Silent Fall

memory...
    "They stood at the gates of heaven, the pledges on one side of the room, the sorority sisters on the other," he read. "They were beautiful young women in white dresses, rings of flowers on their heads. Their faces glowed in the light of the candles held in their hands. The hush of voices provided a beautiful harmony to the night's initiation ceremony.
    "One girl didn't belong. She had the urge to run away, but her friends surrounded her. They were called the Fabulous Four, united since their first day as college freshmen and later as sorority pledges. One wanted to be a doctor, another a model, a third wanted a husband and children. But this one girl wasn't sure what she wanted to be. She just knew that she wanted her friends to know the real her.
    She wanted to stop pretending to be someone she wasn't. Only she couldn't find the courage to take off the mask, to show her true self. She was afraid they would judge her, and she was right to be afraid."
    Garrett Malone paused and looked directly into the camera. Natalie drew in a sharp breath, suddenly reminded of Mr. Jensen and his prediction that something bad was coming.
    "In a few moments they would become sisters," Malone continued. "By the end of the night one of them would be dead."
    "Emily," Natalie whispered, shaking her head in disbelief. It was Emily's story. It was their story. They were the Fabulous Four: Madison, Laura, Emily, and herself. They'd met at college. They'd pledged together their sophomore year. But the man was reading from a novel. It was fiction, wasn't it? Of course it was. The plot line was just strangely similar. A bizarre coincidence. It couldn't be anything more than that. Could it?
    "Is something wrong, Dr. Bishop?" Karen asked.
    Natalie realized the woman was looking at her with alarm. "What?"
    "You're as white as a sheet. Are you ill?"
    "I'm fine. Just fine."
    "Have you read the book yet?" Karen tipped her head toward the television set.
    "I don't have time to read."
    "I don't either, but murder mysteries are my guilty pleasure. This one got a great review in the Tribune."
    The Tribune? The Parish family paper? They wouldn't have reviewed a book about their daughter's death, which meant the novel couldn't be about Emily. Natalie forced herself to breathe.
    "I read today that it's going to be a movie, too," Karen continued. "I can see why. I just started it yesterday, and I'm hooked. I can't wait to see what happens."
    "What's it about?" Natalie asked, then wished she hadn't. She didn't want to know what it was about. She didn't want to know anything more about it. But it was too late to take back her question.
    "It's about a murder in a sorority house. A girl named Ellie falls to her death from the second-story roof the night of the initiation."
    Natalie's stomach twisted into a painful knot. Ellie, not Emily, but the names were close.
    "None of her friends or family knows what happened. At least that's what they say. I'm not sure how it's going to end, but I think one of those girls killed her."
    Natalie turned away, her heart racing as the words ran through her head.
    One of those girls killed her.
    And she was one of those girls.
    * * *
    Cole Parish strode through the newsroom of the San Francisco Tribune early Friday evening, nodding to reporters and research assistants who would work into the night, making calls, tracking the wires, and scanning the Internet in search of the latest-breaking stories to fill the pages of the Saturday and Sunday editions. The energy in the newsroom never failed to get Cole's blood pumping, and he needed that energy now, having spent most of the afternoon in a meeting with the bean counters. As executive editor of the paper, it was his job to make sure the paper stayed profitable, a trying proposition in the current climate of instant electronic news.
    Studying the profit and loss statement was his least favorite part of the job. He was a news man at heart, not a business man, but duty to family had landed him behind the big desk in the corner office instead of out on the front lines where he'd always wanted to be. Well, that ship had sailed years ago. No point in crying about it now.
    His secretary looked up at his approach. Monica, an older woman with dark hair and shrewd brown eyes, was a longtime employee. She'd worked for his grandfather, his father, and his uncle, and if the truth be told she probably knew as much about running the paper as Cole did. Thankfully, she kept that