Letter 2

Who is the first suspect?

      The letter flutters down from my hand and onto the floor. This can't be true, Julianne was loved by everyone, I mean, I think she was. Yeah, there were the occasional mean girls every once in a while, but Julianne overcame all of that; didn't she?

"Julianne, what happened?"

"They trashed my locker but I don't care you know? They're just b*****s."

"Julianne-"

"I'm fine Alexander, they can't get to me."

     But what if they did get to her? I look down at the letter, my hands are still shaking by my sides. I have to find her murderer? But wait, Julianne only believed that she was killed, maybe she wasn't killed at all and this is all just a big joke. Maybe she just wanted her death to seem more extraordinary than it really was. 

"But who would joke about murder?" I whisper to myself then. The thought sends chills running down my spine. 

"Be careful." Julianne's mom's voice echoes through my mind. Does she know something about this? Does she have something to do with this? 

      I sigh. The only way I can find out is if I read these letters. I pick up the first one from off of the floor and place it carefully in the drawer of my night table. I'll have to find a better place for it later; I can't let my mom find out about any of this. I can't put her in harms way. 

The second letter is in my hands a few moments later; it's yellow. I take a deep breath and open it slowly. 

For: Patrick Lakewood

Patrick? Patrick Lakewood? That was Julianne piano teacher; how could he be a suspect in all of this? God, just shut up and read the damn letter already Alexander. 

Status: Not Sent

Dear Patrick, 

Did you know that you were my first love? And no, it wasn't because you looked like a younger version of Leonardo DiCaprio, or that you had the best smile ever, it was because you taught me to love and respect an amazing art known as music.

I first met you when I was thirteen. I walked into your house not knowing exactly what I was doing there, but as soon as I saw your piano; I immediately found myself. 

We practiced about four hours every week, and every week I fell deeper, and deeper in love with you. The way you played the piano was flawless, and you could see your passions for the instrument written across your face when your fingers scrolled across the piano keys. 

You were my safe haven. Every time I saw you and played your piano, all of my problems washed away. 

What about me?

For three years everything was going perfect. My parents paid you a lot of money for the lessons, mainly because they kept me out of the house long enough so that they could fight, and you were happy about that; a little bit too happy. 

I started to realize how obsessed you were with the money when I told you that my parents couldn't pay you one week. My parents are wealthy, but that doesn't mean that they spend their money wisely. My dad spent a lot of his money on books and me, and my mom; well (you'll find out about that later Alexander.)

When I told you that you weren't getting your money for that week, your eyes went dark and flat. You lost all life; all because you weren't getting paid. That day, you just left me at the piano, you didn't help me learn the new song.

The next week when you got your money, you were back to your happy, joyous self. I was happy that you were back; I thought that you'd hated me. 

Then my parents went bankrupt for a while. They had nothing; only their emergency money. So you couldn't get paid for a while; more than just a week. 

You blew up. 

You yelled at me, you hit me, you took all of your anger out on me; when I had done nothing. Ever heard the term don't shoot the messenger? Well you had shot and killed me. 

I didn't know what to do. But I knew what you were doing was wrong, so I told my parents. My parents were mortified, they fired you immediately. So, no more money for you Patrick. 

You lived far away from us, so after I heard nothing from you; I thought I was safe. Oh boy was I wrong. You knew I told on you and you hated me for it; so you stalked me. 

Somehow you found out where I lived; somehow. And you tormented me. You left threatening notes and gifts at my window, and anywhere you knew I would be. At first I thought I was going crazy, and then one day when I was out with my, "friends", I saw you watching me. 

The moment my eyes met yours, you gave me a gesture I would never forget. You put your finger at your neck, and made a cutting motion across with it; then you pointed directly at me. 

I was terrified. I told my parents immediately. My dad believed me right away, my mom was a bit harder to convince, but when I showed her the gifts, she immediately called the police. 

You were arrested. They gave you a sentence of fifteen years. I felt safe one last time; and then you escaped from jail.

From that day until now, I have never heard from you. But I know, I know you’re out there just waiting to strike; just waiting to kill.

It'll only be a matter of time before you do. 

Sincerely,

Julianne Potters

F**k no, f**k no, this isn't happening; this is not happening. 

J-Julianne; why?