"We have new information on the Harry Styles case this afternoon," the news anchor says as everyone in the lunchroom at school simultaneously turns to watch the single TV mounted on the wall. "A broken mirror was found in the former Styles residence, displaying horrific blood stains on the baseboard. Whose blood is it? How was the mirror broken? We talk now to the detective heading the case, Jennifer Whitmore."
The anchor turns to Detective Whitmore, who sits at the news desk with her, her hands folded. "So, Detective Whitmore," the anchor says. "Can you tell me more about the mirror?"
"It's a rectangular frame that seems quite old, very ornate," Whitmore says. "The baseboard, like you said, did have faint blood stains on it. Additionally, the baseboard is ever so slightly protruding out, which suggests Mr. Styles was slammed back against this mirror. However, we don't know for sure."
"Has any DNA testing been done on the blood?"
"Yes. We were able to determine the blood stains were from Harry Styles."
"What does this mean for the future of the case?"
"Not sure," Whitmore says. "We've got a bunch of loose ends that lead in different directions, but nothing very conclusive."
"Thank you for your brief interview, Detective."
"Glad to be here." Whitmore half smiles.
"Weather forecast for next week after the break. Could we be in for a winter blast?"
The entire cafeteria is silent for a few moments as the news rolls into commercials, the first one depicting an entirely too happy elderly man advertising the best dish soap around.
Slowly, conversation starts to build again.
"I don't even wanna know anything conclusive," Ria says, shaking her head. "I can't believe any of this."
"I can't believe someone would do that to him," Jenna says.
Ava sits beside me quietly, her chin resting in her palm.
"I was out of town when it all happened," Ria says. "I left the day after school ended to go stay with my dad and when I came back someone told me he had committed suicide."
"Suicide," Jenna says, wrinkling her nose in confusion. "That's crazy. Why would Harry commit suicide?"
"Clearly he didn't," Ava snaps suddenly. "Since the autopsy specified the death as homicidal."
"You never know," Jenna says.
"Yes, we do," Ava replied. "Did you even hear the autopsy report?"
"I did, but...still."
"Still what?"
"No one really knows for sure," Ria says. "Except for the murderer and Harry. And those might be the same person."
"That's a load of bullshit," Ava snaps.
Ria and Jenna don't say anything else after that.
-
"Listen," Detective Whitmore says, leaning back in her chair behind her desk. "I've been thinking about it, and I hate to say this, but...I think we've got another cold case on our hands."
I drop the mint container in shock, quickly bending down to pick it up and put it back on the desk. "What the hell are you talking about? The mirror thing was on the news today-"
"I know it was," she says. "But listen, all right? We've got a bunch of loose ends. The mirror shop, the blood on the mirror, the arson. But anything that's worth looking into-like DNA or fingerprints on the mirror or the body, etcetera-that's all long gone. I'm sorry, Jane. I don't know what else to follow up on at this point."
"What about Max? Didn't you see how weird he was acting when you questioned?"
"We have no proof."
"Then find it. What kind of detective would you be if you just gave up on this again?"
Whitmore's stare shifts to a glare. "And you think you're a better one? This case is going nowhere, it has been for weeks. We may have little snippets of leads that we could follow, but they're all loose ends or dead ends. I hate to do this, kid, but it's really looking the way of another cold case."
"Why don't you talk to Clyde and Nora again? They could know something else-"
Whitmore shakes her head slowly.
I exhale sharply. "Unbelievable. This is unbelievable."
"Besides, it's not my decision," she says, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm not my own boss. The attorney general has the final say. And it's not looking good."
I nod. "Okay. Fine." I stand, pulling my bag over my shoulder. Whitmore watches me with a frown as I walk out of her office without another word.
When I get home, I sit on my bed and mull everything over. If the case gets closed, what happens? How could they close it? Sure, there are loose ends now, but there's got to be something missing. What am I missing?
I think of my research on PPD. Who has it? Max? Ava? Did Harry have it?
When I think it over, it could make sense. He was suspicious, he held grudges, he was irritable-he exhibited a lot of the symptoms when he was alive from what I've seen, so was it him?
That wouldn't make sense, though. If he was the one with PPD, why would he be killed rather than given help? If Max had it written on his note, he must know who has it. But if he killed Harry, why wouldn't he try to help his best friend?
No, it wasn't Harry that had PPD. It must have been the murderer, whoever they are.
I begin to think that maybe Whitmore is right. This might end the way it started-a cold case.
There's got to be something I'm missing.
The light drizzle that had been sliding down the window panes has come to a stop and I take the opportunity of the clear sky to climb onto the roof. Harry is already there, standing and looking off into the direction of the clearing.
You can clearly tell where the clearing was, because it's a charred, sad looking part of the forest. It's nearly hard to look at.
"They're gonna close the case again, aren't they."
I look at him. "How'd you know about that?"
He shrugs. "Lucky guess."
"I don't get it," I say. "I feel like we're getting so close to finding the killer, I..."
"It's no use. The law enforcement in this town is shit. Nothing's going to come of the case. I just know it."
"Are you really giving up?"
"I'm not," he says. "They are. Are you?"
"No. I'm figuring this out."
Harry nods, crossing his arms over his chest.
"What are you thinking about?" I ask him.
"Everything," he says, reaching out and wrapping an arm around my waist. "Everything and nothing."
"That's very cryptic of you to answer," I say.
He half smiles. "Now I'm thinking about you."
"That was a less cryptic answer," I say, nodding and smiling. The two of us smile at each other for a moment before gazing out on the forest, trying to look anywhere but the painful pile of ash that is now the clearing.
-
Ava and I go out for breakfast the next morning, on Saturday. We don't speak much at first, both of us tired.
"How are you doing?" I ask her.
"Well, the nightmares have been less graphic," she sighs.
"You get them every night?"
"Most nights. I don't get why they're coming now, though. The miscarriage happened months ago." She shrugs. "I guess it's a long term guilt trip."
"What are the dreams like?"
She frowns. "They start out nice, me with a child, in a meadow picking flowers or at the beach or someplace pretty and then-it's really different every time-then somehow the child ends up getting killed or hurt or taken away from me. It's horrible. I never want to sleep anymore."
The waitress comes by with water. She takes our orders, looking thoroughly tired as well.
"I appreciate this," Ava says.
"What?"
"Your friendship, even if I treated you like shit before."
I shrug. "It's hard finding people to trust, I get that."
She sighs, leaning forward. "Then can I trust you with something?"
I shift. "Yeah. Sure."
She looks down. "Everyone that knew about my baby assumed Harry was the father," she says. "But he wasn't."
I inhale sharply. "What?"
"He got mad at me about it because it wasn't his. I had made a drunken mistake one night after we fought a few weeks earlier..."
"Who's the real father, then?"
Ava twists her napkin between her fingers. "I can't say."
"What? Why not?"
She looks away.
"Ava," I say slowly. "Have you been threatened?"
She swallows. "I think he's crazy," she says, lowering her voice. "He told me that now that Harry is out of the way, we can be happy. But I don't want to be happy-not with him."
"Who?" My heart pounds in my chest.
She shakes her head. "I can't say, I can't say it."
"You need to go to the police with this," I say. "Ava, you can't just let a guy threaten you."
"He hasn't said anything to me about it in months, but...I don't want to risk it."
"Don't let someone have this power over you," I say, shaking my head. "Ava, this is serious."
"I know, I know. Please don't tell."
"I won't, but...if you don't go to the police with this soon, I will."
She nods. "Okay, okay." She shakes her head as the waitress brings us our food. She pushes her hair out of her face, sighing.
"What did this person threaten to do if you revealed his identity?" I ask carefully.
"He didn't specify, but if he is crazy, then it's something bad," she says. "He's got something going on up here." She taps her index finger to her temple.
"Is he a...very suspicious person?"
She nods. "Always thinks the world's against him. Never lets go of anything."
That's it. Whoever fathered Ava's baby, whoever is threatening her is the one with PPD.
I just need to find out who that is, and this could all come crashing down.
-
When I walk into my room that evening, Harry is sitting at my desk, a pen in his hand.
"What are you doing?" I ask, dropping my stuff on my bed.
He looks over at me, frowning. "We need to talk about something." He pockets the paper he was writing on and stands.
"Okay, what is it?"
He shifts his weight, staring at me. "I thought about it, and I think...I think all of this has to end now." He looks sad.
"What?"
"This isn't fair to you, and I know we've had this conversation before, but I'm serious this time," he says. "I think this just has to stop. It's going nowhere."
"But I..."
"I know, you're gonna tell me you found out something new, but none of it's making sense. And I don't think it will anytime soon. So...I'm going to leave."
"Harry..."
"Do this for me, Jane. Please."
I give up, tired of having this conversation. I want to fight for him, I want him to stay until he can cross. But I want to make him happy, too, and if he wants to leave now, I'm not going to stop him. "Fine," I say. "If this is what you want, then fine."
He nods slowly.
I swallow the lump in my throat and cross my arms over my chest. "Can I...can I at least say goodbye?"
"Of course," he says, holding his hand out to me.
The two of us walk to the cemetery, the sun slipping past the horizon, the moon a shining sliver in the sky. It almost looks like a smile among the stars, but I can't think that there's a reason to smile when Harry's going to leave. And he hasn't crossed. I failed. I didn't find his murderer. I failed him.
We walk towards Harry's grave, me looking at my feet as we walk. Leaves crunch under my shoes and the cold air bites at my fingers. The air smells like rain and wet soil, the dim lights in the graveyard shrouded in a light mist.
And suddenly, Harry stops walking, holding his arm out in front of me to stop me.
I look up and freeze.
A dark shadow of a figure stands before Harry's grave, their back to us. They don't turn around, they stay still, just standing and looking at the gravestone.
"I knew you'd be here," Harry says.
The figure turns, and it all comes crashing down.
It is not who I thought all along, it is not who I suspected even for a second. It's not who I argued with Harry over, it's not who Whitmore questioned, it's not Whitmore's son, it's not Harry's ex-girlfriend.
No, it's not any of those people. It's the one person in all of this that I completely overlooked.
Nate.