I slam the door of the hotel room behind me. How could I have been so stupid as to let Linnea catch a glimpse of the real Fender? The Fender who waits for the impossible to happen at the harbor every Friday. The Fender I became last year on Kate’s birthday.

What is Linnea going to think now? I just left her standing there on the sidewalk!

What if she tells Kate and Lucas what happened outside? I wouldn’t dare face them….

How does Linnea know that name? Has Kate been talking about her? I wouldn’t think so. Kate hardly ever talks about her to me, let alone anyone else.

Or Lucas? He’s got a big mouth. Maybe he let something slip.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Room service,” comes a voice from the hallway.

I freeze. It’s him.

I start moving way too late, and when I look through the peephole, I don’t see anyone. He’s made a quick getaway, just like the first time.

I pull the door open and see another cloche at my feet. Of course I knew there’d be another message, but somehow I still hoped the death notice would be the last one.

With a bad feeling, I lift the silver dome. There’s a gold envelope underneath, just like the first two.

This time it doesn’t have only my name on it, but also Kate’s and Lucas’s.

I take it all back into the room and slump onto the bed.

Inside the envelope is a letter, clumsily folded in half.

When I read the first sentence, the same thing happens as yesterday: everything around me stands still.

It’s a copy of her letter.

I never expected to write this, but I can’t go on any longer.

This is my suicide note.

You might read this and think you can still stop me, but you’re too late.

I’ll make sure I’m gone by the time you read this.

What does it matter now, anyway?

I actually died last year on Kate’s birthday.

I know that and so do they.

Kate, Fender, and Lucas.

My so-called best friends.

The night is almost over, but I can no longer tell the difference between night and day.

It’s always dark for me.

Isolde

Once again, I read the words that hurt me more and more every time. I relive every word. I breathe in every sentence.

Why is Room Service sending me this letter again? Does he want to let me know that there are copies?

But then I see the brief message on the reverse side, in that overly neat handwriting.

Show this letter to Kate and Lucas—or I will. I’ll give you an hour.

This message is specially for me. He knows I’m alone. He’s watching us.