“Who else could it possibly be?” Moet cries out in frustration. “We have no suspects, no leads, nothing! What do we do, Quinn? What do we do?” It’s been two whole weeks since her reunification with Leighton and now she just felt lost.

            Quinn sits stony-faced across the table from their usual spot at the diner. He just shakes his head and takes another gulp of his coffee. “It really seems like there’s no one left, doesn’t it?” He pauses for a while. “You don’t think it’s me, do you?”

            Moet’s eyes widen in surprise. Quinn? The killer? Impossible. “What? No. Never. Why would you even think that?”

            Quinn shrugs and murmurs as he traces the circle of his coffee cup’s rim, “If Dylan could talk himself out of numerous attempted arrests, he easily could’ve molded anyone’s mind to take his side. Against me.” His dark eyes flicker up to mine. “Not so far-fetched, is it?”

            She sighs. “You loved Dakota more than anyone. Maybe even more than me. You would’ve cut off your own arm before hurting her and I know that.” Hesitantly, she places her hand over his in comfort and looks him in the eye. “I know that,” she repeats. Quinn gives a stiff nod and turns back to looking down at the table. It’s another long while before one of them starts the conversation back up again.

            “I have an idea.” Quinn says.

            “What?” She asks. “Idea about what?”

            “An idea on who… the killer is.” He sighs. “But you won’t like it.”

            “Quinn, at this point, I’m taking anything I can get.” Moet says.

            “Have you ever considered… Leighton?” Quinn suggests with an uncomfortable squirm.

            Moet doesn’t like where this is going. “What?”

            “Well, it’s just. In those crime shows, it’s always the person you least expect, you know? And who’d expect Leighton?” Or me, the silence said.

            “I hate to shoot you down, but Leighton didn’t even know she existed until I told him about her.” Moet is starting to get a bit angry now. The nerve Quinn had to accuse her boyfriend of murder!

            “Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry. It was just a blind guess.” Quinn quickly backtracked.

            “Quinn, who was the girl you cheated on Dakota with?” Moet asks.

            Stunned, Quinn shakes his head and says in a low voice, “I don’t remember her name. But she had dark hair. Petite build. I left before I could find anything else out.” He buries his face in his hands. “God damn it, why did she have to go and get herself killed? I loved her.” He takes his hands away from his face. “You have to believe me, I loved her, Moet. I still do.”

            Moet nods sadly and says, “I know. I know you do.”

            Quinn nods as if to reassure himself and they both finish their lunches then head back out to Quinn’s car.

            Moet was no detective, she knew that. The search was practically at a dead-end, she and Quinn were tossing out random guesses at this point, and there didn’t seem to be much hope left at ever solving this mess.

            But she had to try.

            She had to try.

            “Do you have practice tonight?” Leighton asks her, tucking a stray blonde strand behind her ear. They are sitting under their usual tree at lunchtime and as always, Leighton has his normal, healthily sized lunch and Moet has her ridiculously tiny one. And as always, Leighton makes her trade lunches with him the minute she sits down.

            Guiltily, she looks down at her lap. She knows what answer he wants her to give, but to tell him what he wanted to hear was to lie and she didn’t want to do that anymore. “Yes.” He doesn’t speak for a moment.

            “I thought we agreed that you’d get help.” And here it started up again.

            “Yeah. We did.” Moet bites her lip.

            Leighton sighs. He grabs her face gently with both his hands and turns her around so he can look her in the eyes. Slate grey to green-brown. “What are you afraid of, Moet?”

            “I can’t, Leighton.” She takes his hands away from her face and holds them in her own. “I can’t go against her.”

            His lips press into a thin line. “You mean you won’t go against her. Mind over matter, Moet.” He turns away from her. “Mind over matter.”

            “You make it sound like it’s easy when it’s not!” Moet exclaims.

            “Are you going to let Lily Holmes walk all over you for the rest of your life?”

            “You don’t understand,” She shakes her head and stands up, but Leighton reaches out towards her arm and pulls her back.

            “Then explain. Talk to me, for god’s sake.” Moet shakes her head again before she looks back at Leighton. The only person who treated her like she mattered. The only person who cared. The only person she loved and who loved her back. Deciding not to run away this time, she sits back down beside him and wipes her slightly wet eyes.

            “My dad’s a ghost. My sister’s gone. I’m all she has and she’s all I have. All I want is to be good enough for her. Good enough for her to wipe off that stone-cold face of disappointment and to replace it with the teeniest ounce of pride. And if that means dancing until my toes bleed or eating a little less everyday then that’s fine. I just want her to love me. Is that so much to ask?”

It made him sad. The desperation swimming in her eyes alongside the unshed tears. “No, it’s not too much to ask.” He replied. Despite the old urge he had to point out how irrational she was being, he pulled her to his side and leaned her head on his shoulder because for some reason seeing her sad made him sad and that wasn’t good for either of them.

And after school he drove her to practice and watched her go into the studio with stiff lips and a heavy weight in his heart.

A few days passed and it was the weekend. Quinn and Moet hadn’t found anything new. The house was quiet but both Moet and Lily were inside. After coming back from a dinner date with Leighton, Moet walks over to her dresser with shaky hands and looks for Dakota’s music box. She hasn’t forgotten her routine, but as of late, she’s been doing it less and less. With the aide of Leighton, of course. With Leighton’s help, she’s even almost overcome her silverware sorting habit whenever her anxiety acted up.

But upon inspection of the dresser, Moet’s face paled at the realization of something missing. She uncharacteristically clambers down the stairs in panicked, hurried steps to the kitchen where she knows Mother will be sipping her coffee and reading her book.

“Where is it?” Moet demands.

Mother raises one elegant eyebrow at the sight of pale, sweaty Moet and replies, “Where is what?”

“The music box! Where is it?” Her words are coming out more rushed and increased in volume.

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

Thumpthumpthumpthump.

Moet’s heart’s beating wildly in her chest as she feels the painful tightening crawly feeling overcoming her body. She whimpers in panic and starts tugging on her hair in response.

“Moet, stop that, what’s the matter with you--”

But she couldn’t hear Lily anymore. All she could focus on was that wisp of blond hair and flash of blue bloodshot eyes she swears she saw through the windows in the trees. Deaf to her mother’s now-concerned words, she stumbles out the back door and follows the girl-shaped shadow into the woods.

The grass was damp. The skies were a dark gray and something didn’t feel right.

Moet brushes away the bushes and follows a rarely used dirt trail leading down to the river.

As she walked deeper into the woods, she started hearing voices.

She walks deeper into the woods, following that dancing wisp of blonde hair flitting through the trees. Her heart starts beating faster.

The voices sounded angry. Angry, arguing voices overlapped each other. She tried to get closer.

Moet sees a clearing coming up in front of her. She starts to pick up her pace, her palms start getting sweaty.

She made it to the clearing right in time to recognize the mane of familiar blonde hair.

She makes it to the clearing.

Bang! A shot rang out. The blonde girl falls.

Turning to the right, she sees the music box on a bed of dirt with grass shorter than the ones around it.

She looked up.

She looks up.

And she sees a pair of slate grey eyes connected to an arm holding a gun to her head.