I delicately peel apart the crumpled paper, firmly smoothing it out with my palms. I could feel the brittleness of my fingernails as the wind whipped my hair and stung my face. As I read the words off the note I felt my heart stop in my chest and sink to the floor. If it wasn't for the lump in my throat blocking my airway I would have been sobbing by now. 

              Today marks the anniversary of my boyfriend's death. Three years ago today my boyfriend Grant Done was brutally murdered. The event flooded the media with news articles, papers, and interviews containing the staggering headline, "Tragic Death of High School Student Grant Done Shocks Community." For a year it was inescapable. After a year of constant questions, concerns, and spotlight. Then all of a sudden it stopped. I had been swept under the rug as just another citizen who had endured tragedy. And the curiosity of who Grant's killer could be faded into just another unsolved case. People never did seem to care about my position in all of this... after all, I played the role of the grieving girlfriend all too well. I guess just as well as Grant played the role of the perfect boyfriend. The golden boy of our little town of Scottsville. 

              But if there is one thing I've learned it's that all actions have a consequence and all secrets are eventually revealed. I'm just in shock mine has been discovered this quickly. I covered all my tracks, had the perfect alibi, the perfect cover-up. And as far as everyone else was concerned no motive. The only time the small-town idea that everyone knows everything about everyone's life had played out in my favor. Don't get me wrong, it was difficult to date someone and plan their murder at the same time. But it was my only chance of escaping him. And in the aftermath very quickly I discovered I needed to escape this town too. I left for college this year, in a new town, with new people, and a new environment.  And until about ten minutes ago I assumed no one here knew anything about my past. Then I received a knock on my dorm door.               

               " Hey, Elle! Someone left this for you," my perky roommate called out. Handing me a letter.                                                    

               " Thanks, Cass", I opened the letter and began to read.  

                " I know your secret. To find out more go downstairs. There's another letter waiting at the front desk." I rushed downstairs making sure I wasn't hallucinating. I got the other letter and decided to read it outside. Far away from anyone who may happen to be peering over my shoulder. Or worse, watching me. The second note was crumpled up and written in crimson-red ink. Containing an address. I followed it just as the note had threatened and arrived at a hotel. A very fancy hotel at that. The building was staggeringly tall with pertinently polished windows and a clear crystal door. I walked in, and fit in enough for the clerk to not question my presence. The note said to go to room #33. Now I looked from side to side, raised my right fist, but hesitated to knock on the door.  I instead decided to give myself the upper hand by simply opening the door and surprising my stalker. I grabbed a hold of the silver polished knob so clear I could see my reflection in it. I peered into the room and nearly fainted. My eyes followed the blood soaked into the cotton white carpet to the chair directly in front of the window and across from the doorway. Where I stood rattled. In the chair lay Lucas Done, Grant's older brother. Dead. With a gunshot wound in his head and a knife in the lower rim of his stomach. I was in so much shock I almost didn't notice it. But my eyes wandered enough to spot the thin crumpled piece of paper in Lucas' hand. The paper just happened to be thin enough and the light just happened to be bright enough for me to spot the crimson-red ink peering through the other side of the note. And there I stood. Another Done lay dead before me.