The Day Hope was Murdered

21. An Unexpected Letter

// Chapter 21: An Unexpected Letter \\

Amanda's POV

August 9th, 2014

Ever since I gave the FBI that journal, my life has become a mess.

I can't even step outside without being swarmed by journalists.

I go to the grocery store, and people stare at me because that stupid Tom Linnell put my face in his paper without my permission. Okay, well, technically he did have it, in a way, but it was completely unfair how he went about obtaining it. When somebody literally follows two feet behind you for an entire day, one will do anything to get them to leave. Especially when you are sweaty, stressed, and overworked. So when Linnell said he'd leave if he could feature me in the paper, I jumped at the opportunity. What a mistake that was.

Not to mention all the times I've been brought in for questioning. It's like the police don't hear a single word I say. It's the same questions every time. 'How'd you get a hold of Leila's journal?' 'Has she contacted you lately?' 'Were you aware of anything suspicious going on in her life?' 'Do you think Oliver is guilty?'

I push these thoughts about my mess of a life away and force myself to concentrate on the task at hand: studying for the SAT.

I look down at the page in front of me, covered in big blocks of words. I'm currently working on the essay portion and have been for the past few weeks. You see, writing has never come easily to me. I think what frustrates me the most about it is that you never know if you're right. Unlike math, there's not one specific answer. And I don't like that. I like order. I like knowing whether I'm right or wrong. I like following a specific formula to get to the end result. The only thing that has order in an essay is the outline. After that, it's each man for himself. My essay may talk about the same thing as someone else's, but because we wrote it differently, they might've gotten a 12, while I got a 7.

I sigh in frustration and continue grading the essay I just wrote according to the rubric the actual people who will be grading my essay are provided.

Okay, so use of language and vocabulary: essay exhibits skillful use of language, using a var--

At that moment, I hear a knock on my door. "Stupid journalists," I mutter and just stay seated on the couch.

Amidst the chatter of the tv in the background, I hear something. It's sounds like metal hitting metal. Looking up, I see a piece of paper lying on the floor. Somebody had dropped an envelope through the door's letterbox. Curious, I set my book aside and go to pick it up.

The face of the envelope is empty, save for a little, green heart in the upper right corner. At first, I stare at it confused, but then I realize it's mine and Leila's signature. We always send green hearts at the end of our texts.

Hurriedly, I tear open the envelope and scan over the letter inside. It's only a few lines.

I'm sorry I left without an explanation. It all just became too much to me. The possibility of Oliver really being the killer. After months of supporting his innocence, I don't know, I just couldn't believe it.

As crazy as it may sound, I still don't believe it. I found something. And I think you can find it too.

But you'll be on your own. I'm not coming back.

It wasn't even signed, but I know it's from Leila. The culmination of the green heart, the handwriting uncannily similar to her own, and the brief style all point to it being from her.

I resist the urge to tear the paper up and toss it away.

With the paper still in my hands and the envelope on the ground, I stumble back to the couch and sit down to process everything.

Leila left on purpose? Why? And more importantly, why didn't she contact me till now? She's been missing for nearly two months.

And how come she's still hung up on Oliver being innocent. He admitted to the freaking crime and then wrote that sadistic poem in her journal. Why would anyone who wasn't the killer do all of that?

Despite my doubt of Leila's hypothesis, I decide to investigate it further myself. What was it that Leila and I were going to do before she left?

I think there were two things. Read the journal, which we did. And the second was... to um, oh yeah! It was to visit Babuba beach to see if anything would jog Leila's memory.

It wasn't until a few hours later that I realized there was another thing Leila and I had committed to doing. Something that she didn't want to. It was to go explore all the warehouses in town because of what Oliver said about his mother being handcuffed in an abandoned warehouse.

As soon as I realized this, I quickly booted up my laptop and started to search abandoned warehouses. I found four in the area, and quickly jotted down the addresses.

I didn't have enough time, however, to visit any of them just yet, because of the late hour. I decided I'd have to leave early enough tomorrow, when no journalists would be at my doorstep.

Right now, then sun has set and the dark sky is covered in stars. I'm lying on my bed, just staring up at the ceiling and thinking about Leila and Hope.

'How is it that I came to lose both of my best friends so suddenly?'

'And with the way things are with Joshua, I'll probably lose him too.'

I realize I haven't spoken with Joshua for awhile. Before our separation was due to his always being busy, but now it's all my fault. I make a mental note to call him later.

My thoughts jump to Oliver. 'Is he innocent? Is he not innocent? Maybe I should visit him soon and see if he's heard anything form Leila.'

Suddenly, my phone on my bedside table dings. I reach over and pick it up. It's Tiffany.

We've hung out quite a bit since Leila disappeared. With our names both being in the newspaper, and seeing each other multiple times at the police station, it was only natural that we gravitated towards each other to figure out Hope's disappearance. It wasn't like the FBI were getting anywhere.

Hey! We should talk soon.

I quickly type a reply.

Tomorrow?

Within seconds, I receive her response.

What time?

I think about inviting her to join me on my warehouse extravaganza. Might be nice to have an extra person. For safety. I decide to invite her.

6 AM?

Dang girl! Why so early?

I want to visit somewhere that might have a clue about everything. It'll take all day. Plus, that's before the journalists get here.

Okay! Sounds good! What about Thomas?

He can come. I'll drive.

I add one more thing.

Oh, and bring pepper spray.

I turn my phone off so I can get some valuable sleep before the early rising tomorrow morning.

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<3 ash