One of us did it.

Her blood splattered on my face. I felt it, yet I felt nothing. I never thought anything could penetrate human skin that easily, and at such a rapid pace, not even a tiny, spiky knife.

He kept smashing the life out of her, and I watched it like a horror movie. I was petrified, but I felt like if I stopped watching, I'd realize that it was real. He came to a halt and slowly raised his head. A horror film was completed with his face and torso covered in a red stream of blood. I stopped breathing for a few seconds as the monster stared at me. I got a glimpse of him as the slimy blood trickled down his cheek. I started breathing again but way too fast. I took a step back and screamed, so loud that I heard my voice echo in my ears. Mr. Langford rushed in. He stood beside me. He was quiet. We were all quiet, but I was breathing way too loud.

"Go outside Ariana," Mr. Langford told me. His voice was sharp, filled with courage. I gulped and obeyed him. When I arrived outside, I saw my mom rushing towards me, not minding if there was any car passing by. She met me standing motionless on the front porch. Her sky-blue eyes had turned gray, like a cloud that's about to rain. I didn't know if she rushed to me because she heard me scream, or if Mr. Langford had already informed her about what had just happened. She squatted down on me, and gripped me tightly by the arm. I was numb.

"It's fine," she said and stroked my hair. I saw someone butchered to death, yet she was audible enough to say it was fine. Nothing seemed fine. I looked at her, unsure of what she meant by that. "Everything is fine," she repeated. Her voice was soothing enough to believe, so I nodded. She hugged me tightly, but I was still paralyzed by the horrifying image that I couldn't shake. I started to hear sirens wailing as police cars arrived at the Oscars. There was an ambulance too. I drew back from my mother's embrace as I observed how quickly the cops scurried inside, not even giving us two seconds of their attention and as if my mother and I were ghostly beings. I became tense again. He was still inside the house with Mr. Langford, and things looked really serious. Yes, I knew someone had died, but I still didn't understand what was going on. When I turned to face the wide-open-entrance door, curiosity moved my feet, but my mom pulled me back. "Let's go home, honey." Mom took me by the hand, with Kaela's book in the other.

As we marched across from the Oscars, I felt the urge to look behind me, and I did. That's when I saw him being handcuffed and held by an officer. We shared another terrifying gaze before Mr. Langford threw him into the backseat of the car. Mikaela Ayesha Johnson has been murdered by his eleven-year-old best friend, my best friend.

Since I heard the news about his release, my body has been in shock. I can't believe five years had passed already. I can still remember everything like it was yesterday, and I still don't know how my life would be with him around.

I can't stop staring at the two-story house across from mine. The height is the same as in my past, just like the inside is murky and treacherous. I watch till the figures of my past are completely lost in the shadow of the dusky sky, but even then, I keep staring, and I keep thinking about him.

I feel a warm touch on my shoulder. I shudder. As I turn around, I see my mom. "Honey," she coos with her pitiful eyes boring me.

"I didn't see you coming," I say to her. She understands the implication of him coming back, but she's trying to hide her fears, just like everyone else.

"It's late. Go to bed." She taps on my shoulder. I nod and stroll up to my room.

All through the night, I think about him and what might happen with him around, and I'm terrified that it won't be good.

"Grumble and rise, sleepy head!" The intense sound of my door pulls me out from meditating further. I turn my face to the door and see Charity standing halfway inside my room.

"Oh." She pushes her head back, seeming shocked. "You're awake already..." She plods in, looking at me like I'm a bag full of mashed potatoes. She hates mashed potatoes. Standing in front of my bed, she crosses her hands on her chest, then cocks her head. "Let me guess. You couldn't sleep?"

I force myself up from the bed. "Nope," I say simply, trudging towards my bathroom.

I turn on the hot shower; it feels like my brain is melting with each drop that touches my body. I close my eyes and feel the hot water burning against me, but I also experience much more, such as the agony from each hole that was made in her chest. I hold onto myself. I just want to forget, and with him coming back, I think there's zero chance of that happening. After my dreadful shower, I get ready for school by putting on short-ripped jeans that are way above my knee, and I wear a white t-shirt that reads NEW YORK-ISH. I brush concealer over my face while glancing in the mirror. I then line my eyes with black mascara. I appear powerful because of it. However, I truly am a sixteen-year-old girl who is shrinking and damaged, so I brush it off. My ponytail holds back my dark tresses. Having removed my cosmetics, I now appear to be myself. I pick up my school bag and bounce out of my room. On getting to the living room, I suddenly feel soothed by the powerful smell that fills my nostril. I stand still for a while to perceive more of this delicious aroma.

"Bacon," I utter after realizing. I hurry to the dining area where I perceive more of what good life feels like.

"Hey, hon," my mom calls me mindlessly as she dishes out bacon and sausage.

"Wow," I utter as I approach the dining table.

"I made your favorite." I stare at the bacon that is neatly served to be engulfed. She's trying so hard to make me feel better. She has been for the past five years. And I feel horrible for making them worry about me. I wish I could make them see that they had no fault in what happened. I wish they could stop blaming themselves (just like I wish he didn't do it.)

"You didn't have to," I say with a small voice. My eyes are still gazing at the food.

She rubs my back and then kisses me on my head. "Go take a seat," she instructs, and I happily obey.

"Did I die and go to heaven?" Charity approaches. A tiny portion of her face is showing frown lines. Behind her is Mr. Langford, and I'm a bit relieved his face is not as stoned as usual. Charity takes her seat, same with my mom. Mr. Langford stands behind Mom, and places his hands on the top of her chair. I can feel his eyes on me while I mindlessly scroll through my phone in the hope of getting a text from Zack.

"I know everyone is frightened about the News," Mr. Langford says. I can still feel him gazing at me.

"I'm not," Charity says with a mouthful.

I almost scoff hearing that from Charity. She and Jeremy weren't close, so I can understand why she's not scared. The truth is, I'm frightened about the news, and at the same time, I'm thrilled about his audacity to return to Stoneybrook.

"Ahem," Mr. Langford clears his throat.

"Oh, sorry, sir," Charity apologizes.

"And..." he continues, "I can assure everyone that nothing is going to happen. I won't let that beast anywhere near my family." I hate the fact that we are having this conversation, but not as much as I hate it when he calls him a beast. It's like a pot calling the kettle black.

"I have to go." I stand up from my seat.

"Already? Honey, you barely even touched your food," Mom says. I'm honestly sorry that I'm unable to eat the food she made specifically for me with so much love, but I can't stand her husband.

"Yeah, but I'm late for school, so I have to go," I tell her as I pick up my bag from the chair handle.

Charity scoffs. "It's 7 am," she adds, enjoying her bacon.

I ignore her. As I take one step out, "Sit," Mr. Langford commands. He has a crook voice that comes out only when he's ready to display his madness, and right now, he is. I gulp and obediently sit my ass down. "There are rules I came up with, rules that everyone is going to oblige while the monster is around." He finally sits next to Mom, while I fall in the chair, waiting for his psych rules. I can feel his eyes on me while I stare down at the dining table before me. I suddenly feel anxious because I know his rules are meant for me alone.

"You don't speak to him. You don't go five meters close to him. You don't talk about him. You don't even look at him!" He outlines his rules with rage, like anybody who breaks them has him to contend with. He pauses. Right now I can feel his glares, but not even for a second do I look at him. "Have I made myself clear?" He asks, but no response. "Have I made myself clear?!" He hits his palm on the table, and I startle.

"Yes," I whimper.

"Good." His croaking voice comes off audible this time. He pushes out his chair and stands up. He picks up his jacket from the nailed rack which is beside the door, then he heads out.

Mom rubs her palm on my back in a way to soothe me. Just as I hear Mr. Langford's car fade out, another car arrives. The sound of it is steady, unlike Mr. Langford's Corolla, which makes a rattling sound.

Pummmmm!!!

The horn of Zack's car is nothing but annoying. I pick up my school bag as I stand up. "Love you." I kiss my mom on the cheek and head out. I immediately notice the two-story house across when I walk outside the house. The home still appears to be dark, even in the middle of the day. It is as if it's under a cloud of doom. Mrs. Oscar hurries out of it while I'm gazing. She pauses when she sees me staring. She crosses her hand on her chest with her Gucci bag hanging at the crook of her elbow. She is glaring at me with that V-shaped face of hers, which seems to be the only beautiful thing in her vicinity. But I'm just staring at her. I get that she despises me, any mother would, considering what I did. But making it so obvious is silly of her.

Pump!Pum!Pum! Once again, Zack helps distract me from an uncomfortable situation. He's seated in the driver's seat of his car which is parked at the curb. I smile at him as I approach his brand-new Porsche that sparks blue. "OH MY GOD!" I exclaim as I feel the smoothness of the car beneath my palm. "What...!" I squeal as I get into the passenger seat. "Wow!" I utter, looking around the inside which looks like paradise.

"This is what your dad got you for your birthday?" I ask enthusiastically.

"Relax." He smiles, and his dimples appear. "Well according to my old man, this is half of it," he says to me as he ruffles his glossy dark hair in the rearview, acting cocky in a way.

I elbow him. "Okay, you are officially a big F* hedonist."

"Hedonist?" He pushes back his head.

"Just drive," I tell him.

We don't make it halfway to school before we notice police cars circling the street. It's alarming to see police concerned about his freedom. They keep stopping cars on the road, advising them to call 911 immediately if they notice something is wrong. They stop ours, but I am way too frightened about the future that I don't listen to anything the cops are saying.

"Damn, this is more serious than I thought," Zack says, looking out his window at how crowded the road is with caring cops, or should I say, frightened cops.

Arriving at school, there are more police officers than those on the way. It is as if Stoneybrook high school has now become the Department of Police.

"What da..." Zack utters, shocked. I can now begin to see the terror growing inside of him. Yes, I was expecting everyone to be alarmed about him coming back, but I didn't think people were this scared of him. Zack parks at the lot, in the middle of piles of wrecked cars. Sometimes I think Zack does not belong in Stoneybrook. First of all, he's rich and from a good background. Second, the height of his dream is far taller than Stoneybrook.

I get out of the car before him. The police are all in their boring uniform, guarding the school building with their most common weapon hanging on their pants. I watch as students murmur in groups. I'm not scared of the police, they are the least of my worries. I'm just wondering why exactly they came here. They should be monitoring him, not scaring the hell out of hundreds of students.

"Stupid, right?" Zack's voice echoes beside me.

"What?" I ask, distracted.

"So he killed one person, he's not the first." Zack tugs down the strip of his school bag, which is on one shoulder.

I glance at him, surprised he's not bothered by all of this. "Maybe we are all terrified because he was the first person caught in the act," I say to him.

"Caught?" He asks, leering at two skinny girls who are sashaying past us. "By who?" He asks doubtfully, striding into school.

His question shakes me still to the ground as I picture my past. How painful it was. How scared I was. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves as I run away from a disastrous image that is now erecting in my head.

"Seriously, you should be scared!" I utter. My sudden gibber startles him, and he drops his copy of GONE GIRL by Gillian Flynn, the mystery novel we had finished in literature class two weeks ago. Zack is not a book-lover, but I guess the reason he still has his copy has to do with his last meeting with Professor Sheldon.

His coffee-creamed eyes are now mixed with black and blue curiosity. He stares at me for a few seconds. "Okay, what's your deal about this?" He asks, looking at me with furrowed brows.

I gulp and tug down the strap of my school bag. Maybe I'm too terrified because I am very much aware of what he is capable of. How he could turn out to be your worst enemy in a blink of an eye. Or maybe because I know Zack is too gullible and too fragile, just like Mikaela was. "Well...I..." While I am trying to give him an understandable reason for my fuss, the murmuring sounds increase into gasping, but I don't mind it.

"I'm..."

"If not Stoneybrook's most famous murderer," Zack cuts me off, looking over my shoulder. His eyeballs are now on a solid focus, and his soft-looking pink lips which most girls adore are now curved into a manipulative smile.

Suddenly, the school goes quiet like a quenched fire. I can only hear steady footsteps approaching. With Each footstep that approaches closer, my heart bangs. When the sound of the heavy booth cracks louder, I shiver. But then it stops, and I feel his presence right beside me. It feels like a trailer of anxiety suppressing itself upon me. I feel irritations like allergies. I can't move a muscle, I can't even breathe. And at this duration, I have become a frightening sculpture.

After a minute, the booth cracks on the tiles again, and continues. I wait for a few seconds before I can gather enough courage to look upwards. I remembered Mr. Langford's rules from this morning. Even though I know I can't keep it, I still have to give him a little bit of respect by trying. He didn't say not to look behind him. I bet he was probably referring to an eye contact.

It's a leather jacket that shines black rubber. It's paired with faded whitish-blue jeans that reach his heavy dark booth, looking like a G.I Joe. Especially with that hair of his that always seems to be longer than mine, no matter how hard I try. For a split second, I am lost in his glossy hair that is packaged in a low ponytail. I wonder how he was able to maintain it in prison -I mean juvie. Of course, long hair serves as a covering. It is covering his dubious act. It has always made him look smart, handsome, and sympathetic. His broad shoulders move at a linear pace as his steps. He looks taller, of course, he's taller. He is no longer the eleven-year-old child that I knew when I first met him, ( if I ever did.) I look at him till he is out of sight. Immediately, the hall is now a mess of a rush hour, with everyone murmuring and gasping as if they have just seen a ghost. But the truth is, everyone had just seen a ghost maker.

"Damn," Zack mutters as he turns to face me. I shrink as I've just been caught by a scary monster. I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. "You okay?" Zack asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just need to get to class," I say instantly and scoot to the restroom. As soon as I get inside the stall, I start to breathe heavily. I place my palm on my chest and feel the crucial condition of my heart. It is unable to settle.

I need help.

I look at the mirror in front of me, and I see the reflection of the spooked eleven-year-old me who had just watched her friend's life drained out of her. Tears seeping through her eyes. I close my eyes tightly and imagine my mom telling me everything is fine. I still don't understand what she meant by that, because everything is so messed up. I wipe my tears and sum up all the courage I can muster, before getting to class.

Never has Professor Sheldon been absent from a lecture. He takes the entirety of his twenty minutes very seriously, so seriously that he is willing to risk his health to give us a couple of sentences. My body is starting to perspire as a result of everyone's non-stop blabbing about who just entered the school. Their creaking sound makes the air feel heavy. Suddenly everyone hushes. The sudden silence of everyone makes me curious. When I raise my head, I see Professor Sheldon standing in front of the classroom. A black briefcase that seems to be heavy is held in his left hand, while his right hand holds a handful of books. He puts down the briefcase and the books on the front desk as he scrutinizes us with his four eyes. His glasses fall to his pointy nose, and his eyes bulge through them. Everyone maintains a suitable posture for Professor Sheldon's eyes which are scanning at us like a CCTV camera.

"Ahem," he clears his throat after a few seconds, probably not able to pinpoint any fault on us.

"Good morning, Professor." I can recognize Zack's voice anywhere.

"Good Morning to you too," Professor replies.

Everyone starts to greet him after he responds warmly.

"Which of the books are we not done with?" He asks as he picks up the books from the desk.

"HIDDEN PICTURE," someone says.

Professor Sheldon makes a sound in the back of his throat as he shuffles the books, probably because that person is wrong. There are about six books with interesting covers. I stretch out my head to get a glimpse of the names, but I was only able to capture the word The devil... It was written in red and blue. I understand why the professor finds it difficult to remember our last read when he reads about four books in a time interval of forty-eight hours. I guess that is why I tolerate him, because of his love for books. He finally picks one out of the others. He raises the book and it happens to be my first mystery favorite. A good girl's guide to murder. I know it's not common for a mystery novel to be added to a school syllabus, but after the school riot about what they could gain from it, the school had no choice but to add it. Sometimes, I wonder if there's any lesson learned from mystery novels other than biting fingernails.

"Page seven!" he says at once. Everyone begins to turn to page seven. It has become a habit for me to read ahead of the class. The suspense could kill me, so I don't do it. "Who do you think killed Sali?" Professor Sheldon asks. He separates the book with one finger. There is a bit of muttering and itching jaws.

"Death!" His audible voice immediately directs my gaze to him as he walks into the classroom. I immediately lower my head to avoid any form of eye contact. But I honestly want that. I want to look into his eyes. I want to inspect the changes in him. I want to see how far he has grown. I want to see the difference in him that I never saw. The sound of the murmurers has now become an awful song in my ears.

"Silence!" Mr. Sheldon commands, and everyone frighteningly obeys. "And who are you to barge into my class like that?" I hear Mr. Sheldon question him. I am fiddling with my finger, and my body has been passing through some kind of current, like an electric shock.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was supposed to be at literature class at 8:30 am, but I couldn't find my way," he replies, and my heart hits my chest again. He still has that low-tone voice of a polite little boy, but it has become a little thicker.

"I wasn't informed about that, young man," Professor Sheldon says.

I hear him smack his lips. "I think you were sir, by uhm...one Mrs. Oscar? Sounds familiar?" Okay, it's definitely him talking. JEREMY JACOB OSCAR. Always speaks in a way to make you look like a fool.

"Oh," Professor Sheldon utters after a few seconds of silence. "Uhm...I didn't realize she's..."

"It's fine." He cuts him off. "I bet you can't spot the resemblance through those fine glasses of yours," he adds. I can tell how surprised everyone is by his audacity. Even when we were little, Jeremy was the adult among the five of us. His ideas are always a bomb blast.

As he walks past the row of my seat, he pauses. My head is buried below my shoulder and my eyes are stuck to his black heavy booth. After a second, he proceeds to the seat at the end wall next to me. I take a deep breath to calm my nerves.

The bell rings me out of my shimmering state, then I realize how absent I have been throughout the whole fifteen minutes of Professor Sheldon's readings. I join my classmates who wouldn't wait for a second to pass by before dashing out of class. Proceeding to my locker, with my school bag hanging on one shoulder, Zack appears beside me, but I act unfazed by his appearance.

"How interesting to find out that Stoneybrook's number one murderer is into mystery books..." he says. "Bet that's where he got his inspiration from," he mutters close to my ears. He sounds amazed, as if killing someone is an achievement.

Getting to my locker, I smile. "Please don't blame it on innocent books," I say, opening my locker. I bring out my chemistry textbook which I'll be needing for my next class, and put back the ones which I won't.

"Yeah? How innocent are books?" He says, relaxing beside my locker. He places one foot on the wall and slides his hands into his pockets. "I think 80 percent of evil done by humans is coached by books or some psychological movies," he adds. As I am about to close my locker, my eyes bump into the childhood photo of the five of us that is stationed at the back. Kaela was in the middle front. She had placed her hands on her hips, and her smile was so broad that it revealed all of her milk teeth, including the ones she had lost. I can hear Zack talking, but I'm absently minded. I'm thinking about how old we were exactly when the photo was taken, and who had taken it. But one thing is for sure, I wasn't happy, it was all over my face. With my tight jaw, the strawberry ice cream spills on my favorite Spongebob top, along with what appears to be some redness in my eyes. Had I been crying? Who spilled ice cream on me, and why do I look like a girl who's ready to give a punch? The small voices are loud enough to bring me back to reality. Everyone is whispering to themselves again, with glints of fright burning through them. Their gaze is fixed in one direction. I follow it and it lands on Jeremy. I watch him walk past me. He seems nonchalant, and the thoughts of everyone do not agitate him one bit.

"He has only been in school for about an hour and he seems to be the most popular kid," Zack says.

If I'm not wrong, I think Zack admires him, a murderer. "Yeah." standing in front of him, I block his view from staring at Jeremy. "But not the good kind of popular." I'm starting to see how tricky this whole thing is on Zack, I just hope he doesn't fall for it, just like Kaela did.

"I think he gets it, A." Someone's voice falls in, someone I know so well. I look across the hall and find Matthew leaning on his locker, which happens to be opposite mine. His hands are buried in his solid dark jeans that are not as dark as his skin tone. The moment my eyes meet Alisyn, she looks down at her toenails which are in substantial heels as she traces her arm off Mattew's shoulder. I put my focus back on Matthew. "Does anyone actually get it?" I ask him the question only he and Alisyn can understand, making sure my voice is on a minimum volume. He stares at me for a couple of seconds, then he sets his head down.

"Is everything O...Kay?" Zack speculates the three of us.

Alisyn smacks her lips. "Of course, everything is fine, Zacky." she smiles at Zack, a cute one. "And if I'm not mistaken..." she sashays to us with her hips whirling her short flare red and black skirt. "I think me and Zacky here..." she trails one finger on Zack's chest. "Need to go study about the world," She says as she looks at me. My eyes go wild, I've never since the two of them been this close. Zack on the other hand is either high on testosterone or he's flabbergasted. "Come on." She grabs Zack by the arm, trooping him along. Matthew and I observe closely.

Zack turns to me while Alisyn is still dragging him along. "And...and by that, she means Geography!" He shrieks.

"He's such a cute-spoiled baby," Mattew utters as soon as they are out of sight.

"He's not spoiled, but he's cute, and well...he does act like a baby," I say as I amble to my next class, and he tags along. He smiles at me. Damn, no matter how much I think I hate him, I still can't ignore how beautiful he is. He has the most amazing set of pure angelical teeth, and his tricky hollow dimples always turn me on.

"Guess that was how he was able to cheer you up."

We stand outside chemistry class. "Who said I'm cheered?" I tell him before stepping into class, and he follows up behind me.