Strangled. The news comes just one hour after Tom's messages and it's immediately added to the word document...

'Sienna: killed by strangulation.'

Linda Carter–Oak Valley's only journalist–flashes across the TV screen, microphone in hand. She's stood outside the entrance of Rockaby park, updating our town on the latest and (not so) greatest. Tom–loving the attention–is stood next to her, hanging off of her every word.

"Here, we have Tom Jackson–a student at Lincoln high."

Tom gives the camera a coy wave.

Coy, my ass!

"Tom, Senior students received truth or death messages addressed to Sienna just hours before she was murdered. This afternoon, another two messages came through targeted at you. How are you feeling at this present time?"

"Pretty freaked out, to be honest," he replies, dazzling her with a smile.

I roll my eyes.

Tom is a drama student and will likely use this as a TV credit on his résumé one day. If he's not dead by tomorrow, that is.

"Police are insisting the messages are not connected to Sienna's death. Does that ease your mind?"

Tom nods. "Absolutely. But just to be safe, I've messaged the sender back."

"What did you say?" asks Linda.

I sit forward in my seat.

"Truth. I chose truth."

Holy shit!

Tom may be an egotistical dude but he's certainly no idiot.

"What're you watching, hon?" asks Mom, lowering her magazine.

"The news. They're reporting on Sienna's murder."

She nods. "Poor girl. I heard she was strangled. Some of the ladies were talking about it at yoga."

I mute the TV, suddenly more interested in Mom's customers than what Linda has to say.

"Did they say anything interesting?"

"Only that her parents are inconsolable. She just got early acceptance into Harvard. Such a shame."

"Harvard?"

That's interesting.

"Hmm."

"Studying what?" I ask.

Mom shrugs.

I'm about to dig deeper when my phone vibrates against my thigh, alerting me of an incoming picture message, armed with one powerful caption.

Unknown:
Thomas Jackson is sleeping with his step-sister–Francesca Wills.

Shit!

I immediately zoom in on the image of Tom in bed with with Francesca, the pair of them engaging in acts that are not sibling-appropriate in the slightest. It's a little grainy, but definitely them. No doubt about it.

I quickly look to the TV screen and catch the very moment realisation dawns on him. On Tom. He looks pale. Sick. Perhaps even in pain? Because while not dead, he suddenly has other things to worry about. Like, how Francesca is a sophomore and sleeping with her is classed as statutory rape.

"Helena?" asks Mom.

I snap out of my daze. "Huh?"

"You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Fine," I reply, feeling another vibration.

I feel sick just thinking about who it may be and what it may say, but I'm relieved to see a familiar name pop up.

Elliot:
Shit just hit the
fucking fan!!!

Helena:
It's everywhere!

Helena:
The shit I mean.

Elliot:
Meet me at the back
of the church ASAP!!

"Where are you going?" asks Mom, watching me engage in a one-sided battle with my coat.

Eventually, it slips on and I pair it with my knitted scarf and bobble hat.

"Out."

"Helena, I don't want you out alone with all this is going on." She points to the muted TV screen. "It's not safe."

"I'll be fine. I'm meeting a friend."

"Jasmine?"

I shake my head.

"Shaun?"

"Mom, no."

"Then who? You don't have any other friends."

Ouch!

"Yes, I do," I defend, a little wounded.

"Is it a boy?" she asks.

Oh, jeez.

"Not in the context you're thinking."

"Helena Gallagher!"

"Mom, it's mid-afternoon. No one is going to murder me."

She pouts.

"I'm meeting Elliot Evens at the coffee shop. I'll be two hours, max!"

"You text me when you get there," she instructs, leaving her seat to rummage around in her purse. "And take this."

Her rape alarm.

"Mom!"

"Take it, or you're not going!"

I relent.

"Fine!"

"Have fun on your date, honey!"

"It's not a date!" I yell, running out of the front door.

I quicken my pace and ignore the cold chill sleeping through my layers. It doesn't matter that I'm wearing two woolly jumpers and thermal leggings beneath my jeans. I'm always freezing.

"Helena!"

Elliot is stood underneath the archway of the old outhouse belonging to the church. It's crumbling exterior is covered in ivy and mould, giving the surrounding air a slightly tangy smell. The snow lays thick here–being a minor road–and offers us both tremendous amounts of privacy. Perfect for two teenagers investigating a murder.

"Hey."

I quickly text Mom, alerting her of my safe arrival.

"You look freezing, c'mere."

To my absolute mortification, he pulls me to his chest and blows warm breath into my hands. His nose brushes my knuckles and it tickles. So much so, I laugh. Then–like a true gentleman would–he removes his gloves and puts them on me, warming my skin in seconds.

"Better?" he asks.

"Yes," I reply, blown away by his generosity. "Thanks."

He escorts me to the worn-out door and offers me the top step, which I take haphazardly due to the mountain of snow covering it. In the end, I figure I can deal with a wet ass now that my hands are warm.

"A lot has happened since we last spoke," he says, playing with his coat's zip. "And that was only three hours ago."

"The consequences of investigating a murder, I guess."

He nods. "Sienna was strangled."

"She also received early acceptance into Harvard."

"She what?"

I shrug, choosing not to comment.

"How?" he asks, shaking his head. "Not to be that guy, but this seems out of character. Don't ya think?"

I nod. "I'm not saying just because someone was captain of a cheerleading team that they couldn't get into Harvard. But I know for a fact Jasmine's older sister tutored her for math last year when she was failing."

"Which means, unless she miraculously got her SAT score up, something fishy is going on."

"Even then, you don't just get early acceptance into Harvard based on grades. Not without selling your soul to the devil at least. I would know."

"You applied to Harvard?" he asks, smiling.

I shake my head. "No."

"Why not? You're smart."

I feel my cheeks blush. "I applied to Penn."

His eyebrows shoot up. "That's fucking insane! Well done."

"I haven't been accepted yet."

"So? Just applying is amazing."

I laugh and shove on his shoulder. "What about you? Going to college?"

He looks down for a moment and frowns. "Can't afford it."

My stomach drops as I'm reminded of his phone conversation the other day. The one where he was clearly having a debate over finances.

"That's really shit. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," he says, smiling. "I wanna be a cop, anyway."

"No shit! Is this work experience then?" I tease, gesturing around us.

He cracks up. "Sumthin' like that."

The way he suddenly looks at me in unnerving.

"I think you'll make a great cop, Elliot," I state, staring into his oceanic eyes.

"I think you'll make a great defence lawyer," he replies.

We both smile.

"So," he speaks, interrupting the moment. "Tom is fucking his step-sister!"

I shove his shoulder again. "Elliot!"

"What?"

I giggle, despite the seriousness of the situation. "At least he's not going to die."

"We think..."

I take out my phone and open up the notes app. "He's looking at charges of statutory rape. Francesca is fifteen-years-old."

"Shit! I never thought of that."

I type up some notes, losing the fight with my concentration. The words jumble and the point seems meaningless.

"Can't you get a scholarship?" I ask.

"I beg your pardon?"

I smile. He's so polite

"For college. To pay for tuition."

"Oh."

I can't possibly bring myself to understand. I've had college paid for me for years and can afford just about any establishment. Hell, I could buy my way into Harvard if I wanted. And that makes me sick. Here I am, surrounded by opportunities. Whereas Elliot can't even afford non-Ivy League colleges.

Tell me, how is that fair?

"I can help you apply for some, if you like?" I offer.

He gazes at me, apologetically. "I can't leave her."

"Who?"

I feel stupid. Of course Elliot has a mysterious girlfriend no one knows about.

"Celia. My sister. She's only fourteen."

Oh.

"Why not?"

He shakes his head. "We live with our aunt and she kinda hates us."

I laugh, only, it's not a joke.

"Really? Why?"

He shrugs. "When my Mom bailed, Aunt Sarah got lumped with us. It was unexpected, I guess."

Holy shit

"And what about your dad?" I ask.

Elliot freezes. "D'ya mind if we talk about sumthin' else?"

I join him on the last step, wet ass be dammed. "Sorry, I'm so intrusive sometimes."

He smiles. "Like I say, you'll make a great defence lawyer. You have the ability to make people trust you."

Wow.

"Do you?" I ask. "Trust me?"

He nods, no hesitation. "It's scary how much I do, Helena."

He looks up, meeting my gaze.

"You have nothing to worry about," I ensure. "I'm one of the good guys. I'm a friend."

I don't know why I say that, other than I feel like Elliot doesn't have enough people fighting in his corner. And while I'm hardly juggling different friendships, at least the friends I do have support me wholeheartedly. Elliot? He has his younger sister and no one else. He feels responsible for her and I get that. But who feels responsible for him? Who looks after him?

The dark truth?

No one does.

Not a single person.

****

I hope you enjoyed this little insight into Elliot's life...

I have a feeling y'all are going to love him!