To Catch a Killer

By: KitKat411

Author's Notes: PART THREE! Wahoo. Anyway, if you didn't like that last chapter, you are absolutely right! Hell, I didn't even like that chapter, and I wrote it. If you didn't like it, review, so I know what to change for next time. If, however, you liked it, review. It helps my self-esteem. Haha.

Anyway, this is another "catch-up" chapter. However, it is the last one. This one gets you caught up to WHY Hilary wants to talk to L, and HOW Hilary knows L's real name. But first, I have to give background information. After all, you want to know WHO Hilary is and WHAT her life is like, no? Oh, and also WHERE she is.

Anyhoo, on we go! Chapter Three, wee hee hee!

Oh, one more thing. (I told you so!) I'm writing what I think will be Chapter Five, and I need plot ideas. I have Hilary in the building, but I don't know what to do with her next. I'm sad, people. SAD, DARN IT. So if you have plot ideas/twists/crack ideas, please submit them into a review. Muchas gracias!

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Hilary reached her house's gate fifteen minutes later, the encounter with the strange old woman still fresh in her mind. How had she known Hilary's name? And what was the necklace? And how could a piece of jewelry solve the train wreck that was Hilary's life?

She reached the front door and rang the bell. After the security guard recognized her, Hilary entered the large entryway. Putting her backpack down, Hilary stared into the large foyer, talking in the banisters and the large chandelier.

"Hello! I'm home!" Hilary shouted, but no one could hear her. Well, they probably could hear her, but there wasn't anyone home to hear her scream. Her father was on some "business trip," as always, and her mother was probably getting a massage after another "stressful" day.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Hilary pounded up the stairs. She made a sharp left and entered her room. The large and spacious room was elegant, tasteful, and looked like an overly priced hotel room.

Purely out of habit, Hilary slammed her door. She put her books on her desk and flopped onto her bed. Talkingg the locket out of her pocket, Hilary peered at it cautiously. It didn't look extraordinary at all to her. It was a gold heart with black swirls and designs. It looked like every other locket in the world.

Sill, however, Hilary needed all the help she could get. Her father was an alcoholic politician, her mother was a brainless, spineless trophy wife, and her only friend was an officious pseudo-Goth.

Hilary clasped the locked around her neck, closed her eyes, and drifted off into a restless sleep.

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Hilary rose the next morning exactly as she had every day for the last two-and-a-half years. She brushed her hair into a slight resemblance of a ponytail, donned the dreaded plaid skirt, and hurried down the stairs. Her morning routine was so boring that she normally slept through it, but now was running late.

As she passed through the dining room, however, Hilary saw a tall man with black hair drinking coffee and reading the paper.

"Father!" Hilary cried. "Welcome back. How was America?"

"The trip went quite well, Hilary-san."

As her father rambled on about America, Hilary examined her father closely. He was Japanese, tall, and very thin. He was also the Japanese ambassador to the United Nations, which explained both the security detail and the fact that the Fey family was in Japan. Hilary's mother, Maria Fey, was not Japanese, but had married her father for his sizeable income.

Hilary, to her dismay, looked very much like her mother; she did not look like her father at all. She did not look Japanese a bit; she had an American name, and had inherited her mother's brown hair instead of her father's black.

"You ought to be going to school, Hilary. You are about to be tardy."

Hilary nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Father."

"Good daughter. Is school still going well? Are you still at the top of your class?"

Hilary nodded. "Still number three, Father. So…no change."
"You ought to work harder, Hilary. You could be number one if you tried harder."

Hilary nodded. She and her father had had this conversation so often now that it was practically pre-scripted.

"Yes, Father. Will you be taking nay business trips soon? Mother's birthday is next week, you know."

Her father smiled, but it was a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course I'll be here, daughter. No more business trips for a while, I promise. You know I would never leave Mother on her birthday; I love her too much for that."

He recited this speech for her every time he left her.

But Hilary nodded again, pretending to believe him. Instead of speaking, she fingered the locket around her neck and tried to control the tidal wave of anger. Her father was lying to her. She knew this. She squeezed the locket angrily, pretending it was her father's neck. If only she had proof!

And that's when it happened, the moment that forever altered Hilary Fey's destiny. She was suddenly hit with an image, an image so clear and strong that it made her head hurt. She could see her father on a plane, in a bar, checking into a hotel room, seeing a Broadway show, and…in the arms of another woman?

The images flooded through Hilary's mind like gushing water, and Hilary tried to concentrate on each, individual image. The only thing she could really see, however, was her father standing at the corner of 5th Avenue and Broadway. Fifth Avenue?

"New York." Hilary breathed suddenly, and it all made sense. This was her proof, her proof that her father was telling lies to her face.

At the sound of her words, her father's face turned an ugly shade of beige. "New York, Hilary?" His voice was high-pitched and strained. "I didn't say anything about New York."

Hilary shook her head. "No, Father, you said nothing about New York. But that's where you'll be next week, right? New York?"

"I don't think that is any of your business, Hilary." His voice turned cold, but his face was growing red and his face was flushing. His repeated denials were enough for Hilary, however. She looked at her father's squirming face and a look of pure disgust formed on her face.

"Fool." She spat at him, letting her cold words rain down like icicles. "Stop lying to me. You sound even more pathetic than normal." She turned to leave.

"Hilary…" Her father's voice was ragged, hoarse. "Wait, Hilary. It isn't what you think."

"I'm late for school." Throwing open the door, Hilary put one foot outside. "I'll tell Mother that you wish her a happy birthday." Then she threw the door shut and walked out the door to school, never looking behind her.

This action, however mean, was actually very fortuitous for Hilary. For if she had looked back, she would have seen her father's face pressed up against the front window, tears trickling slowly down his face.

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Author's Notes: All right, ya'll, I lied. This chapter does not explain EVERYTHING about Hilary's life. However, I thought it was plenty long for you all to read. So I'll post Chapter Four in a few moments, as soon as I'm not lazy.