Déjà vu. It could be the statement I made to the police deputy yesterday, with minor details changed. Blond instead of brunette. A white dress instead of seafoam green. And Natalie’s hair looked nothing like a halo. It’s a ham-fisted simile, besides. Dead people aren’t angels. They’re heavy and waxen and…gone.

I read the passage again, but this time I allow myself to do the unthinkable: replay last night. I push against my own instincts and play the scene like a movie reel that I can slow down, rewind, and fully take in. Compare and contrast.

There was no crown. Natalie hadn’t won it yet. I read ahead to confirm another detail: yes, in the book Cassidy is strangled with a gauzy scarf from her homecoming getup.

I’ve covered the obvious, but there has to be more. I close my eyes, prodding through the dark to that place, remembering not just what I saw, but how I felt. Out-of-body, strange. I’d thought Natalie was a dummy. A prank. Why?

The scene felt staged. Just like Morgan’s performance at the murder tour. You could easily mistake Natalie for Morgan, because of her hasty dye job. And I did, briefly. If Morgan had still been blond, her resemblance to Cassidy would have been fucking uncanny.

Natalie was killed and staged to echo Maura’s book. I’m sure of it. And as my grandmother herself said, that was based on a real murder.

There is a copycat killer in Seaview. The question is, which murder were they copying: Cassidy’s or Caroline’s? Or both?

Enough. I fear my thoughts now, but they keep coming. An onslaught of the moments after I screamed, the sound so loud, full-bodied, and otherworldly that for a millisecond I forgot it was me. The images unfold in slow motion. Maura superfan Chris runs in. From which direction? The outside door, or from the school? I don’t know. His sweater is mint green. It clashes with the walls, I remember thinking. He clutches my shoulders in his bony hands and shushes me. Tells me to calm down, it’s going to be okay, we’ll get someone. He walks me all the way to the parking lot, where we find a security officer. Chris has to explain. My words have left me.

Finally, I shake myself back to the present.

The first person on the scene with me was Maura’s fan.

“Hey, Cecelia.”

I shriek, eyes flying open at the sound of the deep baritone.

It’s Ben. Just Ben.

“What are you doing here?” Adrenaline pushes an edge into my voice.