I tried to
write an update last week but it was just a series of incoherent swearing. Even
now, I don’t know what good telling you will do for me. I feel lost and scared
and hurt and angry and I don’t know what to do next.
Heather lied
to me – to us – about the reason she called me that day. You remember when she
called me at five o’clock in the morning, drunk off her ass, and I drove five hours
each way to pick her up? And she told me she was lonely and scared and the
police had found her husband’s body but she was ultimately exonerated? And then
I welcomed her into my home for months and let her be a part of my family
because she was my best friend and I missed her and I cared about her?
It was all
bullshit.
Nope, that’s
a lie: the day I came to pick her up, she was drunk.
We drove
out to pick up some of her things last week – seeing as I was sure that she’d
be with us for a while. As I was helping her pack, I found a box under her bed
that she tried very hard to keep me from looking in (which, of course, meant
that I had to look in it). I thought it would be dildos or a gun or some
embarrassing school photos.
It was my
journals.
My fucking
journals that someone stole while I was on the run with my family. The journals
that contain all the evidence anyone would need to destroy my life.
Heather had
them this entire time and she never told me. I asked her about it, because I
was not about to let her back with my family unless I knew I could trust her. I
don’t know what I expected her excuse to be, but I was not expecting her to
tell me that she had been approached by the police last year, saying they had
proof that she’d murdered her husband and used it as leverage to get
information on me.
Apparently,
she refused to help and when she wasn’t arrested, she realized that it was a trap.
So, she went to the house and searched for evidence of my crimes and took them.
She’s been keeping my secret ever since.
Except
earlier this year, she was contacted by a woman who said she was with the FBI
and knew all about our relationship and actually convinced Heather to spy on
me.
That was
her big reveal. She’s been recording my family’s activities for months, gathering
information. The only reason she hasn’t turned us in yet is because apparently,
she loves us more.
That’s what
she said.
“I love you
all too much to betray you.”
Like a
fucking soap opera.
I don’t
know what to believe anymore. I’ve seen the call logs and read her notes and it
seems she’s been telling the truth – after a few weeks living with us, she cut
off all communication. We didn’t do anything of note in that time and we don’t
know if they actually were FBI.
Considering
I’m not writing to you from the electric chair, it’s safe to say that something
else is going on. But I don’t know what to do. I’ve taken Heather with me and
we got James and Casey to stay home for the next few weeks. The four of us are
holed up in the house claiming a need to quarantine, while I think of a plan to
confirm whether or not my family is in danger again.
I’m
starting to wonder if this murder business is more trouble than it’s worth.
As for
Heather, she’s locked in the basement, well fed and clothed with plenty of
things to do. But she’s not going anywhere until I decide what to do with her.
What would
you do if your best friend betrayed you – and you had to ability to hide the
body?
As always,
dear readers,
Stay Safe
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