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She was the fat girl who got hit by a car, not the funny friend who drew cartoons. It was a bit of a bummer to know some day we might be reduced to the gory details of our deaths.
“Good,” I said. “Let’s go check on Michelle and Josh. Make sure no one broke in and killed them.” “I hope no one did,” Ashley said. She put her hand on her hip and threw her butt back. “Ugh, what a mess to clean!” I laughed, then shivered. What a mess indeed.
He paused. “Chelsy would be a hot lunch lady. I’d like to see her fish sticks and square pizza.” “What is wrong with you?” I asked.
On one TV, a handsome guy revved his chainsaw arm. “What’s that?” I asked Bubba. “Evil Dead 2.”
Her mother was crazy deep into a religion she called Christianity, but that did not resemble the teachings of Jesus whatsoever. Her father worked himself to the bone, but barely made enough to support the family. There was no college fund, no help for Kimberly outside their home.
This is getting off track snd distracting from the story.
“His attorneys spoke to my boss. Ryan was locked up during your attack, and he had an alibi for Sterling and Nicole’s murders. We had to let him go. He’s still a suspect, and he was told to go home and stay there.” “What the fuck? What about the bloody jacket?” “Those were my words exactly.”
I doubt a detective would talk this way.
Daniel resembled a Backstreet Boy and acted like an asshole, a combination that was like catnip to a teenage girl.
“Only assholes drive orange cars,” I told him.
“Whaaaaaaat?” He asked, drawing out the A. He furrowed his brow. “Did you ever get around to watching Friday the 13th?” “No,” I said, confused. “Why?”
