Revelation (Private 8)

I turned and strode back to my room, more determined than ever to prove that Ivy was the real

killer. But how? What else could I do? The Internet had long since been exhausted. Of course, I

had hours ahead of me to come up with a new plan of attack: After that little encounter it was

obviously going to be another sleepless night.

But the moment I walked into my room, I froze. Something was different. Someone had been

there. I could sense it. I quickly scanned the room, looking for anything out of place. Then I saw it.

The picture of me and Cheyenne from Vienna's birthday party last year

--the one Cheyenne's

mother had given me to remember Cheyenne by--was tacked to the wall above my bed. My heart

started to pound erratically and sweat slicked my palms. How did it get there? Why was it there?

Slowly, I placed my toiletry bag down atop my dresser and tiptoed over to the photo, as if it might

suddenly attack if I made too much noise.

I gasped when I saw it up close. There we were, Cheyenne and I, smiling broadly with our arms

around each other, but you'd never know about the smiles. Because both our faces had been X'd

out with black ink.

Trembling, I reached over and snatched the photo off the wall, the tack ripping a hole through the

top of it. Hot tears filled my eyes and I tore the photo down the middle. What did it mean? Had

someone crossed us out because we were both out of Billings... or was the

intended message worse than that? Was this just a follow-up to the pills that had been left in my

room?

I was about to tear the photo into shreds when I realized it was evidence. Maybe whoever had left

this here had left prints. Of course my prints were all over it as well, but still. I fumbled in my

bottom drawer for an envelope and dumped the two halves of the photo inside, then stashed it

away in my dresser along with all the other "presents" my stalker had left for me over time. The

black balls, Cheyenne's pink clothing--it was all there except for the pills and place card, which I

had tossed.

Slowly, I sat down on my bed, staring at the contaminated drawer. As my breathing normalized I

realized there was no way Ivy could have left that photo in my room. She had already been in the

bathroom when I had gotten there and had left about five seconds before me. Not enough time to