Dead Girls Don't Lie

Rachel didn’t wear shoes. She had that kind of sexy, “small town girl” style that works with bare feet. Long dark hair, thin but with all the right curves, and delicate, pretty little feet.

I lift my foot to go upstairs and step in something wet. The stairs are covered with blood.

My phone buzzes. I panic at the sound and reach to turn it off with my heart pounding in my ears. It takes a minute to pull myself back from that horrible place where memories are twisted into nightmares, as if reality wasn’t bad enough.

The floorboards creak under my feet as I follow Rachel’s footprints across the dusty floor.

“Jaycee, you up?” Dad pokes his head int

I wonder what we would have said to each other if I had answered the phone the night she died. The groove on the side of my phone digs into my hand as I think about the text, the only words from Rachel I have left: