“Right, of course,” Naomi says, not one-hundred-percent certain anymore. “But say he was, are there any theories about the imposter? Like who they are—were?”
“Oh yeah, apparently some guy named Willy—no, Billy—something. Billy Shears, I think, although a lot of fans think Ringo is Billy, but I won’t get into that.”
Naomi freezes, sure that name means something to her. She furrows her brow, racking her brain. Joel continues to ramble, mentioning a look-alike contest and something about “A Day in the Life” and “With A Little Help From My Friends.”
She’s barely listening, though, her brain instead recalling Harlow’s lyrics. “Oh my god,” she says when it hits her.
“Crazy, right?” Joel replies, thinking she’s responding to him. “Anyway, I’ve gotta run, but let me know if you have any other questions while you write.”
She thanks him before hanging up, feeling like she’s in a daze. Fueled by adrenaline, Naomi immediately reaches for her Harlow albums. She studies the onyx black cover ofApotheosis, embossed with layers of images that she previously overlooked, before pulling out the lyric booklet inside. And there it is, right in front of her, under “No Way Back”:
Hey Billy, help me understand. How did you live with yourself, when it all got out of hand?
Was Harlow actually singing about Billy Shears, Paul McCartney’s rumored replacement, and not Bill Lever? As Naomi grapples with whether it’s just a coincidence or a bombshell discovery, her eyes land on the glossyLegacyvinyl cover, sitting upside-down on the floor next toApotheosis.
In the artwork, Harlow is wearing a red jacket, the bright color in contrast with the dried-up, empty field in the background. But as Naomi looks closer, she sees that Harlow isn’t in just any field.
She’s standing in a deadstrawberryfield.
Harlow
The Day of the Murder
I ran a finger across my broken nail, jagged and sharp, imagining what it would feel like to scratch Colton with it and watch him bleed. It was what he deserved, I was sure of it now.
I shook my head, sickened at how I almost let Sam trick me into thinking Colton wasn’t a bad person. In truth, we were all bad people, but Colton was the bottom of the barrel.
I looked around my Manhattan apartment as I read over the newest additions to my digital folder, worried someone was spying on me through the glass windows with some military-grade camera, watching what I was doing.
“Don’t do anything stupid, Har. I’ll know if you do.”
I shifted in my seat, making sure no camera could see my screen, filled with my own witness testimony plus new intel from @RavenRumours. I’d asked them to look further into a few select tips and, without even asking for more money, they did. I had been careful not to make it obvious from their end who I was investigating, just to be safe.
I don’t know who you’re trying to take down, but I hope you get the bastard, their message read, alongside crime scene photos, hospital records, and other documents—things that, when combined with my own knowledge, painted a horrifying picture.
But infuriatingly, even though I could put the pieces together, even though I had proof that Colton was in the area around the time a couple women that fit his type went missing or died in drug-related deaths, I knew it still wouldn’t be enough to take him down. There wasn’t much that would be admissible in court. He covered his tracks well and if I tried to expose him using only the random files, no matter how horrific they were, he’d get out of it. And then he’d bury me instead.
Sam’s voice resounded in my mind.“You can’t just make accusations about a member of the Scott family … No, you need cold, hard proof. And a damn good legal team.”
Creeeeak. I froze at the noise behind me, whipping my head around.It’s just the pipes, I told myself, looking back at the screen. At the blinking cursor next to where I just signed my name.
The only thing that would mean something to a jury, to the police, would be my testimony. But coming clean about what happened would mean I’d go down too, like Colton had warned. Sam would have also been at risk, but it wasn’t like he had kept his word to me about the one thing I had asked, so why should I have kept mine?
It still won’t be enough, a voice cautioned, making me want to throw my laptop across the room. I smacked my forehead, groaning in frustration as I weighed my other options.
You could find a way to live with the guilt, just let it go.
But I’d tried that, hadn’t I?
You could kill him… And then expose him posthumously… he wouldn’t be around to say you had anything to do with it…
I balked at the idea, not even taking it seriously. It was wrong. And messy.
But wouldn’t it be a relief? To have him out of the picture forever? To know he could never hurt anyone else?
I swatted the voice away.
Craning my neck, I darted my eyes across the room, once again making sure I was alone, before ejecting the USB. I wished I could slot it into my skin to keep it safe; for all I knew, the Scotts were already onto me and would send their people in to extract the files when I wasn’t home, tearing every single one of my properties apart until they found them. I picked up my phone, wanting to check the live feed of the new security cameras I had installed outside of my door and throughout the rest of the house, but got distracted by a notification waiting for me.
