My Best Friend Died and I Protected the Killer

I shouted, “Then let the police investigate! I didn’t kill her, so why keep harassing me? Do you think I’m easy to bully just because I have no parents?”

In the two days since Rachel’s death, my front door had practically been kicked in.

Everyone was clamoring for me to name the murderer.

Honestly, I was fed up.

Rachel’s father, Samuel Morgan, finally snapped. “How can anyone be so cold-blooded?”

“You’ve been a thief since childhood, stirring up trouble everywhere. Only Rachel would still play with you. Now she’s dead, and you dare talk like this! You’re worse than pigs and dogs!”

The villagers pointed and cursed:

“I always said she wasn’t any good. When our Erwa scolded her, she nearly bit his ear off. She’s like a mad dog—vindictive!”

I glared coldly at Tommy Baker’s mother, and she flushed before snapping:

“Look at those eyes! I said she had bad intentions!”

“Maybe she found the rapist!”

“Remember when she was little? She said she wanted to kill everyone in our village!”

My parents died young, and I have lived with my elderly grandmother ever since.

The children mocked and bullied me, shaping me into a competitive and vindictive person.

If someone hurt me, I struck back tenfold or a hundredfold. That’s why the whole village hated me. Whether I caused trouble or not, it was always my fault. Rachel died, and instead of chasing the murderer, they came to accuse me.

A rock struck my head, blood streaming down. More stones followed, hurled with a rage that filled the air. My scalp split and throbbed, and just as the mob’s fury threatened to tear me apart, a familiar voice cried out: “No! Clara isn’t what you think!”

It was my childhood friend, Emily Carter. She was the only one besides Rachel who had ever stood by me. She shielded me with her own body from the villagers’ blows.

On the day Rachel died, Emily collapsed in shock, burning with a high fever. Her father drowned in the river while rushing her to the hospital. I thought she was busy with Robert Carter’s funeral, but she still came to save me.

“The three of us are best friends. Clara couldn’t have harmed Rachel!”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Clara, I don’t believe you’d protect a criminal! You hate seeing Rachel or me hurt.”

“Last month, Johnny Baker from the next class broke Rachel’s hand. You hit him with a brick. How could you shield a murderer?”

Her smile was uglier than tears, her eyes dark with memory.

“Clara, we’re closer than sisters. Tell me! Did you see the killer?”

I stared at her pale, bloodless face. Her anxious eyes clung to me.

I brushed her hand away, a hint of mockery on my lips.

Yes, I did.

That night, I’d been up late doing homework.

The wind howled outside, and faint noises rose from the cornfield.

It sounded like voices. Startled, I shouted, “Who’s there?”

Silence. Only the wind’s whistle.

I thought I’d misheard, that it was an animal.

Then a dark figure flickered past my window.