Chapter1
871 Words
The first thing I hear on Monday morning is that somebody is dead
The second thing I hear is her name.
Lily hart.
And by third period I’ve heard three different versions of how she died and none of them match.
She overdosed
She jumped
There was blood everywhere.
Rumors move through Blackthorne Academy faster than wildfire, swallowing facts whole and spitting out something uglier.
I don’t know Lily Hart or at least, I didn’t.
The first time her death becomes my problem is when I open my locker and find an envelope with my name on it.
A cream colored envelope lands at my feet. Aisha bends first, but I grab it before she can. “What is that?” She asks
“No idea,” I respond. The paper is thick and looks expensive but there’s no stamp or return address or name.
I don’t know why but that makes my stomach tighten or maybe because my locker was empty this morning and I know that because I checked twice.
Aisha peers over my shoulder. “Open it.”
“Why?” I ask because I didn’t have intentions of doing that, definitely not in front of her.
“Because now I’m invested.” She responds as if that’s a very logical reason.
I stare at the envelope then at the corridor, nobody seems interested in the envelope which somehow makes it worse because everyone is moving past us, laughing, talking and living their ordinary lives.
I slide my hands beneath the seal, inside is a folded sheet of notebook paper and the handwriting is uneven, the kind produced by trembling hands.
I unfold it.
To Zara….
The words blurs for a second not because I can't read but I know exactly what I'm holding. My stomach tightens and I suddenly feel like using the restroom.
Aisha leans in. “Oh my God!!!” She exclaims.
I continued reading. The letter was an apology filled with fear hidden between carefully chosen words.
I didn’t know Lily,bit halfway through reading she starts feeling less like a rumor and more like a frightened person.
By the bottom of the page, my chest feels tight then I reach the final line and everything stops.
The handwriting changes and the letters become sharper then I see three words.
YOU'RE NEXT.
My breath catches.
“What the hell?” Aisha whispers.
I stare at the page hoping the words vanish but I didn’t so I read them again and then again and each time they somehow feel worse.
The sound of a locker slamming jolts through me.
“We need to show someone.” Aisha says but her voice sounds far away.
“No.” I responded sharply.
What?” Aisha asked clearly surprised that I didn’t want to report it.
“It’s a prank.” I said mostly to convince myself. “It has to be.”
“Zara…
“It’s a prank.” I snapped, “it’s not even believable.”
Before Aisha can argue, movement catches my attention.
A few yards away, near the end of the corridor, Adrian Cole was watching. It is impossible to tell what he is thinking then he starts walking towards us and every instinct in me tells me to leave but I don’t and neither does Aisha.
He stops in front of me, close enough that I notice the faint scar near his jaw and that he isn’t looking at my face but at the envelope.
My grip tightens and his gaze lifts to find mine. “You opened it.” He stated point blank.
Ice slides down my spine and Aisha frowns. “Open what?”
Adrian doesn’t even glance at her and that makes my pulse pound harder against my throat. “How do you know about this?” I ask.
For the first time something flickers across his expression, like I’ve finally asked the right questions then another slow second passes.
“You should be careful Zara.” He says making my name sound so much more beautiful then I think it is but before I could fully bask in that euphoria, my stomach drops because we’ve never spoken before so how does he know my name.
Aisha noticed too because I could tell by the way she stiffened beside me.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
Instead of responding, he studies me then the envelope then me again and his eyes darken slightly like he is remembering something or someone and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet enough that only I can hear. “Some stories don’t stop with the first victim.”
Before I can respond, he steps around us and walks away leaving a hundred unanswered questions behind him.
That night, I find another letter tucked beneath my dorm room door. The handwriting starts the same, shaky and uneven and then halfway down, it changes to sharp and controlled as though the writer has finally stopped pretending.
The final lines are addressed directly to me. My eyes move to the signature and suddenly the room feels small and my pulse is roaring in my ears.
It ends with “”LOVE, YOUR FUTURE EX.”
- Writer
