shadow [h.s.]

s i x t e e n t h

When I was a little girl I used to read fairy tales.

You know, Snow White. Cinderella. I'd watch Disney movies, and my dad would read the Grimm brothers to me before I went to sleep every night. And, in fairytales, the princess always has pink dresses and frills and bows.

In fairy tales you meet Prince Charming and he's everything you ever wanted. In fairy tales the bad guy is very easy to spot. The bad guy is always wearing a black cape so you always know who he is. The bad guy has an evil laugh and a green dragon that breathes fire. Then, one day, you grow up past, 7:00 readings of Sleeping Beauty, and you realize that Prince Charming is not as easy to find as you thought. You realize the bad guy is not wearing a black cape and he's not easy to spot; he's really funny, and he makes you laugh, and he has perfect hair. He has nice eyebrows and blue eyes and his mother makes him scrapbooks. He drinks tea and listens to Ed Sheeran and reads The Fault in Our Stars. He is everything you ever wanted, and sometime you kiss him and sometimes you say yes when you shouldn't.

In fairytales, the bad guy is always defeated by Prince Charming. His dragon is killed and his magic powers diminished. The princess is always okay, she's always alright and it's never a sad ending. No one ever dies in fairytales, well, except for the bad guy. So, essentially, fairytales always have a happy ending.

The moment my life changed happened on 8:30 PM on December 19th, 2015. I remember the time because Leighton's grandfather clock chimed just as I read the chilling words in his journal. "She even said he wasn't the murderer. Well, I suppose she's right, in a way. Harry E. Styles is not the murderer. I am." And it was then, I realized, sitting on Leighton's couch holding his journal and listening to Snow Patrol that I understood. I breathed in, breathed out. I sighed and stood.

Life was no fairytale.

The funny thing is, I should've been desperate. I should've knocked over lamps and sped out onto the highway with the pedal to the metal like they do in movies. But I didn't. I was calm as I pulled my black Nexus out onto the highway and called Mr. Denton.

He picked up on the second ring.

"I know who it is," I blurted out. "I know who killed them all."

"Who is it?"

My eyes closed briefly, shutting their view from the world and whizzing highway. The truth stung, the truth hurt and it hurt like hell. But it was the truth, and the truth needed to be revealed. It was time to move on past fairytales and wake up. Immerse myself in the cold, clammy truth of the past that would haunt me for the rest of my life. So my lips rounded around the truth.

"Leighton Alexander Harrison."

-x- present time

Leighton had told me where he was going to be today. The rehab centre.

The very same place where Harry is.

I open the door to my car and step out into the brisk, crisp air. There are hardly any cars here, hardly any people. There is no buzz, no excitment. Just silence.

And that scares me.

My heels click against the pavement, racing towards the door of the rehab centre. Locked. I curse underneath my breath and retrieve my picklocking kit from my purse.

But not before my eyes catch the image inside.

Leighton stands, overtop of Harry. The boy I have come to love, with the chocolate curls and green eyes, lies on the cement with a screwed face. He's tucked his knees into his arms and is trying to move away from Leighton's blows, but to no avail. Leighton repeatedly hits Harry with the butt of his gun.