Harlow The Murder
Harlow
The Murder
Lightning flashed in the distance as I pulled up at the oceanfront property, warning me of a storm on the horizon, urging me to turn back.
But I ignored the sign, and instead followed the eerie tune of the guitar to the garden.
The sound of blood whooshing in my ears mixed with the foreboding chords to create an off-kilter backing track as I approached.
Whoosh. Strum. Whoosh. Ding. Whoosh. Strum.
It grew louder with every step, hitting its peak as I pushed through the wooden gate.
“It’s over,” I shouted once I saw her, sitting in my rose garden.
The second-rate stand-in Sam hired when I was in rehab two and a half months ago stared at me in confusion, oblivious to my rage.
As I stalked closer, I couldn’t believe that I even let this happen in the first place.
I should’ve shut it down the second I found out.
I tried, telling Sam I didn’t need a stand-in, but he claimed she was only there to help out for a little while.
That it was a way for me to focus on my wellbeing while she did the tedious things I didn’t want to do anyway.
The things I was already not showing up for, like photo ops, radio appearances, or even recording the shitty songs Charlie wanted me to sing instead of my own.
“It’s just temporary, to help you and the rest of us out for a little while. Think of it like a stunt double.”
So I’d put my faith in Sam. Trusted when he said I was irreplaceable, that he’d pull the plug on it “soon.” And I’d been so absorbed in my mission to take Colton down that I hadn’t noticed the other predator, trying to creep from the shadows into the spotlight.
My spotlight.
She’d slowly been doing more and more to try and impress Sam and Charlie.
Like going from lip-syncing to singing live at shows, and answering interview questions on the fly rather than following a script.
And finally, the last straw, recording and performing her own song that was a complete departure from my own tone and style.
When I saw the video, I was just as mad at Sam as I was at her—for allowing her to sing her songs as me, when I couldn’t even release my music—but I knew it was a waste of time to go to him.
I’d already given him three whole weeks to sort it out.
Three fucking weeks. And not only had he done nothing, he’d let it get worse.
I’d been allowing people to walk all over me for far too long, from my parents, Sam, Charlie, Colton, the media… But no more.
She stared at me in confusion when I told her she needed to leave. It annoyed me, the blank look on her face after she finally placed her guitar down.
“You need to go,” I said again, tempted to shove her into the fountain. “This…” I flailed my hands around. “Is over!”
A cloud covered the setting sun, casting a dark shadow across the usually whimsical space.
“But why? What did I do?” she stammered.
I scoffed, tears now filling my stinging eyes.
“You know exactly what you did—are doing. You can’t just be somebody else.
Take over someone else’s life because you couldn’t make your own, weren’t good enough.
This is my life. I built it. Me! It’s mine!
” Thunder rumbled in the distance as I croaked the final word.
A cool breeze blew wisps of hair in front of her face, moments ago a picture of hurt and innocence, now hostile and hardened, fitting in with the stone statues surrounding us.
“You can’t fire me, Harlow,” she said, crossing her arms. “It’s up to Sam and Charlie.”
I balled my hands into fists, furious both at her words and the implication of them. That I had no control. That I was powerless.
“I don’t need anyone’s permission to get rid of you,” I spat. “You’re nobody! Just a shittier version of me.”
She narrowed her eyes at me, shaking her head.
I could see the tears in her eyes, though, like I’d hit a sore spot.
“You know, I was always such a fan of yours. But I guess this is exactly why they say never meet your idols… And actually,” she said, squaring her shoulders, standing her ground.
“I think you know that I’m the better version of you, and that’s what scares you so much. ”
The words pierced through me as I shook in anger and frustration. Part of me knew she was right. I’d grown so used to hateful comments, especially on my appearance, that when she started doing things and getting positive comments like “Harlow looks better than ever!”, it stung.
But how dare she, of all people. I was so, so sick of people disrespecting me and my space.
Don’t take your anger out on her, the logical side of my brain urged, desperately trying to rein me in as my fight-or-flight responses battled each other.
But the way she stood there, like a distorted mirror image of me, taunting me through the glass—I couldn’t bear it.
I screamed as I reached out, trying to shove her.
But she reacted quickly and grabbed my arms before falling back.
It felt like time froze in that moment as we battled for control, eyes locked, arms shaking.
Fear replaced my anger when I saw the hostile, volatile expression behind her glare.
It was different from the vacant expression in Colton that night, but like him, like me, she didn’t have herself under control, that was clear.
But it was too late once I realized; she’d already snapped.
A splitting pain cracked through my head as my skull crashed into the hard stone behind me. My ears rang out with muffled silence as I stumbled to the floor. I pressed my hand to my head, immediately pulling back when I felt the sting of the gash.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” I could hear the words repeating over and over, like an echo. “I didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to… Mean to…”
Yes, you did, I wanted to say as I stared at my blood-covered hand. But I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.
Am I dying? Is this really how I’m going to go out? I thought, as the pain in my head intensified.
It was poetic, in a way, that this is how it would end. I was always my own worst enemy. I wanted to laugh at the irony of it all.
No. This isn’t real. I’m having a nightmare. My thoughts continued to race. If I die, will anyone even know? Will they just replace me with this imposter? Surely not. Sam wouldn’t. Would he? But then I realized I didn’t care anymore. I was sick of fighting. I’d lost.
You want to be me so badly? Go for it. Enjoy.
I couldn’t tell if I said the words out loud or to myself.
The throbbing in my head was starting to numb and I could feel myself losing consciousness.
As I drifted, I imagined her dealing with the consequences of everything I’d put into play.
Dealing with the Scott family. Potentially going to prison herself.
Adrenaline shot through me when the horrifying realization hit. No, no, no. I hadn’t actually put anything into motion yet. I had some “evidence,” but no one knew. I hadn’t even set a backup plan with @RavenRumours to leak everything if something happened to me.
If I died, Colton’s secrets—and any sort of justice—would die with me.
I used my final bout of energy to yank my necklace off and throw it at her feet. Take this. You’ll need it.
And then everything went black.
*
I didn’t know how long I’d been out when I briefly regained consciousness. I just remembered feeling cold. So cold.
“Shhh. It’s all going to be okay. This is going to help you.”
Those were the last words I heard before the needle went into my arm and flames engulfed me.