The car stayed there even after Helen stepped inside, even after I locked the door, even after ten whole minutes passed in silence. It remained parked across the street beneath the flickering streetlight like it belonged to the storm itself. The rain blurred the windows, making the town look distant and unreal, but I could still feel it—someone was watching the house. Watching us. I stood by the window trying to see inside the car, but every flash of lightning only showed me the outline of someone sitting perfectly still. Helen stood near the doorway, soaked from head to toe, rainwater dripping from her hair onto the wooden floor. She looked different tonight. Tired. Quiet. Like something heavy had settled inside her and refused to leave. Usually, Helen hated silence. She filled it with random stories, nervous laughs whenever thunder scared her, little things that somehow made dead moments feel alive. But tonight, she wrapped herself in a towel and sat there staring at the floor like she had forgotten how to be herself.
"You've been crying," I finally said.
She looked away almost immediately. "I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
For a second, it looked like she wanted to smile, but it disappeared before it could fully happen. "Nobody's okay right now," she whispered, her voice quieter than usual. Something about the way she said it made the room colder, like even the air understood something I didn't. I sat across from her, trying to ignore the strange feeling growing inside me. My phone still sat in my pocket, heavy like it knew something I didn't want to hear.
"What happened after midnight?" I asked quietly.
Her head lifted too quickly. "What?"
"Someone texted me," I said carefully. "They told me to ask you what happened after midnight."
The color slowly disappeared from her face. For a second, she just stared at me, completely still, like even breathing had become difficult. Outside, thunder rolled through Centralia, heavy and low, shaking the silence between us.
"Helen," I said again. "What happened?"
She swallowed hard and looked down at her hands. "I don't remember everything."
Something about her answer felt wrong. Not because of the words, but because of how she said them. Like she had already practiced that sentence before. Like she had repeated it to herself until it stopped sounding strange.
"We left the party," she said slowly. "Everyone was drunk. Ezel was drunk too. Monica could barely stand. Then…" She stopped talking.
"Then what?" I asked.
"I walked home."
"You told the sheriff you were home all night."
"I panicked!" she snapped suddenly, loud enough to make me jump. Her breathing became uneven. "You don't understand. Everybody thinks I did something."
The room became quiet again. I wanted to believe her. I really did. But something wasn't sitting right with me. Something small I couldn't explain. Helen hated storms. Always had. She used to hold onto me whenever thunder got too close. Yet tonight she came here alone in the middle of one. No umbrella. No fear. Like thunder didn't scare her anymore. Like something worse already had.
Then suddenly, a loud sound outside interrupted my thoughts.
A car door.
I turned toward the window instantly. The black car parked across the street had finally moved. Someone stepped out. Tall. Dark hoodie. Standing perfectly still beneath the rain, staring directly at the house. Watching. Waiting. My chest tightened immediately.
"Helen," I whispered without taking my eyes off the window. "Do you know who that is?"
She didn't answer.
I turned back toward her slowly.
She was already staring outside.
But the look in her eyes wasn't fear.
It looked like recognition.
Then, so quietly I almost didn't hear it, she whispered—
"Oh no…"
Not scared.
Not confused.
Like she already knew exactly who was standing out there