Chapter 16: Fake Innocence

< Shirley >
"Please, please pick up the call, Richard," I murmured to myself.
I was trying to contact Richard so that he remained where he was. But I couldn't get him on the line.
I bit my lips, my eyes still focused on the road ahead of me. I was getting nervous, only the sound of the rain drumming against the car roof and the wiper washing away the water from the windshield filled the anticipation.
It wasn't until the third call that Richard received the call.
"Where are you right now?" I asked urgently.
"The car broke down, so I'm standing in the rain, waiting for any car to pass by to get myself a lift," he replied in monotone. That was so not a coincidence.
"Couldn't you have called one of us?" I rebuked.
"I was going to, then I saw your calls."
"Anyways, stay where you are, and send me the location. I'm coming to pick you up." Although he was suspicious, he still agreed.
As I neared the location he sent me, I noticed a truck trailing behind me. At first, I didn't give it much thought and continued driving at normal speed. But just when I saw Richard standing in the rain from a distance, the truck pulled ahead of me, speeding towards Richard. My eyes immediately snapped to the time. As expected, it was eight o'clock.
My heart dropped, realizing what he was up to. I pressed the accelerator hard and managed to overtake the truck. I pressed the brake right in front of Richard, only a few millimeters away from him. The screeching sound of the tires sent goosebumps through my body.
I ignored Richard's yelp and looked at the rearview mirror to see the truck passing by as if it wasn't just about to hit Richard and send him flying.
I let out a sigh and opened the door for Richard. "Get in," I ordered him.
Once he was settled in the passenger seat, soaking the seat with his drenched self, he let out, "What the heck was that, Shirley? You almost crushed me there."
"Well, if I didn't, you wouldn't be here yelling at me." I rolled my eyes and took a U-turn.
I didn't have any time to waste. I had to check up on Ryan and Rianna as well. I was more worried about Ryan since I left in the hands of Dylan, and I knew what sort of demon he was.
While Richard was busy scolding me, I dialed Dylan's number because I was getting a very bad feeling. As soon as he picked up, I said, "How's everything there?"
"Like it's supposed to be," Dylan grumbled.
"Thank goodness. Where are you right now?" Just as I asked that question, I heard someone talking in the background with Dylan. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Someone just asked me to pass up the knife from the counter," he replied.
"Oh, where's Ryan right now?"
"Who is that?"
I restrained my urge to punch him and answered, "My friend, whom you're looking out for."
"Oh, yeah, he was right here..." he trailed off. "I swear he was right in front of me," he said. Then I heard some scuffling in the background. "Oh, my gosh! What happened, man?"
I panicked. "What is happening there?" My question went unanswered as I could hear screams coming from the other side before Dylan hung up on me.
"What's going on, Shirley?" Richard asked with concern.
I shook my head and drove faster towards the wedding venue. As soon as I reached there, I dashed inside to find a very few guests walking around idly and the lights had returned.
I looked around for a familiar face but found none. Not my friends. Not Dylan. My palms were getting sweaty with all the anxiety I was feeling.
I made a waiter stop and asked where the bride was. He told me that they were in the special waiting chamber. When I entered the room, I heaved a sigh, seeing Rianna perfectly alright.
Before I could go for a hug, she wrapped her arms around me and let out a sob. I rubbed her back in circles and softly asked, "What's wrong?"
"Ryan," she only managed to whimper in between her sobs. My eyes widened a bit, and my heart did a flip.
"What happened to him?" I asked fearfully.
"Someone stabbed him," answered Molten on behalf of her.
"Who?" I asked.
"I don't know the details, but Dylan is probably a suspect." He sighed.
But Dylan was on the call with me.
I pulled apart from Rianna and assured her that Ryan was going to be fine and that I was going to the hospital. Hopping in my car once again, I angrily texted Mr. Creepy Stalker'.
You:
If anything happens to Ryan, I promise I'll find you and make sure you pay for what you did.
But he never replied to that text.
I hurriedly made my way to the nearby hospital. Entering the hospital, I felt sick to my stomach. The aseptic smell of disinfectant and iodoform filled my nostrils, yet I kept moving my feet, expecting to see the worst.
From the corner of my eyes, I noticed a few cops standing in the corridor. I ignored them and went to the front desk to ask about Ryan.
Once I reached the operation theatre, the guilt that was eating away at me slowly came crashing down, almost unbearable. Seeing my friends sitting down on the hospital benches, distressed looks on their faces, their eyes rimmed red.
It's all your fault, said the voice inside my head, and for once, I agreed with it. Indeed, I was the one to blame. I should've behaved politely with that stalker. Perhaps, he wouldn't have even tried to hurt my friends.
My steps faltered before I could approach my friends. An eternity passed by while I stood there, my vision glazed, the voice in my head screaming at me with accusations, my feet refusing to move as if they had been tied by shackles of guilt.
"Shirley," called out Savannah, snapping me out of my trance.
I blinked a few times to adjust my vision and looked forward to finding all my friends looking at me intently.
All of them bombarded me with questions until I interrupted, "What exactly happened?'
Eric sighed and started, "We were all out drinking in the courtyard until we heard a scream from inside. When we rushed inside, we found out Ryan was stabbed in the stomach," his voice cracked a little bit, "And the person closest to him was your favorite racer, Dylan Lewiston. Also, please if you're planning to meet him, it's not a very good situation."
Just what did they think of me? I would go get an autograph from my favorite racer while my friend was in the OT?
He continued, "By the way, the operation is in progress. Hopefully, he will survive just fine since we brought him here in time."
But even if I wouldn't go for an autograph to Dylan, I needed to see him. Dylan wasn't the one who did this.
It was my stalker, and Dylan would be the last person to stalk an okay-looking girl like me. Not to mention, an international criminal like Dylan would never commit a murder where it would arouse suspicion on himself—and his clean crime slate was a testament to it.
Heck, that dude had less crime record than me. Yeah, I got fined for crossing the speed limits a few times. Clearly, Dylan would never make an amateur mistake like that.
"I'll be right back," I told my friends and turned on my heels. I went back to the first floor where I saw the cops earlier. As expected, I found Dylan there, looking as though he was about to rip off whoever that he was facing.
I sat on one of the hospital benches and picked up a random magazine to cover my face as I started eavesdropping on their conversation.
The officer let out a frustrated sigh. Dylan's sarcasm must have fried his brains and turned them into ashes.
"Look, Dylan, just admit you did this," said a firm yet tired voice.
"Why would I admit something I obviously didn't do, Mr. Stratford?" Dylan argued. He sounded much more on the edge than usual.
"Even if you didn't, do you think I'll let go of a golden chance like this to put you behind the bars?" If he already knew, why was he still interrogating Dylan?
"Oh, so you know, I didn't try to kill that guy," Dylan said bemusedly.
"Of course, I know. You have always been so bad with the knives, even while helping your mom in the kitchen with your tiny hands." The officer laughed. How would he know about Dylan's childhood unless...
"Trust me when I say I have gotten way better at using the knives. For instance, if right now we weren't surrounded by your guard dogs, I would have slit your throat," he said quietly. Just the vague image of that in my head made me want to throw up. "Now if you would please excuse me, Mr. Stratford, I would like to leave."
"Criminals don't get to boss around," he cut in.
"Who is a criminal? Me?" Dylan chuckled dryly. "I'm as innocent as they come." Liar. He was innocent in Ryan's case, but not in the other ones. "I'm an honest businessman who never evades his taxes, and as a hobby, I like car racing. I don't understand why you have such animosity with me, Mr. Stratford," he said in the most innocent tone possible, much varied to his usual sinister voice.
Even if someone gave me ten million dollars, I wouldn't believe it if they said that this guy didn't take drama lessons in high school.
I tried to lean a bit towards them as their voices quoted down but seeing Dylan take a few steps back, I stayed still in my place, clutching the magazine closer to my face, sweating profusely. For a few seconds, I could feel his intense gaze on me.
I was so dead if Dylan caught me here. He was in such a scary mood. I desperately started praying to God, even though I had no hope of being saved from Dylan's wrath.