The Return

Chapter Fifty

Holly

Sunday May 23rd 2021.

He broke up with me the day before prom night. It wasn't a public breakup. We weren't even public, to begin with. He said things weren't working out and that he wanted to fix things with his wife. There was potential there and that I should be comforted with the fact that we never got our feelings involved.

I didn't. At least, I wasn't supposed to.

I tried my best to keep things clean. We were never going to work out anyway.

I had a boyfriend. An abusive, cheating asshole, but a boyfriend nonetheless.

So, I did what any girl my age would do after breaking up with her English teacher slash sidepiece. I got stupid drunk and refused to leave my bedroom.

Mr. Jonathan was back and it wasn't as if I could prance around in my underwear listening to Mariah Carey and binging on Rocky road all day.

He wasn't all bad, but he couldn't stop asking about my dad and I didn't want to talk about it.

Holly let the words wash over her. She felt like a peeping tom. Like she was rummaging through Scarlett Leighton's most private thoughts. She couldn't give it back, but she didn't think it was legal to publish it either. What was the law on publishing someone's innermost thoughts?

There was a knock on her door. The hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. She shoved the stack of papers beneath her pillow.

"Decent?" Georgia.

"Come in, Mom," Holly was restless, her stomach knotted. She felt like she had the palpable truth beneath her pillow. Dr. Bradley knew more about Scarlett than anyone else in the investigation and he remained tightlipped.

Georgia sat at the edge of the bed. "I didn't take your news very well. I was too quick at judging you. I kept wondering why my daughter was looking into a case even the police forgot about." Her face softened. "And then your father made me realize that's who you are. You're a woman of action, and there's nothing wrong with that. It means you'll fit right in as a journalist or a cop or something," Her tone was light.

"I applied to a community college here in Chicago."

Georgia's eyes glimmered. "Really? Which one?"

"Harry J. Kennedy Community College. Took a tour and...I'm waiting to hear back from them."

"You know I will always be proud of whatever decision you make in your life, even if that's not my first reaction." She stood up from the bed.

Holly nodded.

"Come down in an hour, I'm making fried rice."

When Georgia flung Holly on a plane all those months ago, the only thing she was certain of was that their remarriage would be a bigger mistake than the divorce. She was living in a cocoon of fear. Breaking out of it, their new life together as a family was stronger. There was no skirting around topics or walking on eggshells. They were one and it was a breath of fresh air.

Georgia left the door open a crack when she left.

Alone, Holly dug out the stapled papers from beneath her pillow.

She didn't mention the diary to the rest of the Chroniclers. Because, to be brutally honest, she didn't want to have to wait to read it. To get to the bottom of what really happened to the girl found dead on the night of her prom. They already narrowed it down to three suspects. Lucas Flint. Malcolm Kent and Dr. Bradley.

They couldn't publish the article, not yet. Not until they spoke to Douglas Giovanni about the laws against publishing private writeups. Didn't Rowan say he was on board with what they were doing—or was he merely aware of it?

Regardless, they were going to make a copy and send it out to the relevant authorities.

It wasn't the best plan, but it was all they got.

She turned the page.

When I close my eyes, my life plays back like a montage of moderately high ups and downs that seem to plunge into an abyss.

I didn't start off senior year with a bang. I just kind of ... started. There were classes, and then cheerleading tryouts and parties and pranks.

It was the calm before the storm.

I don't want to blame my Dad for the butterfly effect. One action in a whole other part of town setting off a chain of events that I wish I could take back.

It's not all his fault. Everyone had a part to play. And if you're reading this, it's because I'm dead.

And no, I didn't kill myself. You did. You all did. Killed me slowly from the inside out.

I want to say the day I died was the day Malcolm Kent and Lucas Flint lay their filthy hands on my body. It wasn't. Neither was it the time Farida ambushed me in Malcolm's living room and I had to take a kitchen knife to her arm.

We're getting there. Stay with me.

I can't point fingers at my Mom for not being there. She was at her wit's end.

I died the day the world failed me.

The day you failed me, Mr. Bradley.

Because you're the only one that's allowed a copy of this. The only one that should bear this burden.

Xoxo

Scarlett Leighton.

A page was missing.