Scars Don't Lie
1083 Words
Amara stared at the photo in her hand long after Axel walked away. Her fingers trembled, but not from the cold. It was the kind of tremble that came when your past reached out and grabbed you by the throat.
She remembered the house now. The creaky floorboards, the screaming behind closed doors, the bruises no one talked about. She remembered Axel’s voice—softer then—telling her to keep her head down, to never answer the night knocks on the hallway door.
And she remembered someone else, too. A boy. Not much older than them. Smiling with too many teeth. Always watching. Always touching things he shouldn’t.
But his name still wouldn’t come.
Not yet.
***
Back in class, Amara couldn’t focus. Mr. Danner’s voice faded into background noise as her mind kept playing Axel’s words on a loop.
*“Someone in this school was there too.”*
Someone who hurt people. Someone who got away with it.
She looked around the classroom, suddenly hyper-aware of everyone. Could it be one of them?
That football captain with the fake smile?
The golden boy who always played hero in the hallways?
A teacher?
*Think, Amara. Think.
She didn’t realize her leg was bouncing until Zoe nudged her under the table.
“You’re about to snap your pencil in half,” Zoe whispered.
Amara whispered back, “I need your help after school.”
“Spill.”
“Not here.”
Zoe narrowed her eyes but nodded.
***
They met at Zoe’s house, in her basement room that smelled like nail polish and peppermint gum. Posters of rock bands covered the walls, and Zoe’s laptop was already open on her bed.
Amara sat cross-legged on the floor, clutching the photo.
She handed it to Zoe. “Look at the kids in the back. The girl with glasses is me. The boy behind me is Axel.”
Zoe blinked. “Wait, is this—?”
“Foster care. Before my dad got custody again. I forgot all of it until yesterday.”
Zoe sat up straighter. “And you think one of those kids is at school now?”
“No. Axel said someone *else* from that house is at school. Someone who hurt people back then.”
Zoe’s face went serious. “You think it’s a student?”
“I don’t know. But I need to figure it out.”
Zoe pulled the photo closer. “This looks like it was taken around what… age 9? 10?”
“Yeah.”
“And you said your records were sealed after that, right?”
Amara nodded.
Zoe’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “Then let’s do some digging. If this was a state-run group home, there might be public records. Not names—those would be protected—but maybe staff lists, news articles, inspections.”
Within minutes, Zoe was deep into archives.
Amara watched, trying to calm the storm in her chest.
Until Zoe froze.
“Oh my god,” she said.
“What?”
Zoe turned the laptop toward her.
An article. Old. Blurry. The headline read:
*"Westbridge Youth Home Under Investigation for Allegations of Abuse and Neglect."*
Beneath it, a grainy photo of the house—and in front of it, a staff member in uniform, shaking hands with a local official.
Amara leaned closer.
The staff member looked familiar.
Clean-cut. Young. Confident.
The caption read: *“Mark Ellis, youth counselor, during state inspection.”*
Amara’s heart dropped.
Mr. Ellis.
The school guidance counselor.
He was the one who ran weekly wellness check-ins. The one who smiled too much. The one who always gave out candy and told girls to “relax their shoulders.”
She felt sick.
“He works at our school,” she whispered. “That’s him. He was there.”
Zoe’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”
“I never remembered his name before. But that face… I know it now. He used to call us his ‘lost little stars.’ Said he was there to ‘guide us through the dark.’”
“Creepy as hell.”
“Worse. He used to sneak into rooms at night.”
Zoe covered her mouth. “Jesus.”
Amara stood up, pacing. “Axel came back to expose him. That’s what this is about.”
Zoe frowned. “Why not go to the police?”
“Because there’s no proof. That place burned down. The files were destroyed. Even Axel’s school record is half gone.”
Zoe leaned back. “So what do we do?”
Amara clenched her fists. “We find the proof.”
***
The next day, Amara avoided Mr. Ellis like he was radioactive. But somehow, he still found her.
“Miss Blake,” he called from down the hall. “A moment?”
She froze.
He smiled his usual calm smile, the one everyone thought was kind—if they didn’t know better.
“I noticed you’ve been looking… tense lately. If you ever want to talk, my door is open.”
Amara forced a nod. “Thanks.”
He studied her, then leaned in slightly. “I know it’s a lot of pressure, being the principal’s daughter. Eyes on you all the time. But don’t let the whispers get to you. High school is just noise.”
His hand brushed her shoulder, too slow.
And just like that, the memory came back full force.
The door creaking open.
The flashlight beam.
The sound of breathing that wasn’t hers.
She stepped back so fast she almost tripped.
“I’m late for class,” she said, and rushed away.
He called after her, still smiling. “You know where to find me.”
She didn’t stop running until she reached the back courtyard.
Axel was there, sitting alone.
She sat beside him without a word.
“I know who it is,” she said.
He didn’t even look surprised. “Ellis.”
“You knew?”
“I remembered the second I saw him. But no one listens to a kid who grew up in a group home. Especially not one with a record.”
Amara stared straight ahead. “I’m going to help you bring him down.”
He turned toward her finally. “That means digging into the past. The part you tried to forget.”
“I remember now.”
He nodded slowly. “Then we need to move fast. Because Ellis? He knows you remembered.
- Writer
