He led me down the hall to the bedroom.
One night when I was sixteen, I walked home by myself from a classmate’s party. Halfway there, I caught a man out of the corner of my eye, his pale face stark against the night. He was a few feet behind me, tracking my steps. When I sped up, he sped up. When I turned, he turned. A wild, terrible knowing seized me then, a charge under my skin, the kind of tension a girl learns to read without anyone teaching her.
Terrified, I ran. I could remember that moment so vividly: using every ounce of my strength, running so hard I eventually couldn’t feel my legs. Running for a mile, all the way home, to escape the danger in the dark, right behind me.
Walking into Dr. Garvey’s room, the wild, terrible knowing seized me again. But this time, I didn’t run. This time, my legs moved slowly, one after the other, toward the bed. My arms remained by my side, clenched, as he unwound his bow tie. My face a mask, set in flat lines.
There was still the sixteen-year-old girl inside me who wanted to be free and safe. Untouched. I could feel her heart thumping with terror, nowhere to go. She was running, she was screaming, she was banging on my rib cage to get out.
But I locked her inside. I knelt on the bed. This time, I let the danger catch me.
I drowned her in the dark.
And when I walked home that night, clutching my letter, there was no one left inside to be afraid.
Chapter 29
Now
It was so close to my Homecoming fantasy—every eye on me, rapt, waiting to see what I’d do next, just like it used to be with Heather—that for a moment, I felt an absurd flash of joy. Of gratefulness. Jessica Miller, star of the show.
But of course, now that it was finally happening, it was all wrong. They weren’t gathered around me to applaud, set a crown on my head. They were waiting for me to confess.
It was getting hard to breathe.
“Well?” Eric asked. “You’re awfully quiet.”
“I didn’t kill her.” My voice cracked. “I’m not hiding anything.”
Liar.
“That night, someone took the scissors from Caro’s desk and used them to cut up three photographs.” Eric stepped closer. “Someone who was very angry. And then those very same scissors—do you remember what happened next?”
Don’t say it.
“Someone used them to kill Heather. Stabbed her seventeen times.”
One, two, three cuts.
“A crime of passion, the cops said.” Eric took another step, and there was nowhere else to go. The railing bit into my back. “They thought it had to be Jack, the boyfriend. On the surface, it made sense. But Jack wasn’t so passionate about Heather, was he? Oh, he loved her, don’t get me wrong, but he wasn’t so angry that he could do that to her, like the cops thought. He was already moving on. No, someone else hated her.”
Four, five, six.
Eric pointed the photographs at me. “It was either you”—he turned to Caro—“or her.”
Coop shouldered his way past Eric and stood in front of me, arms out like a shield. “Enough. We played your games. We confessed our sins. There’s nothing left to say.”
“Coop?” Caro looked at him, standing boldly in front of me like a knight before a dragon, then at the empty space in front of her. She frowned.
“Coop’s right,” Mint said. “We’ve practically given you our entire Homecoming. Because you’re Heather’s brother, and we feel bad. Really, we do. You’re clearly hurting. But sometimes, as terrible as it sounds, mysteries go unsolved. Cases remain cold.” Mint gestured at the line of floats behind us. “Why don’t you go and use this day to mourn your sister?”
Eric’s calm mask shattered. His eyes flashed. “I’m not going anywhere until her killer is brought to justice. I promised her.” His eyes found mine over Coop’s shoulder.
“I didn’t do it,” I said, my voice hollow.
Seven, eight, nine cuts.
“If no one will confess to killing her,” Eric said, “maybe you’ll confess to the other crimes.”
“What other crimes?” Courtney asked warily.
Caro was still looking at Coop, measuring the distance between him and me.
“The night of Heather’s murder, two other crimes were committed, but of course, neither got as much attention. The second crime the cops investigated but, like Heather’s case, never solved. The first was never even reported. It was considered minor, only a campus issue. That crime was my most important clue. It took me years to find it. Took joining the Alumni Office, making friends with the one person who was on staff back then, who remembered the night Heather died. And what they found the next morning.”