Page 20 of Revelation (Private 8)
figure this out once and for all. Several lives might depend on it, including my own.
Okay. Deep breath.
Think. What do I actually know?
First, according to the police, Cheyenne was definitely murdered. So what did this mean exactly? It
meant the suicide note had
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been faked. It meant that both suicide notes had been faked. I stopped in my tracks, suddenly
seeing it all with a cold clarity. The night she died, Cheyenne hadn't sent me that haunting "Ignore
the note. You did this" e-mail. She hadn't blamed me for her death. Because she hadn't intended
to die at all. Whoever had sent me that e-mail was the murderer. For some reason, the murderer
had wanted me to feel responsible for Cheyenne's death.
Instantly, this bizarre feeling of relief overcame me. For months I had been walking around feeling
guilty, thinking that Cheyenne's last thoughts before she killed herself had been of me. Thinking
that she had gone to her grave cursing me. But it wasn't true. None of it was true. Cheyenne
hadn't blamed me. The very thought was like a huge boulder being lifted off my shoulders.
But of course the relief was short-lived, replaced instantly by a new and intense fear. Did this
mean that my stalker was also the murderer? It made sense. The murderer had sent the e-mail,
then backed it up by leaving all of these things around to remind me of Cheyenne. To torture me.
To make me feel even more guilty. The pills and the place card weren't the only thing the
murderer had left for me. There had been the Billings black balls, Cheyenne's pink sweater, her
perfume, and all those other awful things.
My stalker was definitely the killer. Had to be. It couldn't all just be some terrifying coincidence.
I dropped back down on my bed again and clutched my comforter to my chest. The killer had been
in my room at Billings several times. Had been in my closet, my drawers, my overnight bag. And he
or she
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had been in this room too. This very day. Leaving the most horrifying message yet.
Once again I heard Ivy laugh, and my blood ran cold. It had to be her. She'd had opportunity and
motive. And now I was living right next door to her--and Josh was dating her. I shoved the covers
aside, pulled my chair out from under the doorknob, and sat down at my desk. I was not going
