The sob echoed through the study, chilling Sophia and Liam to their core. They stood frozen, their eyes darting to every shadow in the room, waiting for something—anything—to move.
"Eleanor," Sophia whispered, her voice trembling. "We're here to help you. Tell us what happened."
The sobbing stopped abruptly, leaving a heavy silence in its place. Then, faintly, as if carried on a breeze, a voice responded: He didn't deserve it.
Sophia clutched Liam's arm. "What do you mean? Who didn't deserve what?"
The air grew colder, and the faint scent of magnolias filled the room. A single page from the scattered papers lifted into the air and floated toward Sophia. She caught it, her hands shaking, and read the faint handwriting aloud:
> I didn't know. They told me he left. They lied to me.
Sophia's breath hitched. "She's talking about James. They must have told her he abandoned her, but he didn't."
Liam nodded grimly. "And when she found out the truth, it was too late. Someone killed him—and her family was behind it."
The temperature in the room returned to normal, and the oppressive weight lifted slightly, though the sense of urgency remained.
Sophia set the paper down and turned to Liam. "We need to go back to the lake. That's where he died, and I think it's the key to understanding everything."
Liam hesitated. "It's already late, and we don't know what we're walking into."
"I don't care," Sophia said, her voice firm. "If we don't do this now, we might lose the chance to finally uncover the truth."
Reluctantly, Liam nodded. "Alright. Let's go."
---
The drive to Lake Hartwood was shrouded in silence. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the landscape. When they arrived, the lake was as still as glass, its surface reflecting the stars above.
"This place feels different at night," Sophia said, stepping out of the car.
Liam joined her, his flashlight cutting through the darkness. "Where do we start?"
Sophia pulled out the photograph of the young couple she had found in the box. "In the picture, they're standing by a tree. It looks like a magnolia."
They walked along the shoreline, searching for the tree. Finally, they found it—a towering magnolia with gnarled roots that stretched into the earth like claws.
"This has to be it," Sophia said, running her fingers over the bark.
Liam crouched near the base of the tree, his flashlight illuminating the ground. "There's something here," he said, brushing away the leaves and dirt.
Sophia knelt beside him, helping to clear the area. Beneath the soil, they uncovered a rusted metal box, its surface pitted with age.
With trembling hands, Sophia opened it. Inside was a bundle of letters, a locket, and a small leather-bound journal.
The letters were addressed to Eleanor, written in James's handwriting.
"He must have left these here for her," Sophia said, her voice breaking. "But she never found them."
Liam picked up the locket, opening it to reveal a tiny portrait of Eleanor on one side and James on the other. "This proves how much he loved her."
Sophia flipped through the journal, her heart sinking with every entry. James had documented his love for Eleanor, his despair at being kept away from her, and his growing fear that her family was plotting against him. The final entry sent chills down her spine:
> They've threatened me. They say I'll never see Eleanor again. But I can't stop loving her. If something happens to me, please, someone tell her I never stopped fighting for us.
Tears streamed down Sophia's face. "He knew. He knew they were going to kill him."
Suddenly, the stillness of the lake was broken by a faint ripple. Sophia and Liam turned toward the water, their hearts pounding.
A figure stood at the edge of the lake, its outline barely visible in the moonlight. It was unmistakably a woman, her long dress flowing as if caught in an invisible breeze.
"Eleanor," Sophia whispered, rising to her feet.
The figure turned toward them, her face pale and sorrowful. Her lips moved, but no sound came out.
Sophia stepped closer, her voice shaking. "We found them. We found his letters. He loved you, Eleanor. He never stopped."
The ghostly figure extended her hand, pointing toward the lake. Her voice echoed faintly in the night air: Find him.
And then, she vanished.
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