Page 67 of The Writer

A soft drizzle dampens my hair and jacket as I march home, but the fiery adrenaline inside protects me against the cold. It’s nearing nine o’clock, around the time Crystal usually heads out for the evening, dazzled up in expensive clothes and flashy accessories. At least, that’s where I think she’s been going. What if her frequent absences are because she’s out framing me for crimes? I need to catch her before she leaves, so that I can confront her.

Sure enough, when I arrive home, I find Crystal in the small hallway bathroom, tracing burgundy liner around her lips. She catches my eye in the mirror.

“You’re home early,” she says.

“Can we talk?”

Glimpsing my reflection, I see a frazzled woman, cheeks red with cold, still bundled up in wet layers, multiple bags hanging off my arms. Crystal notices the distress in my face. She exits the bathroom, taking a seat at the dining-room table. She stretches the hem of her short velvet dress as she sits.

“Did something happen?”

I’m too energized to sit, so I pace the short distance between the table and the kitchen counter. “Something has been happening to me. For weeks, now. You already know that.”

“Are you talking about the black hearts again?” Crystal is apprehensive.

“It’s more than that, and you know it.” I pause, watching her reaction closely. “And it all started after I wrote the Layla story.”

As usual, her posture stiffens at the sound of our friend’s name. She cocks her head to the side, waiting. “Okay…”

“A few days ago, I found out someone hacked into my email. They sent messages to a dozen different literary agents using my account.”

“Why would someone do that?”

“It’s another way to mess with me. No one has access to my computer. Except you.” I shrug my shoulders, my arms flapping against my sides. “You’re the only person who has been around for everything that’s happened these past ten years.”

She pulls back, like a marionette doll whose string has been yanked. “I’m sorry, are you accusing me of hacking into your email? And doing all that other stuff? The black hearts?”

“We both know you went through my computer once,” I say, holding eye contact.

“We’ve already talked about that, and I apologized. I thought we’d moved on, but clearly you still don’t trust me.”

“Just answer my question,” I say, my voice sharp. “Are you the one who has been sending me the black hearts? Doing everything else?”

She gasps in disbelief. “Wow, Becca. Are we really doing this right now? I told you I’ve been getting the stupid heart messages, too. You saw the flowers.”

Yes, but I can’t be sure her explanation is true. Maybe it was just another threat.Remember. A message within the walls of my own apartment.

“Answer the question,” I say.

“No.” Her tone is resolute. “We’re best friends. Why would you even think I would do those things?”

“Because of Layla!” I don’t mean to shout, but my voice is so loud and raw, it startles us both. “You blame me for what happened to her. For years, you’ve been torturing me with the black heart messages, and after reading the Layla story, you decided to take things a step further.”

“I was upset about the story, and I confronted you about it,” she says. “That’s what adults do. They don’t slash tires and hack into emails. Let alone actually hurt people, like the poor woman on our street. How do you know everything that’s been happening isn’t a coincidence?”

“It’s not! Someone is punishing me, and it all ties into what happened back then.” I sling my bags onto the table, rustling through one until I find the article that was left at Banyon’s Bridge. “Someone even left this for me.”

Hesitantly, she takes the article and reads it, her face hardening. “Why would you think I did that?”

“Someone did, and you’re the only one with a connection?—”

“We don’t even talk about her anymore!” Crystal shouts. “In the past ten years, we’ve barely brought up that night, and now you’ve mentioned her twice in the past week. You’re writing stories about what happened. It’s like you’re obsessed.”

“That’s because someone?—”

“No, Becca. No one is out to get you. You’re just refusing to move on. You’ve let Layla’s death ruin everything for you, and for what reason? Doing nothing with your life is not going to bring her back.”

My teeth grind and my fists clench. “It’s not as easy for everyone to move on like nothing happened.”

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