Page 10 of Betray Me
The line goes dead.
I stare at my hands, imagining dark crescents of dried blood beneath manicured nails. The photos flashed through my mind—that strange mark on my neck, the thin line on Luna’s throat, the gold bracelet I didn’t recognize. And Janet Wilson is there in one photo, gone in the next.
What did they make us do? Or what did we witness that required chemical erasure?
At 2 PM, I make my way to the library’s third floor. It’s nearly empty—most students prefer the modern study lounges to these dusty stacks. I find Luna in a corner carrel, her dark hair shorter now, her whole bearing different from the wild creature who tormented me last year.
“Thanks for coming,” she says quietly, gesturing to the chair beside her.
“Your text said urgent.”
She pulls out her phone, showing me a message:The Wilson girl’s body was never found. But you and Belle know where it is. Time to remember, before the FBI does. – A Friend
My veins turn to ice. “When did you get this?”
“This morning. Right after the news broke about the FBI reopening the case.” Luna’s green eyes bore into mine. “I can’t remember that night, Belle. Can you?”
I pull out my phone, showing her the photo I took of the black rose and news clipping. “Someone wants us to remember. But I’ve tried. The whole night is just… gone.”
“Not the whole night.” Luna’s voice drops. “I remember arriving at the party. Being given a special drink. I didn’t remember it before, but now I’m sure that you were there. You wore a gold dress. They kept saying it was a celebration.”
“Celebration of what?”
“I don’t know. But I remember seeing Janet Wilson. She was happy, laughing. Said she was finally going to be free.” Luna’s brow furrows. “Then it gets fuzzy. Next clear memory is waking up in my own bed the next afternoon.”
I close my eyes, trying to summon any fragment of that night. “There are photos. In the files I… didn’t destroy back then, when your parents were on trial. They’re of you and me on a couch with Janet. Then later, just us. She’s gone, and there’s blood…”
“Blood?”
“Spots on my dress. And under my fingernails, according to whoever called me.”
Luna goes very still. “They think we killed her.”
“Or they want us to think we did.” The words tumble out as the possibility forms. “What better way to ensure silence than making us believe we’re murderers? What better leverage than shared guilt over something we can’t even remember?”
“But what if we did?” Luna’s voice is barely audible. “What if that’s why they drugged us so heavily? To make us forget what we’d done?”
The weight of that possibility settles between us. Two girls from powerful families, raised to be pawns in our parents’ games. Used, abused, traded like commodities. What if one night, we snapped? What if Janet Wilson became collateral damage in a moment of drug-fueled rage?
“We need help,” I say finally. “Someone who can investigate without alerting our families.”
“Erik’s brother, David. He’s been building cases against the rest of the network.”
I shake my head. “He’s too official. The moment he starts digging, word will get back to people who want this buried.”
Luna’s quiet for a moment. “What about Detective Harper? He’s one of the original officers who’s been looking for Janet since her disappearance. He might know something about that night that we don’t.”
“Whoever called me told me to stop digging,” I admit. “Said some things should stay buried.”
“Everyone’s scared.” Luna’s laugh is bitter. “Even with our parents in prison or heading there, everyone’s still fucking terrified. The network’s not dead, Belle. It just went underground.”
My phone buzzes. Another unknown number:Library cameras active. You have two minutes before someone notices this meeting. Northwest stairwell is clear.
Luna and I exchange glances, both recognizing the pattern. Someone’s watching, guiding, manipulating. But who? And why help us while simultaneously warning us off?
We leave separately, Luna first, while I count sixty seconds. As I descend the northwest stairwell, I find a small card tucked against the railing:Midnight. Old boathouse. Come alone. Bring the photos. – A Friend
The old boathouse. Abandoned for years after a drowning accident, it sits at the far edge of campus, where security cameras don’t reach. If I go, I could be walking into a trap. But if I don’t…
