A R I A

It wasn't him.

Michael Prescott didn't kill my parents. He wasn't the one who stripped their lives away from them. He wasn't the one who took my mom and dad away from me.

So who did?

My mind is reeling. My fingers curl into my palms to form fists and my nails dig into my soft skin, threatening to draw blood. I stare mindlessly into the dying fire and flare my nostrils, clenching my jaw. All this time, I've been chasing after the wrong person and didn't even think about the possibility that there might have been someone else. Who could've done this? And if Michael wasn't the killer, then why did he go to such lengths to get to me?

He must have been paid a good amount to cover up the bullet wounds. Michael would never agree to a favour like that without some kind of reward, especially with him being the type of person he is. Either way, no one would. But he also doesn't strike me as the person who'd tell me who it was that hired him for the job. No, he'd prefer to watch and chortle. So going to him would get us nowhere.

My throat goes dry as my frustration grows. After everything that has happened, I wasn't expecting another turn. I feel like I'm right back at the beginning, hopeless and clueless. Somebody out there is probably watching my every move, laughing at me for falling into their trap so easily. God, how could I have been so stupid?

These past three years, I've lived in nothing but fear and anger. I have wanted nothing but to bring my parents to justice, and when the moment finally presented itself, I failed. I failed miserably, stupidly. I failed and I did exactly what the real killer wanted.

"Aria," Miles' deep, smooth voice pulls me away from my thoughts. "Shortcake, stop it. I know what you're thinking, but this isn't your fault, okay? No one saw this coming. Not you, not me, and don't even get me started on the cops. They're just dumb as hell. We just have to work with what we have. This isn't over yet."

My eyes are brimmed with tears. I've been crying a lot lately. Everything has fallen apart again. It's like I've been running backwards instead of forwards. I thought I was chasing the murderer all this time when in reality they've been driving me away.

It hits me then. I feel like I've been punched in the face repeatedly. I'm terribly exhausted of all of this. The only thing I want to be worrying about is my education, except I forgot school even exists in the midst of the chaos. But Miles is right. This isn't over yet.

I shift my feet and move to lean against the cave's wall, nodding. I know he's right—which is strange since I'm usually the smart one here, but I don't say anything because that'd just boost his ego. I'll just let him do the thinking for tonight. After all, his brain could really use a little bit more of training now that it's starting to actually work.

Miles starts to pace, not paying any attention to the fire that is slowly going out. Then he stops in his tracks rather abruptly, facing me with his eyes slightly narrowed and his lips parted. I raise a brow in question and grow more anxious with each second that passes in silence.

"The gun," he gasps out, staring at me wide-eyed and vice versa, "the gun you found in the closet—we just need the serial number. I have the picture of the number recorded for the shell casings that were found."

I bite my bottom lip nervously. Of course the pistol tucked under Paul's clothes is suspicious, but if the numbers match . . .

"I don't know, Miles," I tell him, rubbing my arms. "The gun could just be there for precaution. Maybe we're looking too much into—"

"The majority of murders are committed by someone the victim knows intimately," he cuts me off and pauses, letting the words sink in. "That pistol is all we have to look at, so we have to look at it if Michael won't give us any more information. And we both know he isn't the type of person to help people out."

As much as I want him to elaborate, he doesn't have to. I know what he means. It's just that both of us are too afraid to say it. We're too afraid of what's to come.

I'm too afraid of betrayal.

A rustle of a bush diverts our attention from the conversation. I promptly spin around to face the entrance of the cave and squint into the forest's darkness. A rustle like that is too violent for the wind to have caused it. There is no other movement, but rather the sound of twigs snapping underneath someone or something's feet.

"Miles, you heard that, right?"

"Mom told me there were no ghosts in these woods. She lied to me, didn't she?" I feel him peek over my shoulder. If I wasn't busy trying not to shit my pants, I'd probably shove him into the supposed ghosts' face.

It's silent now, but I have a feeling we aren't alone. The image of the figure of a person that I saw while I was finding the cave flashes through my mind. What if I did see someone?

"We need to leave," I tell Miles urgently, keeping my narrowed eyes on the bushes while he puts the fire out. "Is there any other exit through the cavern?"

"Not that I know of," he says just as my strained ears catch another quiet rustle, causing my heart to roll into the pit of my stomach. "What if it's an animal?"

I don't think it's an animal, I want to tell him, but I decide against it and keep my mouth shut.

After a minute or two, there's no sound again. At this point my eyes have adjusted to the darkness so I give Miles a single nod. Even if there is something out there, we have no other choice but to leave now if we want to avoid being trapped. Cautiously, we walk side by side with the occasional glance thrown over our shoulders. Miles has his fingers linked with mine and his grip is tight enough to gently tug me forward when I manage to stumble over a few roots and the uneven terrain.

I sigh with relief when my car comes into view, but I catch sight of something else that glints behind the trees and once we get to the side of the road and exit the forest, I recognize it as another vehicle parked not so far away from my own. I frown in confusion, unable to identify the colour of the car since it's a dark one. Did Miles' parents get him a car instead of a motorcycle?

"Hey," I nudge him, "how did you get here?"

He gives me a puzzled look, "I walked. The police station is ten minutes away, you know."

I glance at the vehicle once more before shrugging at Miles with a fake grin. Someone was definitely there, but I'd rather not tell him that right now seeing as how we're both a little shaken up.

"Really?" I say as I get into the driver's seat, "I thought it was miles away."

He stops buckling his seatbelt midway to look at me with a 'did you really just say that?' face before chuckling at my mischievous wide grin. Miles mutters something under his breath that I don't catch, looking away from me to hide a smile.

I grip the steering wheel and start the car up, glad that I've managed to lift our spirits up a little bit despite the terrifying atmosphere. But when a light reflects off the rearview mirror my heartbeat starts to quicken because the car that was previously parked a few meters behind mine is driving off. Miles is oblivious to this, of course, because he's busy fiddling with the switches for the radio and the volume.

If the car is driving in the opposite direction, that means whoever it was that might have been in the woods wasn't following us, right?

I push the thought to the back of my head for the rest of the ride. As soon as we're out of the car, though, I look down the street just in case before rapping on the door. I can hear Aunt Lydia rushing down her stairs to open the door, yelling when I knock again. What surprises me the most when she swings it open is her attire. She's wearing the clothes she wore this morning when she left for work.

"Hey, kids," she grins, stepping aside to let Miles and I in. "I'm sorry, I just got home a few minutes ago so I'm kind of a mess right now."

"Staff meeting?" I gesture to her clothes, kicking my shoes off.

"Yup," she releases a tired sigh, running her fingers through her tangled hair, "I hate going to them, but at least I get a free dinner. Oh, are you two hungry? I have leftovers. I thought I'd give them to Paul but he'll be late tonight."

That's why he didn't call.

"I wouldn't mind some," Miles volunteers and we trail behind Aunt Lyd as she leads us to the kitchen.

"Why is Uncle Paul going to be late?" I ask, growing suspicious. It's very rare for him to come home later than he usually does.

Lydia shrugs whilst retrieving a glass container from the fridge. "Don't know. He called and said he'd be late, and that's it. I assume he meant he got caught up with work, but it was weird. I barely got the chance to say anything before he hung up."

Miles and I exchange looks. I know we are both thinking the same thing- something isn't right. I lean against the counter while Aunt Lydia puts a plate full of spaghetti into the microwave, but just as she's punching the time in, I can no longer see anything because it's suddenly pitch black. The power has gone out. I almost expected Miles to run for the hills, but he surprises me when he stays quiet and instead grasps my hand, pulling me behind him in a protective manner.

"Miles, it's okay," I laugh, poking his shoulder, "it's just a power outage."

I feel his muscles relax and he loosens his grip on my hand but still doesn't let go, not that I'm complaining. I let my eyes adjust to the darkness before I move an inch because I know I'm bound to knock something over if I do.

"I guess I'll be ordering pizza tonight," Lydia lets out an exhausted groan and rubs her face.

"Is it just us or is it the whole neighbourhood?" I draw the curtains and peek through the large window. Miles' house still has its lights on, and so do the houses across the street.

"I guess it's just us," Miles says.

Huh. That's strange. In the three years I've lived here, the power has only gone out twice—that was the entire community, too.

A loud thump from upstairs makes me jump. I furrow my eyebrows. What was that? I look to Miles and Aunt Lydia to see if they heard it too, but neither of them seem alarmed.

"Sorry, guys, we've been running behind on our bills lately," Aunt Lyd slumps into a chair. "I'm surprised they didn't cut the power off sooner."

I frown, feeling a pang of guilt hit me. I really should get a job and help around. My aunt and uncle usually don't have problems paying the bills. They only ran into troubles when I first moved in. The only explanation I can come up with is that they must've fallen behind because of my medical expenses.

"Miles, were you planning on staying over tonight?" Lydia asks him, a ghost of a smirk playing on her lips. "How did that saying go, again? 'Don't be silly, wrap your willy'? That applies to you too, young man. I don't want grandchildren just yet."

Even in the dark I can see him turn bright red. That and I can feel the sudden heat radiating off of him.

"Aunt Lyd, really?" I exclaim, feeling my own face fill with heat. Though I can't help but think that I'd rather not have her and Hunter become best friends.

"So, uh, when's that pizza coming?" Miles clears his throat and ducks his head awkwardly, shooting me a glance in the corner of his eye. Before Aunt Lyd could answer him his phone starts to ring. I catch a glimpse of the contact name Satan and roll my eyes, grinning.

"Hi, Mom," he strides back into the living room, leaving me with a very amused Lydia.

"What?" I quirk an eyebrow at her.

"What, 'what'?" she retorts and attempts an innocent smile, but I can still see the devilish smirk.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" I cross my arms over my chest.

She runs her tongue over her teeth and turns in her seat, "Now I'm not looking."

I laugh and shove her gently. "Seriously though, what is it?"

Aunt Lyd pulls a chair forward with her foot. I sit and rest my elbows on the dining table, waiting for her to say something.

"Thank goodness he's handsome," she jerks her chin in the direction of the living room, "Actually, he's beyond handsome. Now I know for sure that your babies won't be half ugly."

"Oh my God," I groan into my hands when I cover my face with them, shaking my head.

"What?" Lydia snickers, "It's the truth."

Thankfully Miles returns just in time so I don't have to go through the torture any longer.

"Everything okay?" I ask him, taking notice of his disturbed expression.

"Yeah," he nods, putting his phone back into his pocket, "Dad just won't be home for dinner."

I frown. I haven't seen Gabe around as much as I've seen Kristen, and I get the feeling Miles hasn't either. Maybe that's why he's been sulking so much lately. But whatever it is, I'll have to ask him later.

"Pizza will be here in forty minutes," Aunt Lydia says, running a hand through her dishevelled hair, "I'm going to wash up. Let me know if you kids need anything, alright? There's a packet of cond–"

"Aunt Lydia!" I exclaim in horror, pushing her out of the kitchen and towards the staircase. She laughs, disappearing upstairs. Is it her life's goal to embarrass me?

When I peek into the living room, I spot Miles already sitting on the couch and glaring at the floor like it was the one who stole his cupcakes instead of me.

"Okay, what the hell is going on with you?" I stand in front of him and cross my arms over my chest.

Miles lifts his gaze to look at me. His lips are set in a thin line and he shakes his head.

"It's your dad, isn't it?"

He sighs at the mention of Gabe and gnaws at his lower lip. His knee bounces up and down, so I crouch down and place my hand on it. Miles relaxes then, but he's still bothered by whatever it is that he's thinking about.

"What is it?" I ask softly, raising my other hand to cradle his face. My stomach does a little flip when he leans into my touch.

"I don't know," he finally says. I catch the crack in his voice, which only makes me more worried. "He just keeps disappearing. I wasn't even surprised when Mom called."

That sounds an awful lot like Paul right now.

"I think . . . I think he might be having an affair with someone,"

An affair? Why the hell would anyone—especially someone like Gabe—cheat on Kristen?

"Are you sure that's it?" I scrunch my nose up.

"It's the only explanation I can think of," he says, shrugging. "What else could he be up to? He barely spends time with us lately."

Another thud from upstairs interrupts us, and this time Miles heard it too.

"What is that?" My eyes narrow and my brows laze together in confusion.

"Sounds like something fell over. Maybe it's Lydia."

Aunt Lydia wasn't upstairs when I heard it the first time.

"Speaking of which, we should find the gun now if she's in the bathroom," Miles says, standing up. "But we have to make it fast."

I nod in agreement and we both creep upstairs. As much as I don't want to, I know I will have to face reality sooner or later. I just hope Uncle Paul is innocent. I can't imagine not having him in my life. Not after what he's done for me.

We move past my room to get to the master bedroom. The door is already wide open, and when we step inside I can hear the sound of the faucet running from the ensuite. If Aunt Lyd catches us in here, I'll have to come up with something on the spot. But if she finds us in the closet, then I don't know what excuse I could muster up.

"Here," I point to the closet and open the door. Miles quickly slips inside after me.

It's even darker than the rest of the house. There are no windows, so my eyes are taking a longer time to adjust. I feel my way around to Paul's side and shove my hands under piles of folded jeans, but I don't find the pistol.

Wait, don't I have my phone? I retrieve it out of my back pocket and turn the flashlight on. I begin searching again, slipping my fingers and sticking my arms in between the stacked clothing, but much to my dismay, I still find nothing. What the hell?

"Miles," I whisper-yell, "it's not here."

"What do you mean it's not here? Isn't this where you found it?" He walks up behind me, so I turn around.

"Yes! But it's not here anymore," I exclaim, pulling at the ends of my hair with frustration. "I swear, it was right here!"

"Maybe Paul moved it or—"

A muffled voice and another loud thump from the side makes me yelp and stumble into Miles' chest. He helps me gain my balance again and takes my phone from my grasp, shining the flashing at the corner of the closet. The sight sends my pulse racing and I gasp loudly, covering my mouth with a shaking hand.

Uncle Paul has his eyes shut tight but his black eye is still visible. His wrists are bound behind the chair and his ankles are tied to the legs with old rope, digging into his skin. His head is dropped, rolling to one side. Duct tape covers Paul's lips, which I can only assume are stained with dried blood that he must've coughed up and seemed to have dripped off his chin. His entire face is bruised so horribly that his jaw and cheeks are purplish-blue while there are crisps of blood trailing from his temple, running down the side of his face.

He looks like he's about to pass out.

"Uncle Paul?" I rush to his side, taking his face into my hands. His eyes slowly open but only slightly, just enough to be able to look into mine. At that moment, as I hold his gaze, I can feel my heart start to crack.

Who did this to him?

"This is going to hurt, and the tape will probably tear some of your moustache out, but I'm going to pull this off now, okay?" Miles tells him with wide, frightened eyes. Paul nods his head and I back away a little to give Miles some room.

I wince when he pulls it off in one swift go, taking parts of his facial hair with it. Uncle Paul grunts but doesn't say anything. His lips are bleeding again.

I work on untying the rope and start with this wrists first but whoever tied it did it in such a way that it's nearly impossible to free them.

Is this it? Is this Michael's plan? Did he do this to him? Why does he want to hurt me and my family so much?

"Who did this to you?" I try my best not to burst into tears. Paul's chest is rising up and down like he'd just run a marathon. The pain is written all over his face—and I don't just mean literally. My chest tightens. How could I have suspected him at all?

"Miles, get Lydia!" I shout, screaming when the rope doesn't loosen one bit.

Uncle Paul murmurs something, gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes once again. I sink to the floor and attempt to untie his ankles, but when the door slams open and hits the wall just as Miles was about to grab the knob, I stop.

"I was hoping for this moment to be a little less dramatic,"

My heart crashes against my ribcage and a lump forms in my throat. A figure stands in the doorway. From whatever little light there is that comes from the bedroom, it shines onto the very same pistol Miles and I were looking for in the person's hand.

No . . .

"But, you know, the power just had to go out," The person takes a step forward, "and your boyfriend came along when he really should've just gone home. Now I have to kill him, too."

My vision blurs. This can't be reality. No, this can't be happening.

"Just like I'm going to kill Paul," the person takes another step towards me, raising the gun, "and just like I'm going to kill you,"

Please just be a nightmare.

"You . . . y-you . . ." The words get caught in my throat. My heart has shattered all over again. I let the tears fall.

"Yes, sweetheart. Me."

It wasn't him.

Michael Prescott didn't kill my parents. He wasn't the one who stripped their lives away from them. He wasn't the one who took my mom and dad away from me.

Lydia Brooks did.

●●●

3731 words. Holy shit. That's the longest chapter in this book. Just one more, and then the epilogue. Can you guys believe we're finally at Chapter 50? I certainly can't.

Okay, so, originally Lydia wasn't the killer. But some of you guessed that Paul was, so this is a plot twist for me too, except I knew about it many chapters ago :p Damn, she was one of my favourite characters. Honestly though, this just makes me love her more. Were any of you expecting that? Judging by the all the comments that were like, "PAUL KILLED THEM!!" I'm assuming no 😂

Muahahaha.

Oh my goodness, guys, LMA is at 80k+ reads! I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH 😭❤

Please stay safe!

Chloe ❤