Page 35 of Web of Lies
She’s just another spoiled little rich girl trying to find her next meal ticket because her daddy, who has always paid for everything, is going to prison very soon. They have accused him of more than money laundering for the local criminals. Oh—Neil is a disgusting excuse of a man. He was accused by more than ten, yes ten, women of sexual harassment. He thought he could hide because of his social status, but he was wrong. Very, very wrong. So, my theory is, Hadley is on significantly borrowed time here, moneywise and status wise. She’ll do anything to gain the attention of any guy here, for money. And only money.
Piper was a little more challenging to study. Her records are clean, all of them. On paper, Piper is the perfect girl, but there has to be something. Ainsley mentioned her mental break, so I dug into her school records a little.
As I walk around my apartment, getting ready for school, my phone rings on my desk. Opening the text, I expect something from one of the guys, who had been texting me all weekend too, or Tristan. But what I didn’t expect was this:
VLVB9980876:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
You should have run
Now you’ll be in a coffin too.
From: [email protected]
August 31st, 2020
Kace…
So. It’s weird here. Really weird. I’m being bullied and not like…ordinary bullied like super bullied. Like….they’re still calling me names, pushing me in the mud, and starting terrible rumors about me. Seriously, when I find out who is doing this, I’ll make them pay. Big time. Today Ainsley stuffed me into my locker…and I mean STUFFED, I barely fit, and couldn’t move to get my phone. Her, Seger, Zeppelin, and Chase…they ALL HELPED. Plus, they shut it on my hair…I called out for help for hours…. only one person noticed I was gone, thank God. But I had to cut my hair from the locker. So good news, I have shorter hair now. Fun.
Someone painted a red X on my apartment door…. Like a fucking…. scarlet letter…not to mention the weird as hell text messages too. I don’t know what it means…. but I have an appt with the headmaster later this week so hopefully once I report what’s going on it’ll stop.
And I’ll say this once, I know you offered to help, but just, not this time. I know you can do it but just… don’t, please. I want to take care of these evil bastards. I want my own justice. I got this!
I started journaling again, just to ease this anxiety building in me. And painting, that helps too. I started working on two pieces, I’ll send some pics when I’m done.
Listen, I love you. But I got some homework to do, and I’m meeting for a small date tonight. I was told it’s to help me since I had such a bad day! The light at the end of my tunnel, I swear. So sweet. I am really beginning to enjoy this…. this whole dating thing. Who knew I could find someone…like this?
Magnolia xoxo.
My heart plummets into my stomach like a bomb going off. A coffin, too? What the hell is this? Who? And why? My fingers tremble as I stare at the phone number. The extremely weird phone number. I need to trace this ASAP, but I have class. This all sounds too familiar to me, an eerie echo beaming back.
Sitting on the edge of my couch, I can’t take my eyes away from the text message—memorizing it. I need to approach this as thoroughly as I can and take the smartest route. It could be a threat or, like with Magnolia, this could be the beginning of the end for me. But maybe, for research, this is for the best. I can see who does what and to what extreme.
What other options do I have?
It’s the final nail in my metaphorical coffin, determining my new path. My mind tries to convince me nothing will happen. It’s all a fluke. So, I put my brave face on, ready to face whatever the hell I’m walking into.
Grabbing my backpack with slight hesitation, I make my way out of my apartment, locking my door behind me. Heavy, foreboding tension leaks in the air like black smoke, revealing the truth. It’s not a fluke. Not today or tomorrow, this is real.
Girls cover their mouths with their palms, whispering my name to their friends, giggling, and pointing at me when I step out the door. With their phones out, they capture my every move. Probably hoping for a strong and dramatic reaction. The loud clicks of their cameras echo in the hall, accompanied by bright flashes. Swallowing hard, I turn myself around, facing my door.
I wish I hadn’t.
My heart sputters inside my chest, nearly stopping altogether. Gray dripping paint runs down my door like blood pouring from its latest victim, accompanied by a dripping blood-red X. Marking me—my soul—my blood—my life, for their fucked up games.
“What is this?” I demand in a stronger voice than I expected.
Peering around at the other girls crowding around me, they box me in, making sure I can’t escape. Pale faces with grief springing in their eyes greet my question—one girl I barely recognize shakes her head. Her hands spring forward on the defense, backing up, she puts as much space between me and her as she can. The rest follow suit, taking a step back from me. But they never put their phones away. They never stop broadcasting my newest fate to the world.
The tiny gray droplets continually drip onto the beige carpet, forming tiny, mismatched puddles. It mixes with the red, looking more like tainted blood pooling beneath it. What a mess this will be for the maintenance crew later. How do you get paint out of carpet, anyhow? Seems impossible to me. They must cut it out and replace it with new, much like my destroyed door.
“Anyone?” I ask again, licking my lips. I turn my back towards the ruined door and open myself up to the shark-like crowd. Never leave your back to your enemy.
