Charlie had never figured that he was capable of what he was. Surely, somewhere deep inside he knew he could. Jill was crazy, but she wasn’t educated. A near lifetime spent locked in your room watching reruns of horror movies made you smart. Pulling off a whole backstabbing charade was just as easy as it was to breathe. To act was easy. To be someone he wasn’t was easy. He’d been doing it most of his life anyways. But that didn’t prepare him for the actual bloodshed. He made it through it, of course. Walker was no stranger to death, just not at his own hands.
The first time had been terrifying. With Jill’s threats of him being just as dead as the rest of them hung in the air—he’d done what he had to do. Brutally, as well. But then he realized, she can’t get her hands, or gloves, too dirty. That he held the upper reign on knowing. Knowing a lot more than she ever could. It’s when he started telling Kirby. What would Jill know?
It was very, very simple. First, Charlie started hanging out with Kirby when he was supposed to be designing deaths, and the best way to catch people off guard—in all honesty, he felt like a Final Destination director—and the next day, Jill wouldn’t scold him. Wouldn’t tell him to stop slacking off. Because she didn’t know. And she wouldn’t. She was too busy slobbering over the idea of a dead Sidney Prescott, that she didn’t bother to check to see if Charlie was as royal as he played his cards to be.
Robbie was an obstacle. He’d wanted to keep him breathing. Because that boy had been his everything. His best friend, his co-host. Anything and everything Charlie had ever wanted. But Kirby was different. Kirby thought different. Perplexing, not understood, at least not by him. So the Walker boy did as the plan suggested, and offed Robbie as well. He didn’t die beneath him, which he was grateful for. Sorry for the suffering, but grateful for the lack of guilt that had to be stored beneath his fingertips.
Jill may have been spaced out over most of the stuff Charlie had done, but she didn’t look past the fact Charlie had been crushing on Kirby for some time. She’d told him she’d be watching him, to see if he chickened out on the patio. So he had to do something to convince her he was serious on becoming her forever-long sidekick. Stabbing the Reed girl wasn’t something he enjoyed, although he acted as if he had, just in case Jill’s eyes had lingered around him. But it was done. To shoot Jill, and leave Sidney for death was the best part of the night. If that dumb Prescott girl hadn’t been so smart to have been peeled with Billy and Stu, this wouldn’t have happened, and Charlie wouldn’t have been stripped of his so deemed innocence, and a tad bit of his sanity.
Now was show time. The encore performance. To be uninjured when discovered was a big red flag for the cops. Having no time given to apologize in long winded breaths about how sorry he was that he had to do what he did, and how long he’d spend tending to her with her wounds—Charlie inserted his knife into a part of his leg where it wouldn’t slice any tenants or muscles, and tore good amount of clumps of his hair out from the mop on his head.
“We play dead. And a good dead, too. Don’t think about CSI or NCIS, because those bodies are terribly placed.” He knew that now, anyways, “Think about this. But keep breathing. They might bag you before they check your pulse. Sometimes, cops are dicks.” Refraining from reaching out, and touching her, Charlie flexes his fingers, before allowing his knees to buckle, and landing on the ground. He’s sure he’s bruised the back of his head, too, but that was okay. Just another addition to the show he’s put on.
Kirby nodded at his words, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. She stepped back a few inches, and then ran over to where the glass table was. Without a second thought or worry, she jumped backwards onto it. A stabbing pain filled her body as shards of glass entered her skin, and she cried out. Grimacing, the blonde stood up.
She clumsily walked over to where Trevor's dead body was. Kirby grabbed his cold hand, and cut her face with his nails. Her hazel colored eyes filled with tears at the blinding pain.
Holding her bleeding stomach, she collapsed next to Charlie. She could hear the sirens of the police cars and ambulances coming closer. She estimated that they would be at her house in about five minutes.
Kirby's eyes wandered over to Jill's body. There was a large blood stain on the chest area of her shirt, and her eyes were staring blankly at nothing. Her body was next to Sidney's. How fitting.
Next, she looked at Robbie. She felt a pang in her heart. Robbie had been one of her best friends. She had actually liked him. Sure, he could be annoying at times, but he had been a good friend. Now he was gone. Charlie had been the one to end his life, but Kirby blamed Jill. Jill had been the psychotic one. Jill had forced Charlie to do this. Jill had been a monster.
Her gaze went to Trevor. She felt little sympathy for him. He had bullied Charlie and Robbie for no apparent reason, he had cheated on Jill, and he had just been a dick in general.
And the last dead body in her living room was Sidney Prescott. The heroine of Woodsboro. The leading lady. The survivor was finally dead.
Kirby squeezed Charlie's hand, briefly wondering if they had done the right thing.
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