Innocent Until Found Dead

Chapter Four

"I want to tell you all of my secrets, but you've become one instead." 

                                                                           —Anonymous

Quinn sailed through her finals that week, acing every test with surprising ease. The days seemed to fly by faster than she'd anticipated, and she found herself pleasantly surprised by how smoothly everything was going. To her relief, Dexter and his groupies kept their distance, not even sparing her a glance, and none of her classmates bothered her at all. Since her bold scene in the locker hall, she'd been feeling unusually refreshed and upbeat, even if a part of her felt she shouldn't.

Each day, Hunter picked her up after school, helping her keep track of her medications and staying close by for hours until the sun dipped low. Yet lately, she'd noticed something different about him—an odd, almost brooding mood seemed to hang over him. He was also unusually clingy, rarely letting Quinn out of his sight. Not that she minded; his presence was always a comfort, his calm energy smoothing over her rough edges.

Overall, the rest of the week turned out far better than she'd expected, without the weight she'd dreaded. And on the final school day, with classes cut short, she and Hunter left early, ready to embrace the break ahead.

"I'm so relieved we don't have to go back to that prison they call high school," Quinn sighed, sliding her backpack off her shoulders. She let it drop to the ground with a satisfying thunk, watching it roll onto its side as if finally free from the weight of the past months. "I'm not going to graduation, by the way. You can grab my diploma for me."

"Oh, thank you for the honor," Hunter chuckled, setting his own backpack down beside hers. "But seriously, we survived finals, crushed every last one, and now we're finally free. No more Dexter. No more classes. No more tests. That's got to count for something, right?"

"That counts for everything," Quinn laughed, her voice lighter than it had been in weeks. She strolled over to the kitchen island, her footsteps carrying a new ease. "Hey, look, we've got mail..." She shuffled through the stack of letters and paused when she spotted one in the middle, her name written neatly across the envelope. "Huh. This one's addressed to me. That's... strange. I never get mail."

"What? Let me see." Hunter's goofy grin faded as he joined her, his curiosity piqued. But before he could take it, Quinn had already torn it open, her fingers nimble with anticipation. He hooked his arm around her shoulders, leaning in to read over her shoulder. "Well? What does it say?"

"Hold on, impatient much?" Quinn teased, rolling her eyes with a grin. She unfolded the letter, and they both leaned closer, eyes scanning the words together, a shared pulse of curiosity stirring between them as they began to read.

Quinn Trissame Beverly,

The funeral was exquisite, truly. You wore that black, floor-length dress beautifully, and the grief etched across your face—oh, it surpassed even my finest imaginings. A flawless performance. Though, I must admit the closed caskets were a bit of a letdown. I understand why you kept their faces hidden; not everyone can gaze upon hollowed skulls and see art in it. But I could. I saw poetry in those broken visages, in the way death carved them open. Killing them on their anniversary—does that not strike you as poetic? To die around the same hour, they pledged their souls to eternity? They should be grateful, really.

And how delightful it was, that twist of having their deaths marked down as suicides. A clever little ending to the story, wouldn't you say? But I digress.