"For an apparently smart kid, this one was sure a dummy." They'd found boxes, pictures, maps drawn to scale, descriptive journals, the fixings of explosives, unlocked documents on his computer, everything Cassidy Casablancas had been trying to hide had been left out in plain sight. They called him out of control. Reckless. "Obviously he was reckless; did you see the dive he took? It's amazing he wasn't permanently branded to the sidewalk." They didn't care he'd been abused, and rightfully, they shouldn't have. An abused kid didn't have the right to blow up two major transport conveyances and kill 15 people. Still though, she thought as she snuck in through the window of his bedroom in the dead of night, two weeks after his death, he wasn't stupid. If he'd been planning to come back alive, he wouldn't have wanted anyone to see. He'd have wanted to keep his secret quiet, even if he'd had to silence it with the blood on his hands. She shudders as she looks down at her own, clad in black leather gloves Veronica had jokingly given her on her birthday, her fingers sweating through the fabric, knowing enough to not leave fingerprints. As she stumbles to turn on his computer, she thanks her lucky stars Veronica and Logan had offered to take Dick out for the evening. Somehow she doubts she'd be a welcome guest in the house where Cassidy's name isn't even mentioned anymore. Whirring to life, she's surprised to see the computer is password protected. Strike 1 against her theory. The computer was left on; he would have turned it off if he'd been planning to stay away forever. Wouldn't he have? She tries the basics first; Gondor, Casablancas, Spock. Nothing. Fingers shaking, she tries Sharks-or any variation of it. She finds herself strangely relieved when none of them work. She doesn't care about him anymore, she tells himself. She just wants something. Answers, maybe. Goodman? Nothing. Woody? For a moment the computer freezes, and a pit the size of Texas forms in her stomach, but the password is rejected and she breathes again. So she tries something else, she bites down on her lip so hard that it's bleeding as she types out MAC, and hits enter before she can stop herself. For a second, the screen goes blank, and a thousand butterflies erupt in her stomach, only to be dashed away by the words 'Incorrect Password'. She doesn't even know why she'd tried it anyway, it's stupid to think that she meant anything to him, anything at all, stupid to miss him despite his cruelty, but she can't help it. He'd meant a lot to her, even if he was insane and killed-she can't think about it anymore. Can't reconcile the thought of Cassidy-her Cassidy, the one she'd gotten to know and lo-liked a lot, that he could be what they'd all said he was. What Veronica had said he was. She didn't doubt it, there wasn't much room to, but she was sure there was more beneath the surface. CINDY CASABLANCAS, she types, smiling despite herself at the memory. He'd caught her doodling and had drawn little hearts up and down the margins of her notebook, laughing as he'd written Cindy loves Cassidy and the reverse. The words CINDY CASABLANCAS graced the back cover. She'd thrown away everything else, every other paper, book, folder from high school except for that one. Even now as she knew what and who he was, she couldn't bear to, instead hiding it beneath grade school artwork in the back of her closet. It hurt too much to think about, but she couldn't bear parting with it. The computer whirrs again, and as she's done this dance already, she doesn't expect the desktop to open up. Doesn't expect to faced with dozens and dozens of files that she's almost positive the sheriff's department hadn't found. He really hadn't been planning to come back, she thinks as she realizes that each file on the desktop is a note. A secret. A goodbye-and there's one right there, right at the top. For her. Her breath catches, and she wants more than anything not to open it. Not to still care for him, but she can't help it. She double clicks on the file, holding her breath as she does so. It's probably nothing, or if it is, it's probably awful-she doesn't want to read this, doesn't want to know what he really thought. She stands, pushing the chair away, but can't resist looking back. The first words catch her eyes, and she can't help but sink back into the padded leather chair, her fingers trembling as she traces them over the words on the screen.
Mac,
If there's someone reading this, I hope it's you. Actually, I know it will be, because only you could figure out that password. If everything has gone according to plan, I'll be gone by the time you read this. Off to a better place, I'd like to think, but that's probably not true. There isn't much left for guys like me, and even if there were, I'm not too sure I'd deserve it. I'm not a good guy-and I'm so sorry for involving you in all this. I'm broken. So fucked up I can't even see straight. I thought that was how it would always be, and then I met you. I've done some really stupid things. Awful things…things that would make you hate me if you knew them. And that's the last thing I'd ever want. You have to believe me; I wanted to be able to tell you. I wanted to be able to go back and not do them, because knowing you made it better. Made me better. I wish I could be that guy. The one everyone is jealous of, because he loves his girlfriend so much. The one who never forgets a birthday or anniversary…well; I'm getting ahead of myself, aren't I? I wish I could go back and change things. I wish you'd never met me, so I wouldn't have hurt you. And I know I have, because who wants to find out that their boyfriend killed himself? I wish…I wish a million different things. I love you, for what it's worth, as repulsive and awful, as that might seem now. I really do. And I'm sorry for everything I put you through. So here's hoping that we at least get to have your perfect night.
--Cass
Tears spill out of her eyes, and she bites her lip to keep from crying out loud. Clicking out of her document she scans the rest of them, all organized in alphabetical order except for hers, which had been right on top. There's one for Veronica, and all at once, she knows he hadn't really intended to kill her that night. A voice inside of her whispers that Cassidy was a murderer-a rapist; but she can't help loving him too. Or at least loving the guy he'd wanted to be. With a few keystrokes, she's e-mailed herself his note, making sure to clear the history after she's finished, knowing that while she may never be able to read his note again, that it'll go in the back of her closet, nestled peacefully in between innocence and happier times. Heading towards the door, she nudges it open a little, but enough so Dick will notice. Then trashing her own document, she retracts the passlock, setting the computer to sleep. It might take a while, but Dick will see what he has to.