This chapter has graphic content dont hate on me for it

Crooked

Chapter 3*

The drive home is uneventful. Isabella is talking, and she seems to trust me with her thoughts more than anyone else. It's a misguided notion. I don't relate to her on much of anything. Where she sees horror, I see beauty. Where she finds mercy, I find laughter. But I put on a good show most of the time. Rarely, I slip and let her glimpse what's really in my mind.

Currently, she's talking about science.

"He was really weird," she's saying. "I don't know what I did, but he seemed like he wanted to run away."

I sigh, staring ahead. She looks up at me, her brow creased.

"I'm sorry, I'm complaining. How was your day, Joey?"

I think about telling her how I really feel, but no—that isn't her business.

"It was good," I say instead.

"Make any friends?" she presses.

"Alice and Jasper Cullen seem nice," I reply.

She nods knowingly. "Edward's siblings."

"Yes," I say. "And my lab partner is… okay."

Isabella smiles slyly. "Oh, yeah. I noticed."

What was she doing? Why did she say it like that? I nod slowly, my jaw tightening.

"And how about you? Make any friends?" I ask, fervently hoping she won't mention those pigs I'd seen her with at lunch.

"Well…" she sighs. "Mike, Angela, Jessica, Eric."

"You met all of them? What did you think of them?"

I smirk, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

"Personally, I think Mike and Jessica have had lobotomies performed on them. Eric is no better than a pig, and Angela is a painfully stupid, naïve fool."

I curse myself internally. Why had I said that? It just slipped out.

Isabella frowns. "They weren't that bad, were they?"

I sigh. "No. Just joking."

She relaxes and smiles faintly. "Okay. Well, what about Edward? Did you find him weird?"

"Yes, I did."

We agree: Edward Cullen is weird. The rest of the way home is spent making small talk with Isabella. But while I'm engaging in this moronic task, my mind is elsewhere. I'm thinking. Planning.

Plans to kill.

Back in Arizona, I couldn't do it. But in Forks? It could be done. Tonight would be the first.

--

When we get home, I immediately head up to my room—a dark, small space that I've decorated sparsely. No posters or anything like that. Just a bookshelf, a couple of candles, and blackout blinds keeping out all light. I place my bag in the corner and exchange my jacket for a lightweight dark purple sweater.

Lastly, I grab the duffel bag.

Inside is some equipment I brought from Arizona. Nothing crazy—chains, iron, meat hooks, duct tape, a raincoat, a box of medical gloves, and a set of carving knives. They're wicked sharp; I hadn't gotten to use them on anything yet. I got them new from a butcher in Arizona.

I jog downstairs. My sister is in her room, probably reading something juvenile. As I make my way to the back door, I run into my father. He stops and assesses me briefly before walking off without a word.

Charlie never really liked me. He always favored Isabella, but I like that about him. He's realistic. Not fooled by my fake charm. Charlie's a good guy. I like him.

I step outside and head into the woods. I'd found this spot during a morning run—an old barn hidden deep in the trees, stocked with farm tools. It was perfect. I make my way there now, excitement building with every step.

The barn is faded red, overgrown, almost impossible to see from the trail. When I first found it, I knew it was ideal. Inside, the space is musty but open. One wall is lined with farm tools—axes, pitchforks, shovels. I ignore the useless ones and bring out my own knives.

Cleavers, carvers, blades of all sorts.

While organizing, I notice something under the workbench.

"What are you?" I murmur aloud, leaning down.

It's a hunting knife. Thick steel, slightly curved at the tip, and it looks brand new. I pick it up, spinning it in my hands.

"Who would leave you here, you beautiful thing?" I say softly, smiling.

This was a sign.

Next, I lay out tarps in the center of the floor. I'm ready. I pack my tools for the hunt—the hunting knife, carving knives, duct tape, raincoat, and medical gloves—into my duffel bag and head back.

--

When I return to the house, I put the bag in the truck. Transporting a body in a truck isn't ideal. No trunk. The passenger seat will have to do.

After storing my equipment, I go inside. It's around 6 p.m., and Charlie and Isabella are having dinner. I roll up my sleeves and join them.

The table is quiet. Charlie is a silent guy, and Isabella doesn't want to break the silence. They're awkward, but I know Isabella and Charlie have a better relationship than I ever will.

Here's a corrected and polished version of the text, staying true to the story's tone and narrative:

--

Bella's POV*

After dinner, Joey and I washed the dishes while Charlie watched the game. I was grateful for the help; usually, I'd do this on my own, but Joey had insisted. He seemed oddly happy this evening, smiling to himself as if at some private joke. I wondered if it had something to do with that girl from his science class. He might act indifferent, but I could tell he liked her.

Sometimes, I worried about Joey. I'd look over and see something in his eyes—a hunger. It unsettled me. But he was my twin brother, and we'd been best friends since birth. I sighed and passed him a plate to dry.

Forks was just as I expected—rainy and boring. The people seemed nice, though. Mike, Jessica, Angela... I think I could really be friends with them. They were kind, unlike Edward Cullen. He probably didn't want to sit next to me in class. That's why he tried to switch classes afterward. But honestly, what had I done?

My thoughts were interrupted by Joey.

"Isabella."

He never called me Bella.

"Will you cover for me? I need to go into Port Angeles to buy some clothes."

I glanced toward Charlie, still glued to his recliner. "Sure. How long will you be gone?"

He checked his watch. "It's an hour there, an hour back, and about an hour to shop. So... three hours? I'll be back by ten."

I smiled. "Okay. Just don't be any later, okay? I don't want to get on Charlie's bad side."

He grinned. "Thanks. I owe you."

As he left, I called after him, "Happy hunting!"

--

(This part here on out has graphic content)

Joey's POV*

Washing dishes with Isabella had worked. She'd cover for me if Charlie asked, though I doubted he would. Still, I accounted for all variables.

I hopped in the truck and started the drive to Port Angeles. The roads were clear, the dampness of the air replaced with a sharp, electric excitement. I'd been looking forward to this. Forks might have its problems, but it had a certain darkness that appealed to me. Here, I could let go—no longer held back by the barriers of Arizona.

The fading light of day gave way to night as I sped toward my destination.

--

Upon arriving in Port Angeles, I began my search. With only an hour to spare, I wasn't hopeful. But then I found it: a house, perched on a hill. It had a majestic, cozy feel, painted a soft baby blue. It was set back from the road, with neighbors spaced far apart. Perfect.

I parked the truck and grabbed my gear. Circling around, I crept through the woods until I found a good vantage point: a tree near the house. Climbing it, I peered through a kitchen window. Inside, I saw a family: a father, a mother, and a teenage son, maybe a year or two older than me. He was well-built, with brown hair.

After twenty minutes, the parents left, dressed up—date night, I guessed. I considered moving on to another house, but just then, another car pulled up. A girl joined the boy in the kitchen. She was pretty, with blonde hair to her shoulders and soft brown eyes. They laughed over ice cream, their casual warmth intriguing me.

Then another car arrived. The boy brought in a couple—a shorter, freckled guy with blond hair and a brunette girl with long hair. They were clearly friends. After chatting for a while, they headed downstairs to what seemed like a basement hangout.

Perfect.

I waited until it was fully dark, then climbed down the tree. My tools were stashed at the base: a raincoat, gloves, duct tape, my hunting knife, and a few other essentials. Pulling on the raincoat and gloves, I crept to the back porch. The door was unlocked.

I smiled.

--

Inside, the house was quiet. I made my way to the kitchen and waited, crouched behind the island. Footsteps sounded from the stairs. A blond-haired boy entered the kitchen, heading for the fridge.

He didn't even see me coming.

I crept up behind him, knife in hand. My heart didn't race, and my hand didn't shake. I hooked an arm under his and pulled him back, slicing his throat ear to ear. He collapsed on top of me, his blood soaking my raincoat. I pushed him off and twisted to face him, driving my knife through his eye.

He was dead.

My first kill.

I almost laughed aloud as his body convulsed. The others downstairs suspected nothing. I paused, pulling out my phone. Plugging in my earbuds, I scrolled until I found the perfect song: *"Could Have Been Me"* by The Struts.

The music blared in my ears as I descended the stairs, blood staining my clothes. The soft glow of the basement lights illuminated my entrance.

They turned to look at me, their faces frozen in shock.

The girls screamed.

The brunet boy ran at me. I kicked him back, grabbed a fire poker from the fireplace, and swung, killing him instantly. The brunette girl bolted for the stairs, but I caught her, driving my knife into her stomach.

Her screams were music.

I dragged the blade upward, then pushed her aside.

The last girl—blonde—scrambled backward, too terrified to scream. The TV was still playing a *Harry Potter* movie. Pointing at the screen with my dripping knife, I grinned.

"My sister loves those," I said.

The girl whimpered, trembling.

I tilted my head and laughed.

"Who are you?" she whispered.

"I'm the bastard who's gonna kill you," I said. "But first, we're gonna have some fun."

--

By the end of the night, I had two captives: the blonde girl and the brunet boy. Both were duct-taped and unconscious. I stashed them in the bed of my truck, covering them with a tarp, and drove home.

Isabella was waiting on the porch when I arrived.

"You're late," she said, smiling.

I checked my watch. Eleven.

"I know, I know," I said.

She shook her head. "Dad's not mad. Don't worry. I was just worried about you."

"I'm fine," I replied, grinning.

She eyed me, then nodded. "Where are all your new clothes?"

I froze. "Oh… couldn't find anything I liked."

She sighed. "Okay. See you inside."

After she went to bed, I returned to the truck, dragging my captives through the woods to the barn. Chaining them to the support beams, I secured them for the night.

Tomorrow would be fun.