Killing Britney by Sean Olin

across the parking lot toward Britney’s VW Bug. Their teeth chattered. Melissa’s heavy quilted coat was zipped up to her chin, her scarf wrapped tight, and she could withstand the cold. But Britney was wearing Ricky’s letter jacket, and even with the wool roll-top sweater underneath, she could feel the wind crawl in through the buttons. Despite her thick mittens, her fingers were numb.
    The ice on the ground was thick and slippery—the girls had to take care with every step not to slip.
    “Do you have some time? Let’s go to Fresh Grounds and grab a latte,” said Melissa. “I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”
    “Oh? What’s that?”
    They didn’t look at each other as they spoke. It was so cold out that despite their coats, their muscles contracted and stiffened—any extra movement was another opportunity to expose some new bit of skin to the bracing wind.
    “There’s this, um—oh, now I’m embarrassed—this boy I like.”
    Britney spun on her and clasped her hands. “A boy! You mean like a real live boy? Of the human persuasion?”
    “Don’t make fun of me.”
    “Melissa, this is great. Look at you! You’re blushing!”
    As they neared the car, Britney fumbled with her keys. Pressing the unlock button was hard to do with frozen fingers. While she fumbled, Melissa pulled her door open. Britney thought it was odd that the doors were already unlocked.
    “I could swear I locked my car this morning.”
    “Sometimes when it’s cold, you think you’ve locked it when you really haven’t.”
    “No. I know I locked it. I distinctly remember hearing the chime and thinking about this car we had when I was little that used to say ‘a door is ajar’ every time I got in.”
    “So,” said Melissa, changing the subject. “The thing is, you know him.”
    “God, tell me already! I’m so excited!”
    “Let’s get warm first.”
    The two of them climbed into their respective sides of the car. As Britney settled into the driver’s seat, she heard something crunch underneath her. After fishing around for a moment, she pulled out a cracked jewel case. Under the clear plastic glimmered a blank CD. Someone had scrawled the words WITH LOVE on it in large block letters.
    She froze up.
    “Look at this,” she said, handing the CD to Melissa. “This is …” She shuddered involuntarily.
    As Melissa studied the CD, Britney put her key in the ignition.
    “Hurry up and turn the heat on,” she said. “It’s freezing in here!”
    Melissa’s attitude annoyed Britney. One of the things she liked best about her friend was that she could always be relied on to put aside whatever she was thinking about to focus on the melodrama of Britney’s life. “You don’t seem too concerned,” she said.
    “I want to tell you about this boy.”
    “Whatever. I’m a little freaked out right now, Melissa.”
    As soon as she’d opened the door, Britney had begun to feel incredibly anxious. It was as if she’d known, even before finding the CD, that her space had been invaded—as if someone had come in while she was in class and rubbed their greasy palms all over her stuff, not taking anything, but leaving a nasty scent behind.
    In silence, Britney turned on the engine and flicked the heat up to high.
    “Well, let’s hear what’s on it,” said Melissa with a little sigh that Britney took as a subtle criticism. She popped the CD into the stereo, and the two of them waited for what would come next.
    From the very first notes, a chill crept down Britney’s back. The song began with soft finger picking on what sounded like an acoustic guitar. It had an almost Celtic air to it, the mystical far-off quality of a mythic dirge. She recognized it immediately. Her fingers tensed on the steering wheel. Her stare drove into the windshield. Then the lyrics began….
There’s a lady who’s sure
all that glitters is gold
and she’s buying a stairway to heaven…
    After a few verses, the song began to change. Static