The Day Hope was Murdered

15. Invisible Ink

// Chapter 15: Invisible Ink \\

Amanda and I are now up in my bedroom. The remains of the trunk are all cleaned up and the hatchet put away.

In my hands is my black leather journal. I stare down at it in anticipation before finally opening it up. Something falls out. "What the . . ." I trail off.

It's a tissue and a napkin. And they both are covered in writing. My writing.

"Is that from--" Amanda wonders.

"Yeah," I say. They're both from when I was in the hospital.

Amanda's eyes spark with curiosity. "How did they get in there? You didn't put them there, did you?"

I groan in annoyance. "I don't know! I haven't written in my journal or even seen it since--" I hurriedly flip to the back of my journal and see my last entry. I skim it over.

--this is my final letter to the world. A goodbye.

Just grant me this as I leave you forever.

I run my fingers through my hair and turn to Amanda. "I didn't write this!" I exclaim.

She reaches over and takes my journal from me, inspecting the words closely. After reading it, she looks up at me. "It's definitely your handwriting Leila."

I snatch it back from her and look at it again. "You're right!" I groan. "It is! But how come I don't remember?" By now, I'm confused, frustrated, and confused over how the tissue and napkin got in there to how I could've written this without remembering I ever did so.

I look down at the journal again and read the date of the entry. It's the day I supposedly attempted my life. I point this out to Amanda and continue to investigate. "Maybe the plethora of antidepressants in my system gave me amnesia as well." I sigh.

Giving up with trying to figure it out, I flip back to the first entry and start to read, searching for any clues related to Howard.

The first entry is chicken scrawl, barely even recognizable. I recall it as the night after Hope was murdered. My dad had forced me to get up from my sobbing butt and go to the store with him. While he purchased groceries, I sulked around the store in misery. Then some girl came up to me, handed me a journal and said "Here. Write down all your feelings in here. It'll help you cope with real life and maybe even give you hope back." At the time, I thought she was actually referring to my sister Hope and so I blurted out "I'll never get Hope back! She's gone, you hear me? Gone!" Nevertheless, I took the journal and went under the willow trees to write in it that night.

I start to read the first entry.

April 4, 2014

It's all your fault. You killed my sister. I'll never forgive you for it. I got this journal to punish you for it.

From now on, I swear to write in this everyday. I call these Hate Letters.

Te Odio Mucho

Written down, is just a ton of unorganized thoughts that at the time, made sense to me. Now, looking over them, I recall how much pain I had been in. I could hardly even make out my own feelings at first. The first one is short, but as I read through the entries, they get progressively longer.

April 10, 2014

Happy one-week anniversary.

What are we celebrating exactly? Well, one week ago, I started hating you. So congratulations world! You did the impossible. Took away not only Hope, but also the hope from me. I hope you're happy about it.