The Things We Couldn't Forget

Chapter 40.

Dallas emerges from the darkness at the edge of the bluff, walking toward me as my flashlight illuminates him.

He doesn't look like Dallas.

Not my Dallas.

The brother I'd shared all of my secrets with. The boy on the other side of the bedroom whispering with me late into the night about our dreams.

Before me stands a stranger.

A killer.

My brother, is a killer.

"Dallas, what have you done?" My voice cracks as I watch him move eerily closer. Until he's standing right in front of me, the light glaring up at his face making him look like he's about to tell me a ghost story around a campfire.

"You shouldn't be here, Missy." He whispers, his voice barely audible over the wind that rattles our clothing.

"You...you killed them." I stutter to say, backing up a couple of feet. "How could you?"

He stares blankly at me, no emotion in his cold eyes. "Why did you have to come back?" He demands with a menacing slowness. "Why couldn't you just stay away like you'd promised?"

"Dallas," I shiver. "I needed the money, I had to come back."

He shakes his head, slowly, from one side to the other, his eyes never leaving mine. "I tried to get you to leave."

All of the notes, the writing on the wall, moving the stuff around? It had all been him? He'd been in the house. His whole act about being terrified to go beyond the kitchen door was just a ploy. Another part of his sick game he was playing with us.

"You...you tried to scare me." I say, all of it clicking into place. The puzzle pieces snapping together at last with finality.

"You weren't supposed to be here!" He snaps, making me jump. "You never should have come back. None of this would be happening if you had just stayed away."

"I didn't make you kill people, Dallas!" I reply. "Why the fuck would you do this? Why?" I shout but he rolls his eyes at me.

"It doesn't matter." He says with a flat bored tone. "If you weren't here. If you weren't always fucking things up. We wouldn't be in trouble now."

"Dallas." I level him with a look, the beam of light shaking in my hands, making his features look even more ghoulish.

"Stop it." He glares at me. "Stop looking at me like that. I didn't ask for this. I didn't want to be this way."

"I just want to understand-"

"There isn't anything to understand!" He cuts me off. "Stop trying to make things make sense that don't. Quit thinking you're better than me."

"I'm not!" I shout. "But I'm not the one who murdered people. I didn't do any of this."

"Perfect little Missy." He scoffs. "She never does anything wrong. She's always right, always better, always too good for everyone else."

"What are you talking about?" I ask. "I've never said that. I'm not remotely close to perfect. I didn't-."

"Just stop," he frowns. "You ruin everything."

He's not making any sense. One second I'm too good, the next I'm the problem. He's all over the place, shuffling his feet where he stands like the idea of being still right now is too much. His body is tense and pulled tightly, making him look even taller than he is.

His gloved hands are in fists at his sides and he just glares at me.

"You couldn't just let it go, could you?" He asks, taking a long step towards me. "Everything was fine. Everything was just fine until you just had to keep digging. You couldn't mind your own business for once. They were going to arrest him and this was going to be over. We could have left."