I’m not sure if anyone will read it, but I’m keeping it all the same. I reread what I just wrote:

He’s made the national news because of their deaths. We all have. For the first time since I can recall, I don’t want to watch the news. My father has started sending me texts of news articles unrelated to this so I can keep up on the news but don’t have to wade through discussions of the “Code Killer,” as the media has dubbed him. Papers and magazines are filled with speculation on the girl the media says was “made for” a killer, the girls he murdered, and, of course, the Code Killer himself. I’m grateful the media didn’t explode with stories about all of us while Reid was on the loose and unidentified, but they’re plenty attentive during his trial and incarceration. The media has latched on to Reid, and his lawyers are letting it happen—maybe they’re trying for sympathy or maybe he’s overruling their decisions. I don’t know.

What I do know is that I’ve researched far more about killers than I want to. It’s not that knowing more helps, but I keep thinking it will. There aren’t a lot of serial killers as young as Reid. I know now that there were some: American killer Jesse Pomeroy was only fourteen, so was the British murderer Graham Young. There are others, and whether or not Reid is a serial killer is not something I can debate now.

Maybe it’s because of Reid or maybe it’s my death visions—which aren’t going away—but I finally know what I want to do next. I might not have the specifics all figured out, but I’m looking at a future in law or criminology. If I’m going to be seeing deaths anyhow, I want to find a way to stop some of them. I want

A voice interrupts my typing: “Eva?”

I look up to find Nate standing in my doorway. He’s been at my side through every awkward day in the aftermath of Reid’s arrest. The first week back at school was hard, but it’s getting easier. People stare. They whisper. The rumors are worse because of the news coverage, but I walk through the halls of Jessup High with either Grace, Nate, Piper, Robert, or CeCe at my side. I’m never alone even though I no longer need help navigating crutches and books. After a little over four months on crutches, I’m finally walking well.

“Your parents are watching a movie with Aaron,” Nate says. “We can join them or go out.”

“I swear they think he’s their nephew these days.” I shake my head at how things have changed. My parents and Grace’s parents have all grown closer to Nate, and by extension, closer to Aaron and to a lesser degree Nate’s mom and Aaron’s mom. The downside, of course, is that getting any alone time with Nate is harder than I could’ve expected. When everyone watches your every move, stealing away is a challenge.

I click save and turn my attention to Nate. “So they’re downstairs with the television on?”

He grins and steps farther into the room. “They are.”

“And we’re up here alone for a few minutes?” I pull him closer.

“True.”

“Why aren’t you kissing me already?” I wrap my arms around him as he lowers his mouth to mine.

We’re safe, and we’re together. That thought has carried me through a lot the past few months. It carries me through early morning nightmares. Things get better every day, and I know I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.