Unwritten Pages

It doesn't even take her that long to finish the journal.

The moment I had shown her the journal, she had ushered me inside quickly. I was dripping wet. Funny—since I hadn't even noticed that it had been raining. I dried off and Desiree took the journal from me. Apparently, seeing Winter's name on the front cover is a wake-up slap for her.

I had only just realized that I was dead tired and collapsed on the couch after I had dried off. Minutes later, I had drifted off into oblivion.

I had only just awoken when Desiree tried to shake me awake. Being surprise, I fall off the couch and onto the floor with a thud. I bury my face in my arms and let out a groan.

“Why are you always like this in the morning?” Desiree asks, her tone between playful and serious. “My parents and cousins know you're here. Hopefully, they won't think we did anything inappropriate.”

I get up and rub my eyes groggily. “I have all my clothes on,” I manage to say, “and I've been in the same spot the whole night.”

“Say what you want, Pisces boy,” Desiree says, her mouth lifting up at the corners as she tests the new nickname on her lips. “But when it comes to their little Desiree, common sense won't matter. But I didn't come to talk about that.” She pauses, as if for dramatic effect. “It's the journal.”

Dramatic or not, I jerk up immediately. Winter's journal isn't anything to joke about. In fact, there's nothing to joke about relating to Winter. Especially relating to her death.

“I finished it,” she says, trying to seem nonchalant about it. But I know that a million thoughts are racing through her mind. We both want to find those papers describing the event on May, 26th. Winter may have killed herself, but she was driven to. We have to find out who her stalker is.

“You finished it already?” I say, surprised. “It took me weeks to finish it!”

“You're a slow reader,” Desiree dismisses. She doesn't mention that I had said weeks. She already knows that I had had this journal for a long time.

“So...” I start, eyeing her, “What do you think we should do...?”

“Find the notes. But that's an obvious.” She starts pacing the room. “Now we know that her death isn't just a 'normal' suicide, as normal as suicides go. She had a reason. Well...they all have reasons. But I'm sure this reason breaks the law in some way.

“We should go now,” I say. I've been eager to look for the notes she mentions in her journal ever since I've finished it.

But to my surprise Desiree hesitates. “Well... We need to show Ari first...”

I let out a groan. “What next? Are we going to show the world before we invite them all to look for the notes for us?”

Desiree hesitates again. “But I'm not going to do that. I'm just going to show Ari.”

“And then she can tell Con who will tell Tomas and Peter. Then Tomas will spread it to his new girlfriend and they'll spread it on and Ari will insist on telling the police. Then the police will come and confiscate it before we get to it and they'll give us the vague version of the notes that Winter mentioned. We should just look for it now.”

Desiree looks like she still wants to argue but she gives in. “Fine,” she says. “I'll just tell someone that I'm leaving right now.” Desiree lets out a yawn at the end of her words and I give her a worried look. She catches my look and says, “It's okay. I slept a few hours.”

Just a few? I want to say that but I don't. We need to find Winter's notes now.

Desiree leaves the living room and returns a few minutes later. She's a little breathless and I start to notice dark bags forming under her eyes. Maybe her going isn't such a good idea anymore.

Desiree sees my expression and brushes me off. “I'm fine,” she tells me. “Just a little tired. I can make it.” As if on cue, she yawns again. Right after that, she attempts to give me a glare that says that she's coming whether I want her to come or not.

I hold my hands up in surrender. “We should go now,” I say, “Are the Lawly's home?”

Desiree thinks about it for a while. “I think so. All the better, right? The note is in her backyard. I don't want to look like a burglar.”

“A sleepy one, at that. Very sloppy, if you ask me.” Desiree rolls her eyes at my comment apparently not having enough energy to have a comeback. She heads for the door and motions for me to follow.

It smells bad outside. It smells like burning rubber. It always does after the rain comes when it's warm outside. Desiree covers her nose and coughs a bit.

“C'mon, Winter's house isn't too far away,” I tell her as I start walking in the direction where Winter once lived. We don't talk on our way there. There are too many things running through my mind.

It doesn't take long to arrive. Hopefully, the Lawly's are awake. I knock impatiently and wait for them to open the door. After a few minutes, no one answers. Desiree and I exchange looks. She opens her mouth to say something but at that moment, the door swings open and Mrs. Lawly is standing in front of us. Her black hair is messy and her face is puffy from crying. I feel bad because I know the sight of us will trigger some memory. That's why the Lawly's have been avoiding us for so long. They want to distance themselves as far as possible from us.

But I'm afraid that won't be possible. Hopefully she'll let us in the house. Mrs. Lawly has been nothing but hospitable to us before even though Winter writes otherwise about her.

“Hello Mrs. Lawly,” Desiree says, “we're wondering if...” she trails off, looking at me for support. I don't say anything for the lack of anything to say. “We were wondering if...we could see...um...Winter's things...one last time.” We hold our breath, hoping it doesn't sound too vague and suspicious although it probably does.

But Mrs. Lawly is too caught up in her own grief to even see the holes. “Yes, yes,” she says, opening the door wider so we can enter. She closes the door behind us and leaves us unattended.

“Where do you think she went?” Desiree asks me.

“To go cry somewhere,” I say. “But we have something to do. Come on. Backyard.”

We don't see Mr. Lawly and I assume that he's tried to toughen up by going to work and pretending that his daughter isn't dead. We leave from the back door and step outside. There's a shovel there, waiting for us. How convenient.

“Right behind her house,” I say, searching the area. There's a slight bump on the ground near the wall. “Found it.”

“Isn't someone going to think we're weird?” Desiree asks, “I mean, we're digging a hole in someone's backyard.”

I stare at her. “You help me, or you don't,” I tell her. “And we're already weird. Friend of the victim, remember?”

“Right,” Desiree mutters, handing me the shovel. “Right.”

She stands on the sidelines while I dig up the uneven spot. Hopefully, Winter hasn't dug a five feet hole to throw in a jewelry box with her notes. But it's not soon before the shovel hits something. I drop the shovel and begin to dig. Desiree just stares at me.

“Well?” I ask. “Are you helping or not?”

“I'd rather not get my hands dirty,” Desiree says. I shake my head and continue what I'm doing. Girls can be so squeamish. Especially girls like Desiree. Without her help, it takes a little longer for me to uncover the box. My hands are shaking slightly and I force myself to stop.

Finally, I take out the dirt covered box. You can tell that it looked elegant once but now all it looks like is a dull silver box covered in dirt.

“Is it locked?” Desiree asks, leaning forward to look at it.

“It better not,” I mutter. I pry open the top and fortunately, it's not locked. I hold it open towards Desiree so she can take the papers out.

Desiree frowns and takes out...a card. A card? But a card can't be enough to tell us about what happened to Winter. It can't be.

“Cover the hole,” Desiree tells me while reading the writing on the card. “And then wash off. We need to check this out.”

* * *

“I don't get this,” Desiree says, showing me the card. “Look, it's just...a rough drawing of a smiley face. Then it says F.V. What's that suppose to mean? Is it some code or something?”

I take the card from her and examine it closely. It looks familiar but no matter how hard I think about it, nothing comes up. “All I know is that someone got here first.”

“Arianna?” Desiree suggests. I think about it before I shake my head.

“No. She would have told us.”

“Yeah...but...” Desiree purses her lips. “I just want to know who it is.”

“We can make our own theories,” I say.

“No!” Desiree almost shouts. Then she lowers her voice, “Someone took it. Someone got here before us. We have to find out who. And who would know other than the people who've read her journal or saw her bury it. And I doubt anyone saw her bury it.”

“You think I haven't thought about that?”

Desiree sighs. “Anyway, while you were washing off your hands...I went to Winter's room.”

“So?”

Desiree shakes her head. “You need to see this for yourself. Her mom is in the basement doing who knows what. Crying, maybe.” No doubt she's crying. “So we don't have to worry about her prying. I don't think she'll even care.”

So we head upstairs into Winter's bedroom. The door is closed. Desiree gives me a nervous look before she opens the door.

I almost expected to see Winter lying on the bed. Listening to her iPod. Almost. But she's not there. In fact, there's no one there. At first, I had thought that Desiree had thought she'd seen Winter lying in the pool of blood on the floor...like when they had found her. I'm about to ask Desiree what's so interesting about this room when I see the walls.

The walls are scrawled on with black marker. I can't make out the words from here but I can see that they're organized in lines. Almost like a poem. I can also tell that they're Winter's writing.

I step in the room and take my first good look at Winter's room after her death. When she had be found, there was blood all over the floor from her wound... I didn't see it but I know it must have been a horrible sight. Her parents cleaned up her room afterwards.

I thought they cleaned the whole room. I'm wrong. They cleaned the blood but they left the way her room had been when they found her.

Posters are ripped and blankets are scattered all over the floor. The only thing that lies on the bed is a pillow in the shape of a dolphin. The dolphin seems to gaze at us sorrowfully.

Desiree walks over and scoops up the dolphin in her arms. “Hey, it's the pillow you bought Winter for her birthday.” She begins to make cooing noises at the dolphin before my look makes her stop.

“We're not here to hug stuffed animal pillows,” I say. “Let's check out the walls.”

I walk closer to one of the walls and read:

Skies are blue. His eyes are blue.

Nothing more and nothing less. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Not until he drops the blade of horror between us.

Innocence and darkness. What will you give in to?

There is no in-between. You'll be kidding yourself if you think there is.

But then you think that all is good too.

Your eyes turn away from the darkness,

Until it consumes one of your own.

And even then, you'll walk away.

Until she is left with one choice; one friend.

Death.

The poem leaves me a bit shaky. Desiree's face is pale when she sees it.

I force myself to read another one on the wall.

For the world does not know. Does not know the terrors that hide behind.

No truths.

For winter is leaving.

Forever.

Leaving no regrets. No regrets.

Maybe one regret.

Andrew.

-Winterlyn Evaline Lawly

Seeing my name on the wall freaks me out. I point to it and call Desiree over. When she comes, I show it to her and she shivers.

“Maybe...” Desiree eyes me when she says this. “Maybe she killed herself because of unrequited love.” I'm about to ask her how she knows this until I remember that she has read the journal. I let out a nervous laugh at that suggestion.

“Ridiculous,” I say, though I'm trying to convince myself of this. “Winter was stalked.”

Desiree shrugs. “But... Maybe she's just...” She shakes her head. “Check this one out.” She leads me to the lines she had been reading before I called her over. “Over here, it talks about romance. I can tell. And it says, 'why her?' which may indicate me.” She says the end bitterly.

“Don't be so harsh on yourself,” I tell her. “Winter wouldn't do that.”

“I don't know...” Desiree says, unsure.

“It's what happened on that day in May is what's important. Let me see the card again.” She places the card on my hands and I stare at it. “I swear it's familiar.”

“Think about it when we're heading back,” Desiree says, putting the dolphin back on the bed regretfully. “It'll come to you.”



I keep on seeing that drawn picture of the smiley face. It keeps taunting me and poking at me. Laughing... High-pitched laughter. The waft of a vanilla scent perfume...

My eyes fly open and I jerk up.

I had forgotten that Desiree's sleeping on my shoulder. She wakes with a protestant yawn. “What do you want?” she says sleepily.

“Sorry,” I say, moving off the couch. “I have to find someone right now. Be back soon.”

“Whatever,” she says and then yawns again. “Just don't bother me unless it's important.”

It will be important the next time I wake her.

I know who took the papers.



I'm standing in front of Chris's house, waiting for the door to open. I didn't want to go to her house because I know she'll think I'm trying to get in bed with her. The last thing I need is her to make that assumption.

The door opens and Chris grins at me. “Are you looking for more drugs? Sorry, but I'm not Robert—er, Avery.” His grin gets wider at that and I know he's still thinking of the Avery/Arianna fiasco a few weeks ago.

“Okay, well I'm looking for someone—”

“To sleep with?”

Past Chris's shoulder is Faithella. She's smirking at me as she saunters up to the door and wraps her arms around Chris's waist. “I'm sorry, but I'm with Chris at the moment.”

At the moment? I start to notice that Chris's hair is dishevelled and that his shirt is on backwards. I stop thinking about that the moment I see it because it's not what I came here for.

“I don't care about that,” I say. Then I hold up the card in my hands. “F.V? You must think yourself clever. Now hand over the damn papers.”

Faithella looks surprised that I've even thought that she had the papers. “I didn't write that,” she lies. I look at her like she's stupid. She can't expect me to actually believe that, can she?

“I'm not stupid,” I tell her impatiently.

“I liked you better when you were,” Chris buts in. I ignore him and continue looking at Faithella for any signs of surrender.

“I'm telling you I didn't—”

“I don't know how you got the papers but you better give it. You don't understand how important those papers are.”

Faithella purses her lips. “Maybe I don't, maybe I do,” she says.

“You can't just say vague answers! She's dead and you think this is funny.”

Faithella's eyes narrow into slits. “I don't think it's funny! I took the papers, so? It wasn't for my own entertainment. I need it! Honestly Andrew, if you knew me, you'd know I don't go digging around in a dead person's backyard for paper!”

“That's why I don't know you,” I say. This seems to make Faithella even more angry. She takes something from her purse that she's holding. They're papers and I'm sure that they're the ones that Winter wrote in.

“Here! Take it!” Faithella thrusts the papers out at me. “You and your stupid friends and your stupid things and your stupid concerns!”

I don't know why she's so aggressive about it. It's not like her to be like that.

“I only promised him I would take the papers for him. I didn't say I would keep them safe,” Faithella mutters to herself.

“Who are you talking about?” I ask, curious. What's she hiding? Who asked her to rake the papers?

“None of your business,” Chris says dismissively, almost eagerly. “Now take whatever you want and leave us to do our business.”

But Faithella isn't in the mood. “No,” she says angrily. “I'm sick of this. I'm sick of all the drama your 'precious' friend did. I'm sick of everyone. God dammit!”

She points her finger at me and glares. “Especially you, Andrew! It's all your fault! If they never met than nothing would have happened!”

“I don't understand,” I tell her. What is she ranting on about? Who exactly is 'they'? I can guess...but...

Faithella throws her hands in the air in a dramatic action. “My last name isn't Valora for nothing. The meaning of my last name? Valuable. But I'm sick of it. So take the papers and let me be non-valuable. God!”

Faithella storms away and Chris shoots me a dirty look. But I'm too busy thinking about what Faithella said about it all being my fault to care. What had I missed in Winter's life? What had been stuck between the pages of her journal that I have missed?