The front door slammed shut so hard that the entire house shook beneath us. Helen gasped and stepped away from the metal box, her eyes wide with terror. The diary, the bloodstained necklace, and the note lay exposed between us like secrets that had finally decided to breathe. Heavy footsteps echoed downstairs, slow and deliberate, moving across the wooden floor as if the person inside knew exactly where we were hiding.
I grabbed the note again, my hands trembling. "If you're reading this, don't trust Helen." The words burned into my mind, repeating over and over until they sounded louder than the storm outside. I looked at her, waiting for an explanation, waiting for her to deny it, to laugh and say this was all some cruel mistake. But Helen only stared at the floor, tears slipping down her cheeks.
"You knew this was here," I whispered.
She nodded slowly.
"Why?"
Before she could answer, another footstep sounded below us. Closer this time.
Helen grabbed my arm. "We have to leave. Right now."
"Not until you tell me the truth."
Her face crumpled. "I can't."
"You can't, or you won't?"
She opened her mouth, but the words never came. Instead, a shadow appeared beneath the crack of my bedroom door. Someone was standing in the hallway upstairs.
My breath caught in my throat.
The doorknob turned slowly.
Helen backed away from the door, shaking violently. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribs as the handle twisted all the way down. For a second, everything went silent.
Then the door swung open.
The boy from the rain stood there, soaked from head to toe, his dark hoodie dripping onto the floor. His pale face was calm, almost expressionless, but his eyes were fixed on Helen.
"She found the box," he said quietly.
Helen stepped behind me. "Please," she whispered. "Don't do this."
The boy looked at me, then at the note in my hand. A faint smile spread across his face.
"He knows now," he said. "He knows you've been lying since November 12."
I turned toward Helen, my mind spinning. "What is he talking about?"
She covered her face with her hands and began to cry harder.
The boy took one slow step into the room.
"Ask her," he said softly, "what really happened to Ezel after midnight."
Helen looked up at me then, her eyes filled with something I had never seen before.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
But the terrifying realization that the truth could no longer stay buried.