When senior students at Lincoln High receive the same deadly text message, it falls upon Helena Gallagher and an unlikely companion to solve the mystery and catch the killer.
••••
High school student, Helena Gallagher is a murder fanatic. A devoted...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I feel sick.
Like I actually might projectile vomit right this second.
Of course, this possibility crossed my mind. There's things about Elliot I don't know. Things he keeps hidden. But that doesn't mean I don't trust him.
"Text them back," I instruct, still breathless from our kiss. "Now."
He doesn't move.
"Elliot!"
"I can't," he replies, settling his gaze elsewhere.
"I'll do it then," I warn, snatching his phone away.
"No, Lena! You can't!" he begs, taking it back. "Please!"
"Why can't you?" I ask, giving him the benefit of the doubt.
I hate that he can't bring himself to look at me. "Some secrets aren't ours to tell."
"Meaning?"
I grow increasingly frustrated. If he doesn't ask for truth, the alternative is death and I simply wont let that happen. Not ever.
"My Dad," he begins, finally locking eyes with me.
I offer him a nod, wanting him to know he has my full attention.
"The state wont officially declare him dead until he's been missing for seven years but I know he's gone."
"How do you know?" I question.
He rests his forehead to mine, seemingly ready to offload. "Because I buried him."
I almost laugh, utterly shaken by his revelation. His brazen attitude.
"In the woods."
"Did you kill him?" I ask, suddenly looking to his phone.
Call it gut feeling. Intuition. Whatever. I know Elliot isn't evil and I'm not scared to be alone with him. Even now, I want to help him. I want to show him that everything is going to be alright.
"No," he admits, trembling. "Celia did."
Fuck!
"She was ten."
I swallow my shock and cradle his head, hating the hesitation in his eyes. And the pain each one holds.
"It was an accident. He came home one night—drunk like always."
For both our sake's, I refuse to cry and instead, clutch onto what little sanity I have left.
"He went straight to Celia's bedroom."
"Did he hit her?" I enquire.
He shakes his head and clenches his fists, seething. Heartbroken.
