest. Not because she was wrong—God, she was so close to being right it made his blood burn—but because she said it like she believed it. Like she was scared of him. Something crumbled and twisted in him, leaving his chest feeling hollow for a moment before he felt the familiar burning fire of rage fill the void and run through his entire body.

With one step, he stood over her, his shadow covering hers.

"The hell did you just say to me?" He bit out before letting out a strained noise, something between a scoff and a wince. "You don't mean that."

Annabelle's pulse jumped "I do,"

His hand shot out, gripping her chin—not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough that she couldn't look away. "Don't call me that again. Don't ever call me that again."

Annabelle's breath stilled in her chest. The pressure wasn't painful, his thumb resting just below her jaw with a kind of restrained control he'd never turned on her before—but something about it sent a cold, sharp ripple through her. A memory she didn't want rose unbidden—her father's shadow filling a doorway, the same unyielding hold that made her feel small and pinned.

It wasn't the same. She knew that. Rafe wasn't him. His voice was low, not a shout; his eyes were wild but not cruel. And yet... the resemblance was enough to make her stomach knot. It was an echo she couldn't unhear, a flicker she couldn't unsee.

She swallowed hard, trying to convince herself the fear was misplaced, that the trembling in her hands was just from the fight, not from him.

She had to remind herself to breathe and blink before her eyes watered. And Rafe noticed.

He let go of her chin as though the realization had burned his palm and took a step back, giving her space to breathe less strained. For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other, the smell of burnt wood and gasoline between them. The rage in his gaze had shifted to something that looked almost hurt.

Annabelle remembered the day when her father kicked her out and she went to Rafe. That was the day he realized what type of man her father was and what he had done to her. He had taken her bruised wrists in his and held them like they were the most fragile thing on earth. When she told him about everything, he had looked at her like he had been the one who had gotten hurt. She remembered feeling so safe and cared for in that moment.

But staring at him now—standing so close she could still feel the heat of his palm on her chin—Annabelle wasn't sure if she believed it anymore. The same boy who'd once kissed the bruises on her wrists like they were wounds only he could heal stood in front of her now, making her feel what she could only describe as fear.

"Get in the car," Rafe said, his voice low and almost apologetic.

She stepped past him without meeting his gaze. "I'll walk."

He turned sharply, catching her wrist before she got more than a few steps away. His grip was much softer now but her skin remembered too much. She yanked her arm back with a sharp motion, the breath leaving her in something closer to a scoff than words. She heard Rafe whisper out her name but she had turned around again and was storming off.

As the boy took a step to follow her, Kelce placed his hand on his chest to stop him. "Hey, leave it, man. We need to find John B."

Rafe stood there, eyes locked on Annabelle's back as she kept walking down the road, each step putting more distance between them.

His jaw flexed once, twice. His fingers twitched like he was still holding her. And then—against every bone-deep instinct to follow—he turned toward the truck.

He climbed into the driver's seat, the slam of the door louder than it needed to be, but he didn't start the engine right away. His eyes flicked once toward the mirror, watching the small figure of Annabelle grow smaller in the distance until Kelce's impatient voice finally pulled him forward.

𝟑𝟗𝟖𝟕 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬
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𝐀/𝐍
wow so it's been a minute. I keep coming back then disappearing. I just don't have the motivation that I used to, I've also gotten some hate that I feel is so unnecessary but I'm trying not to let it affect me. But now with school and all, I have to focus on that so I'll try try try to be more active but I can't force my "work" because then it lacks the passion and writing without passion is basically worse than no updates so yeah love you all