When we arrived at the police station, Marisol and I were taken into separate interrogation rooms. I wanted one of the detectives who drove me here to talk to me, but instead, it was a different one. This one was a large, muscular, blonde man who gave off the vibe that he was all work, no play. We sat on opposite sides of a metal table, pieces of paper sprawled out in front of him as he wrote notes on the important things I said.

"You said that Headmaster Rosterford was written about in Vivienne Aldridge's diary," he said to me, glancing up from the papers. "Where can we find this diary?"

"It's under my mattress in my dorm room," I said. There was no reason to hide it anymore. They would find out, sooner or later, when they'd conduct a wide search on the school and it's faculty. "But none of the pages concerning Rosterford are in there."
 

"Why not?"
 

"He ripped them out. When he killed Ivy, he found the diary and ripped out the pages."

"How are you in possession of this diary?" he asked me.

"I took it. I wanted to find the pages and give them to the police when he was finally reported, but I couldn't find them," I confessed. "Actually, a few of our friends were going to sneak into Rosterford's room for them while Marisol and I were about to be murdered. Maybe they found them."
 

"I certainly hope so," he replied, scribbling this down.

"Detective Fisher." A tall man showed up in the doorway in a police uniform. A highly decorated police uniform. "Both sets of parents have been notified. Also, there are some students here who need to speak with Kayleigh Stockholm and Marisol Harrington."

Detective Fisher looked at me and smirked. "Go ahead. Come back in here when you're ready to continue."
 

"Thank you," I replied, standing up and making my way to the door. It was hard to not stare at the bruises left around my wrists from the ropes.

Marisol and I left our interrogation rooms at the exact same time. When we saw each other, we wanted to start crying all over again, but both of us breathed in deeply, trying to keep our composure.

In the waiting room was a group of three teenage girls, all of them looking nervous and upset. At the sight of Marisol and I, they rushed over, hugging us tightly.

"Are you guys okay?" Carlisle asked as Lindsay rubbed our arms.

"I don't know," I replied. "I don't really know how I feel."
 

"Same," Marisol said. "I feel kind of sad, but numb."
 

I nodded in agreement. That was exactly how I felt.

"You two are safe," Aspen assured us, just like all of the law enforcement officers had.

"We know," I said. "But what I really need to know is if you guys got the pages."


 Lindsay pulled out folded up lined pages from her pocket. "Right here. They were in a pocket of one of his jackets. He's not too good at hiding murder evidence."
 At the sight of the papers, I began to weep. This was direct proof about what happened between Vivienne and Rosterford, hopefully enough to convict him on that murder. 

"Thank you so much," I said, peeling it from her fingers. "I need to go give this to the detective."

Lindsay nodded in understanding. "Go."
 I walked back toward my interrogation room and pushed open the door. Detective Fisher continued writing where he had been before I left and didn't hear me come in.

"Detective Fisher?"
 

He flipped around, startled. "Yes?"

I walked up to him and presented the pages to him. "Those are the pages from Vivienne Aldridge's diary."


He took them, unfolded them, and began to skim them. "This is amazing. Thank you," he said to me. "You guys have been a big help."
 

"No problem," I replied before turning on my heels to go meet with all my friends in the waiting room.

When I arrived, there was someone else in my crowd of friends. A boy. A boy with shaggy, dark hair, in desperate need of a haircut. Tan skin and a goofy smile.

He saw me before I had seen him.

I walked up to him, really needing a hug from him, and as if he had read my mind, he pulled me into one.

"I was so worried, Kayleigh," he said. "I called your cell phone and you didn't answer, so I called your dorm room. The police answered it, saying you had been held hostage by someone who was trying to kill you. Not exactly the reply I thought I'd get. I'm so happy you're okay. I love you so much."


 "I know," I said, smiling slightly. "I love you, too."

Tatum kissed me gently, as if he was afraid he'd hurt me. "I guess I know why you've been distant, huh? Well, I told you my secret, so it's your turn to share. This better be one hell of a story."

I grinned and nodded. He had no idea.