One Year Later...
Esme sat in her nearly empty dorm room upon the closure of the summer session at Duke University. She glanced over at the bare mattresses of the bunk beds that she and her roommate had called home for nearly a year.
"Are you ready?" a peppy voice asked, prompting Esme to turn around from where she sat at her former computer desk.
"I changed my mind," Esme said to her roommate, "I'm not going."
"Esme... you're going home for the rest of the summer," her friend told her with a big smile of perfectly straight teeth, "And you're going to get a tan, do you hear me?"
She smiled and took a deep breath as her roommate continued to coax her.
"Let's go."
Esme stood up and followed her roommate to her car. On the ride back to Southport she tried to be positive and appreciate the summer's warmth, the freedom that would surely accompany the next few months and the fact that she would be back in her own bed at home with her mother.
A part of her managed to relax for a moment, though when her roommate's car cruised down the coast around the same bend in the road where she, Carlisle and the others had hit and killed a man the summer before, all of the dread she had been carrying poured back into her body at once.
Esme closed her eyes and tried not to have the same flashbacks that had been reoccurring for the last year. She hadn't taken the drive down that road since the night of the accident and now that she was there the old feelings hit her hard.
She felt her roommate look over but neither of them said anything to one another until the car was pulling into Esme's driveway.
"Remember," the friendly young woman said as Esme hopped out of the car. "Sun and fun!"
"Yeah." Esme smiled and waved as she grabbed her bags, "Thank you for the ride."
"See you in the fall." Her roommate backed out of the quaint, beachside home with a wave and sped off down the street.
"Esme!" Her mother burst out of the front door with her arms out wide. "Welcome home, dear."
Esme felt more guilt wash over her and she hugged her mother tightly before the two of them went back inside to catch up.
Unpacking was the easy part. Esme got some time to herself and was able to try guarding all the heavy feelings that went along with being back in Southport. Nothing felt right, or normal; even her room felt foreign. She had hoped once she got back in and settled that she would at least find comfort at her own house.
Maybe in time, she thought.
"Esme!" her mother's voice called up the stairs, "Dinner's ready!"
She closed her eyes and sighed. It wasn't that she didn't want to have dinner with her mother, but the one-on-one time would surely lead to questions that Esme wasn't prepared to answer.
Prior to July Fourth the year before Esme had been a peppy, friendly, straight-A student. Now, she knew she looked tired and pale. Her grades were slipping, which is why she had decided to take the summer's first session at Duke... that and the fact that she didn't want to return to Southport.
With a sigh, Esme slowly opened her door and trudged down the steps and into the kitchen.
Her mother smiled as she entered the room, though Esme knew her mannerisms well. The smile was accompanied by concerned eyes and a strained jaw. There was nothing she could hide from her mother.
Except for a murder, she thought.
Esme sat at the table where her plate was already set and she tried to act normal but knew it wouldn't work. She took a bite of the fish that was accompanied by a good sized portion of rice and looked out the window.
"How's the snapper?" her mother asked, prompting Esme to give a brief closed-mouth smile. "You know I really wanted mud fish but it's been a bad season."
Esme felt her shoulders sulk and she swore she could have just broken down and cried out of the blue. Her heart felt heavy, and the sights and sounds of her hometown, including her mother's voice, made her past all the more real.
"Are you on drugs?"
Esme's head snapped up and she looked at her mother wide-eyed. "What?"
"I just wanted to surprise you," Mrs. Platt went on, "I wanted an honest reaction."
"No Mom." Esme shook her head, "No... no drugs."
"Well, then what is it? I mean you look like death."
She sighed and began toying with her food. "Well, it's been a rough year."
The two of them ate in silence, and Esme knew it wasn't fair for her mother. She hoped in time the hurt and guilt would fade but so far it hadn't.
Mrs. Platt didn't push any further questions and cleared Esme's plate when there was nothing left on it. She began to do their dishes as Esme stood up.
"Oh, you got some mail," her mother informed her, re-entering the room with a white envelope. "It's not your report card, though, that came last week."
Esme felt her heart sink. "Mom, I know it looks bad but the summer session went really well." She put a hand on her forehead.
"Well, it would have to. Because according to the Dean you only have one more chance."
"It's not that serious... really." Esme stared blankly at her and accepted the envelope.
"What happened to my daughter?" Her mother asked, developing tears in the corners of her eyes. "I mean you went away and you don't call... and you don't visit." She paused and left the room, "Your father must be turning over in his grave."
Esme shut her eyes and wiped a few stray tears away before shaking her head and looking at a picture of her and her father that hung on the wall. She took in a deep breath through her nose and then opened the white envelope.
There was a small piece of white paper inside with big, block lettering centered perfectly in the middle.
Again, she felt her stomach twist in knots and her throat felt tight. Her eyes filled up with tears and she put a hand over her mouth. "Who sent this?" she called out to her mother, drying her eyes before Mrs. Platt rounded into the room. "There's no post mark or return address."
"Your guess is as good as mine. Why what does it say?"
"Nothing!" Esme hurried out of the room holding the note and rushed to her bedroom where she remained for the next several hours. She stared down at the letter and read it over and over. The message haunted her and she knew she had to talk to Rosalie in the morning. Someone knew what had happened last July Fourth and she was haunted by the anonymous letter that had been sent to her with the simple, chilling phrase: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER!