A Letter by Madeline Cork

So. I did some writing, I guess. It is very incoherent and just me rambling, really. I do quite like the first one. I'm currently reading »The Secret History« by Donna Tartt and the influences should be very obvious. 

I am probably not the right person to tell this story. From the beginning to the end, I can merely be described as a minor side character and even now, looking back, I cannot say that I have fully understood what had happened to Hanna Grace that winter. Still, I will try to explain my impressions as clearly as possible. Despite being not the right person to tell this story, I guess I am the only one left. 

The thing is, even now, after so much time has passed by, no one knows for sure who really had killed Hanna. It could have been anyone. Personally, I still believe it was Audree. But as I said — one cannot be sure.

One might wonder why I have come to talk about this now, now that it is much too late, now that it has been ages since we all have seen or heard from each other. The reason is, I had managed rather well to push the incident to the back of my mind. Perhaps I could have continued like that, kept living my life in complete ignorance of it, had it not been for Cameron visiting Littleton last summer. 

Since then it would not let me go again. I have come to understand that I will not be able to rest in peace until someone knows. And that someone, dearest reader, is you. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Audree Hampton and I killed Hanna Grace, our friend, on a chilly day in March. I cannot recall exactly which day it was but I know for sure that after that I saw the first snowdrops of the year and thought of it to be quite ironic. For snowdrops represented hope and beauty of the upcoming spring, and neither hope nor beauty were things I could see in my life then. 
Perhaps I should add that I am not aware of what I mean by saying that Audree and I killed Hanna. It seems to be a rather straightforward fact but it is really not. I mean, yes, Audree pushed her while I stood there watching and Hanna fell down the well and there should not be any way for her to survive — but somehow I knew even then that she was not dead. To say that she had survived was equally far from reality, though. How I like to put it today is that Hanna had just disappeared. One moment she was there and the next — gone. 

I tried not to think that much about it and, surprisingly, I managed it rather well. The first weeks were a struggle, but after that it slipped to the back of my mind and I was captivated by everyday life again. Perhaps I could have forgotten it completely, or at least turned it into a loose memory had it not been for the day that Audree disappeared. 

We had not spoken to each other much after what had happened, so I technically had no idea about anything. But, I guess, somewhere deep down I always knew that she had disappeared in the well, too — under the same mysterious and inexplicable circumstances that Hanna had too. 

No one except for me knew that three people’s disappearance was directly related to that plain well — Audree’s, Hanna’s and her baby’s. 

That’s why I need to tell this story. Because there is no one else that can do it. 

I always felt that despite being best friends Audree and Hanna hated each other with a passion. Perhaps I was the only person who noticed since I spent the most time with them. Every one else probably believed their little game, even Antony and Jonathan. 


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