I'm locking up the bookstore, my hands cold on the keys, the rain tapping steady on the awning above. It's late, past midnight, and the street's empty, just puddles reflecting the dim streetlights, the town quiet except for the wind rattling the sign. My head's a mess, Riley's been here all day, hovering, her voice soft but pushy, saying Jamie's lying, framing her. Then that call, her picking up my phone, saying, "Jamie?" before I grabbed it back, confused, mad. She laughed it off, "Wrong number," but it's nagging me, piling on the doubt I've been carrying since I found that security log, proof Jamie wasn't here when she said. I'm tired, worn out from her tears, his pleas, the theft, and I just want it to stop.
I turn the lock, the click loud in the silence, and step back, my boots splashing in the wet. My jacket's damp, clinging to my shoulders, and I shove my hands in my pockets, ready to head upstairs, crash, forget it all for a night. But then I hear it, footsteps, uneven, dragging, coming from the alley by the shop. My chest tightens, my head snapping up, and I squint into the dark, the rain blurring my view. A shape stumbles out, hood up, leaning hard on the wall, and my breath catches, something cold running down my spine. "Who's there?" I call, my voice rough, stepping forward, my hand still on the door.
The figure moves closer, slow, shaky, and the streetlight hits him, lighting up his face. It's Jamie, pale, soaked, blood streaking down his arm, dripping red onto the pavement. My stomach drops, hard, like I've been punched, and I freeze, my hands shaking loose from my pockets. "Jamie?" I say, loud, my voice cracking, and he looks up, eyes wide, wet, scared, his hood slipping back, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. His jacket's torn, one sleeve hanging ragged, and he's clutching his arm, blood seeping through his fingers, dark and shiny in the light. "Alex," he gasps, his voice weak, breaking, and he stumbles, his knees buckling.
I run to him, fast, my boots splashing, my heart pounding, and catch him before he hits the ground, my arms around his shoulders, holding him up. He's heavy, limp, and I feel the wet, rain, blood, soaking into my shirt. "What happened?" I yell, my voice loud, panicked, pulling him toward the store. His face is white, his lips trembling, and he winces, his hand gripping my arm tight. "Help," he mutters, faint, and I drag him inside, the bell jingling wild as I shove the door open, my hands shaking bad now. The store's dark, shelves looming, counter shadowed, but I get him to the floor by the register, easing him down, my knees hitting the wood hard.
He's breathing fast, short, shallow, his chest heaving, and I rip off my jacket, pressing it to his arm, the blood hot under my hands. "Hold on," I say, my voice shaking, pushing hard to stop it, the red soaking through fast. His eyes, big, glassy, lock on mine, and I see it, fear, pain, truth, cutting through the fog I've been in. "Who did this?" I ask, loud, my hands trembling, and he coughs, weak, his head lolling back against the counter. My chest hurts, tight, aching, horrified at him like this, bloodied, broken, right here in front of me.
"Riley," he whispers, his voice rough, barely there, and my hands freeze, the name hitting me like a slap. "She, she caught me, knife," He winces, his face twisting, and I lean closer, my breath fast, my head spinning. "What?" I say, sharp, my voice cracking again, and he nods, slow, his eyes wet, tears now, not just rain. "Her dorm, journals, about you, she's crazy," His words stumble, weak, but they're clear, slamming into me. Riley, knife, journals, my mind flashes to her calls, her tears, the log proving her lie, and it's clicking, dark and loud.
I sit back, my hands still on him, the blood sticky, warm, and my stomach turns, sick, scared. His eyes, pleading, real, cut through everything, Riley's hints, the theft, my doubt, and I see it, finally, the truth staring back. "She did this?" I mutter, low, my voice shaking, and he nods again, his breath hitching. "Framed me, money, all of it, wanted you," He stops, coughing, and I press harder, my hands slick, my heart racing. I've been blind, pushing him away, believing her, and now he's here, bleeding, because of it.
The store's quiet, rain tapping the windows, his breathing loud, and I'm shaking, guilt crashing over me. "I didn't know," I start, my voice breaking, but he shakes his head, weak, stopping me. His hand grabs my sleeve, bloody, trembling, and he looks at me, eyes steady despite the pain. "It was her, Alex," he breathes, soft, raw, "It was always her." His words hang, heavy, final, and my chest tightens, my breath stopping, the truth sinking in as he slumps, his grip slipping.