[ a/n: Zoe to the side ]

JUNE 1 - 31 DAYS AFTER - 3:09 PM

"This is Westchesterfield Correctional Facility for Young Women. You have received a call from inmate Jessica Phillips. Do you wish to take this call? If so, press one."

"Hello?" An older woman's voice crackled through the receiver, and Jess was surprised she had answered. Out of the thirty other parents she had tried, she was one of the few who had even picked up. Most were too spiteful towards Jess to answer.

"Hi, this is Jess Phillips. Is this Mrs. Pullman?"

"I was once the foster mother for Damian Pullman, yes." The woman answered calmly.

"Then I'm sure you've heard the news?" Jess continued.

"No, I'm afraid not," The woman sounded concerned, and suddenly Jess froze up. Her lawyer hadn't told her what to do if this happened. She was just supposed to call the parents and apologize for murdering their children to make her look better during her trial.

Which she wasn't even sure she was having.

"Excuse me, miss? Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Jess answered hesitantly, wanting to hang up. She didn't want to deliver the news.

The few times parents had picked up? Were to yell at her, insulting her.

"What happened to Damian? We don't have TV or anything out here, so we usually hear about things through our neighbors. But they're on vacation, and we're kind of cut off from everything for a little while."

"Um, he was murdered," Jess whispered into the phone, and she wasn't even sure Damian's foster mom had even heard until there was a loud clanging sound as she dropped the phone - at least, that's what Jess assumed was happening. There were several moments of silence. "Ma'am?"

"Sorry. I'm here," The voice came through, trembling slightly. "W-will there be a funeral?"
"I don't think so. Nobody really knew him that well in Moonlarkville, he had only been living there for a month."

"It's just, Damian was very close to us, treating us like we were his actual family. He was a very bright young man. We were wondering why he hadn't stopped by to visit yet. He promised to do so every month. And if you know Damian, then you know he always keeps his promises." There was another uncomfortable silence. Then, tentatively, came the question Jess had been dreading. "D-do they happen to know who did it?"

"Me." Jess replied.

And then there was a beeping as the other line disconnected.

JUNE 2 - 32 DAYS AFTER - 10:29 AM

"This is Westchesterfield Correctional Facility for Young Women. You have received a call from inmate Jessica Phillips. Do you wish to take this call? If so, press one."

"Do not ever call this number ever again."

JUNE 2 - 32 DAYS AFTER - 1:03 PM

"This is Westchesterfield Correctional Facility for Young Women. You have received a call from inmate Zoe Swan. Do you wish to take this call? If so, press one."

"Hey, dad."

"Your friend Jess just called here, and I'll tell you what I told her: do not call this number ever again."

"But I'm your daughter, you can't just-"

"My only daughter is dead."

JUNE 3 - 33 DAYS AFTER - 4:06 PM

"This is Westchesterfield Correctional Facility for Young Women. You have received a call from inmate Jessica Phillips. Do you wish to take this call? If so, press one."

"-that creepy ass Jess girl, do you wan-oh, oops. I pressed one. Hello?"

"Hi. Um, who is this?"

"Monty Larkin. Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Did you ever plan to kill me?"

There was a slight crinkling noise at the other end of the line. "This is Jess?" A new voice asked, and Jess could tell it was Drew.

"Yes. And I'm sorry-"
"Sorry doesn't cut it. You can't ever make up for what you put me through so don't try. I'm going to hang up now, and you're never going to call again."

JUNE 4 - 34 DAYS AFTER - 11:07 AM

The number you are trying to reach no longer exists.

JUNE 4 - 34 DAYS AFTER - 11:29 AM

Dear Gunnar,

I tried calling but your phone must've gotten cut off. So I wrote instead. I just wanted to let you know that I'm sorry for leading you on. I'm not sorry for the other things I did though, because I had my reasons. I thought that catching other kids in the act of crimes would make me feel better about the ones I had committed. It didn't. But at the same time, I liked pulling the lever that caused the deaths of other people. It gave me a strange satisfaction. Sadistic, I know, but it is what it is. It made me feel like for once, I had control. I wanted more of it, though. So I needed a reason why - because for some reason I couldn't bring myself to go around taking lives just because I felt like it. Which lead to me coming up with the whole 'punishment for sins' type thing as a cover. But in reality, it was just me and my psycho mind. My psycho mind that told me killing nearly-innocent teens was fun.

I don't know why I'm telling you this. Probably because there's no one here to cut me off, ranting about how I ruined their lives and how I'm such a bitch and all that shit. That's what it is. Shit. And you know what? Sorry, but I'm not sorry. I don't apologize. I take back EVERY SINGLE ONE. I didn't ever mean it, anyway.

Jess

JUNE 9 - 39 DAYS AFTER - 9:04 AM

"This is Westchesterfield Correctional Facility for Young Women. You have received a call from inmate Zoe Swan. Do you wish to take this call? If so, press one."

The message went straight to voicemail, just as it had the past ten times she had tried. But still, Zoe kept talking.

"Hey, Nance, it's me again. I know you can't hear me, and won't be able to ever again. And I know that's because of me. But I just wanted to let you know that I'm better now. They've decided to send me to a rehab center where there's other teens just like me. Well, not just like me. I bet most of them didn't kill their own sister. Everyone here thinks I'm crazy, you know that? But not as crazy as Jess. She's stuck in here for life. No trial. I get a trial, though. It's in two weeks, and I'm kind of nervous. But for now, I'll just go to that rehab center. I should've listened to you when you offered help. You were always right, Nance. I shouldn't have despised you for that. I should've embraced it. Anyway, my time is up. I gotta go. I'll call you soon."

NOVEMBER 15 - 198 DAYS AFTER - 10:01 PM

This mailbox is full at the time and cannot accept messages. Goodbye.

"Hi, Nance, it's Z. I just wanted to say goodbye because I know I won't see you in Hell. You'll be up in Heaven, where you deserve to be. And I'll be rotting in Hell, where I belong. For killing you. For killing my own sister. And for killing myself. I'm doing it, Nance. I'm really, really doing it. I saved up enough pills. So, I guess this is goodbye. I love you. And mom and dad. Tell them that for me when you meet them again, okay? Bye."

a/n: what is wrong with me

why am i making everything so depressing

BUT SERIOUSLY

Thank you so much to all of you who have stuck with me the whole ride of writing this book (even when it took a 4 month hiatus (whoops)). I love you all, and I hope you enjoyed the story - even the sucky ending in which I made myself bawl my eyes out.