Yanking my phone out of my back pocket, I unlock it to call the cops, hands trembling. The phone lights up and that’s when I see another text—the one that came through in the club, and the one I dutifully ignored. UNKNOWN: Don’t feel guilty, baby. I don’t make idle threats, so consider this a lesson learned. Red and blue lights brighten the world before me, and the flashing colors make me feel sick. Dread is pooling in the pit of my stomach while police officers and dogs search the surrounding area. An officer has confiscated the rose, yet the blood has stained my hands— physically and metaphorically. I rub my fingers together, watching the dried blood flake from my skin. A tear escapes, but I quickly wipe it away. I killed a man. I brought him here knowing someone dangerous was lurking, and I did it anyway. And now he’s gone. “Ma’am? I need to ask you a few questions,” Sheriff Walters says, walking towards the porch steps that I’m currently sitting on. I’ve known him since I was a child. He went to school with my mother, and they were good friends. Every now and again, she’d invite him over for dinner. He’s always been kind. Quiet and soft-spoken, he always seemed more interested in listening than speaking.