What She Left Behind ✔️

chapter thirty-one

A/N: Song for chapter is Missy Higgin's "Where I Stood."

I'm talking about a rape kit.

Carla's words ring in my ears. It's been two days, and I still feel sick to my stomach.

Raelyn never cheated on Marco. I can't believe I ever thought that. She was assaulted. She was violated.

She was raped.

I thought Zaltana was crazy. I thought all mystics and occult specialists were crazy. It turns out I made my judgments too soon. How else would she have known to sing Tori Amos' song? She obviously wasn't talking about me. She was talking about Raelyn.

Because she was raped.

How did I not know? There were seven years between the day she conceived Evangeline and the day she took her own life. I had seven years to figure it out. She told me Marco was the father of her child, and I believed her. I never once doubted her. Even after Marco confessed that he and Raelyn didn't have sex during their high school romance, I never let him completely off the hook. I thought that maybe he was lying, or that he was in denial. Now I know for certain he is not Evangeline's father.

Evangeline's father is a rapist, because Raelyn was raped.

A wave of nausea hits me. I feel like I'm going to vomit. I make a run for the bathroom and empty the contents of my stomach into the porcelain bowl. Bile stings my throat and leaves a foul taste in my mouth. Eventually, not even bile comes up, and dry heaves rack my body until I'm shaking and sore and covered in sweat.

I flush the toilet, splash cold water on my face, and return to my desk. It's almost five o'clock, but I've gotten nothing done all day. Fortunately, Ella is out on assignment and isn't here to see how unproductive I've been.

This doesn't seem real. I almost wish that I didn't know the truth. That I didn't push Carla for answers. That I never began looking into Raelyn's god damn suicide in the first place. I should have let the past rest in peace.

I stick my hand inside my purse and feel for the flash drive. I ought to throw it away. I never should have hacked into that Pandora's box, either.

But I keep it. There's one more video to watch. There's one more riddle to solve. There's a man out there who assaulted my best friend, pushed her to take her own life, and deserves to rot in jail until he's old and gray.

Clutching my purse, I exit the newsroom. I ascend the stairs to the IT department, where I find Griffin sitting at his desk. As if sensing my presence, he turns around. His lips curl into a wide grin that, if this were any other day, would make my heart skip a beat.

"Hey, Gemma," he greets me. "I'm glad you're talking to me again."

"I'm sorry for the way I treated you the other day," I say. "You were just trying to help me. You're always trying to help me."

"To be fair, I was kinda freaked out after Zaltana's musical production, too," he replies, rising to a stand. "Are you okay?"

"No," I tell him. "No, I'm nowhere near okay."

He raises his eyebrows. "What's going on?"

I shake my head. I'm not sure where to begin. How much of Raelyn's tragedy does he need to know?

"Gemma, you can talk to me," he murmurs. He lessens the distance between us until he's so close that I can feel his breath on my cheek. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I... I found out something about Raelyn," I stammer. "Griffin, I think... I think I know why she killed herself."

"Uh, okay." He wears a perplexed look on his face. "What did you find out?"