The Girl From the Woods

17

Rachel's killer was a ghost. I couldn't find out anything about him, and I'd asked nearly all of the people that I remembered at the party that night. Some of them didn't remember me, unless we happened to be walking passed a store with a TV or a newspaper stand. That's when their memories became clear.

Needless to say, they were quick to avoid me.

They believed everything they heard, or read or saw.

They didn't care about Rachel. All they cared about was that I wasn't going to slit their throats for not giving me the information that I was looking for.

I was no closer to clearing my name, because the police were smearing news reports with my photo and the caption that I should not be approached.

They were making me out to be some sort of animal.

And if I didn't find Rachel's killer soon, I was completely fucked.