Garbage bags, duct tape, and a saw in a black bag in his trunk. Millie was right. She'd sent me terrifying stories about camping dates gone wrong, but she couldn't change my mind. Peter was kind. I had been so sure. But this bag proves otherwise.
Grabbing the hammer from his murder kit, I sneak back into the tent to do what needs to be done. I read the stories. I know it's me or him.
Near dawn, his phone chimes. I grab it with sticky fingers and read the message.
“Forgot my tools in your trunk. You home today?”
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