“Nicole?”
I glanced up from the computer screen. Lauren had awoken. She groaned and stretched her arms over her head.
“I see you’ve found the rest of your mother’s journals,” she said, gesturing to the laptop. Then she caught sight of the empty muffin wrapper on the coffee table in front of me. “Where’d you get that?”
I pointed to the cake dome on the counter. “How many entries did you decode?”
“Two or three,” she called over her shoulder as she waltzed to the counter and collected a muffin for herself. “How many have you read?”
“Just the one from April fifteenth.”
“There are two from that day.”
“There are?”
Lauren nodded, peeling back the wrapper of her confectionary treat. “O’Connor wasn’t kidding, Nicole. Those entries… they’re tough to read.”
I frowned, still staring at the word “inconvenience” in my mother’s handwriting.
“Uh-oh,” said Lauren as she took in my expression.
“What?”
“Don’t go getting all existential crisis on me, Nicole.”
“I’m not,” I snapped.
“Good, because if you thought that first entry was difficult to get through, I know for a fact that the next one is really going to piss you off.”
I moved the cursor to hover over the adjacent file, but something caused me to hesitate in clicking it. Could I handle whatever was in my mother’s next entry?
“Do you want me to just tell you what happened?” asked Lauren in a soft voice. “That way, you don’t have to read it.”
I shook my head and determinedly clicked on the file. “I need to read it for myself.”
As soon as the file loaded, I knew that Lauren hadn’t been exaggerating. The photocopied journal page looked way worse for wear than the previous ones. One corner was wrinkled, as though Natasha had crumpled it in her fist before attempting to smooth it out again. Her handwriting was barely legible. It looked as though she had dashed off the words in an extreme hurry. Furthermore, the ink ran in several places where large splotches, the result of fallen tears, marred the page. The first two words on the page tied a tight knot around my heart.
Anthony’s dead.
It’s nearly midnight. I’m safe, or as safe as I can get. I made it to my mother’s house, miles away from Waverly. But I’m numb inside. I can’t feel anything. Crying, it seems, is the only thing that I can do at the moment. And write. Writing, for some reason, is cathartic, but it won’t bring him back.
Everything was going according to plan. Anthony and I split up to pack our things. It was a mistake. We should have just dropped everything and left as soon as possible. In the time it took to shove my clothes into a suitcase, Catherine fucking Lockwood murdered Anthony.
They cut the brakes on his car. And then the bastards took polaroid pictures of Anthony, lying there in the wreck, and left them outside of my dorm room door. Oh, and a note, which I’ve taped below, because one day, I swear to God, it will serve as damn good evidence for when I put Catherine Lockwood behind bars.
I sniffled as I scrolled down to read the note that BRS had left for my mother. Lauren looked quietly on, nibbling her muffin in respectful silence as I read about my father’s organized demise. The note bore a remarkable resemblance to the one I had received from the Raptors myself, printed on thick parchment and embossed with the society’s golden seal.
Dearest Natasha,
We regret to inform you that, due to your misbehavior and inability to cooperate, we were forced to take drastic measures. You will find attached the outcome of our exploits. Take note, the Black Raptor Society will not stand for treachery. Anthony Costello has been erased from our history, your life, and this earth itself. Do not attempt to reach the police. If you wish to survive the evening, leave the evidence of Raptor business that you currently possess in the Rapere Wing of the library at midnight tonight. Should you oblige, you may exit Waverly University unharmed as you planned to do previously. Should you refuse, you leave the society no choice but to arrange for your convenient disposal as well. Choose wisely.
Our sincerest apologies,
BRS
I visibly shook with rage as I finished reading the letter from BRS. I could practically imagine Catherine Flynn sitting down to write it, smugly including the photographs of my father’s death, knowing that the combination would completely dismantle my mother. What kind of sociopath was so obsessed with her own ego that she would kill a man she once claimed to love and threaten the life of a pregnant woman? Beside me, Lauren perched on the armrest of my chair and laid a hand over my own trembling fingers as I read the brief closing of my mother’s entry.
My mother asked me if I wanted to keep Anthony’s baby. After all of this, I considered saying no. But why should I let the Raptors take every good thing away from me? This baby is a good thing. He or she belongs to me, to Anthony, and deserves to grow up in an uncomplicated world. That’s why I’m still leaving. My mother keeps asking why I can’t just finish my degree. After all, graduation is only a month away. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know about Anthony yet or about the Raptors. I can’t even tell her. I’ve already put her in enough danger just by coming here. I still have the security footage. There’s no way in hell I would ever hand it over. But I can’t keep it with me. I’m leaving tomorrow before the Raptors can figure out where I’ve gone. They can all go to hell. I have nothing left to lose. The most important thing to me now is keeping this baby safe.
“I am going to murder
