Caroline was learning that there’s only a slight difference in bravery and being stupid. That’s what she’d been thinking about when she talked Birdie into breaking into a storage unit for her stalker for more information on how her stalker and Birdie’s terrible creepy stalker ex boyfriend suddenly had a lot more in common than their taste in women. Money was involved, and Caroline had known that money could make a person do unthinkable things, she thought about growing up and how her birth father had seen her as one giant money sign, his darling little money maker. It was gross when she thought about it that way, it was why her hands had been shaking when her best friend reminded her to keep the light still. 

 

“Sorry, I was doing that mind whirlwind-y thing.” she said softly, her brown eyes trying to go through the files with her. There were plenty of boxes, organized, and there wasn’t a single layer of dust on anything. It was like they were tended to, and she started to worry that they’d be caught. She’d been using her phone to take pictures of everything, she’d turned the cellular and wifi off even though it would mess with Abel tracking her location. If he could, so could her stalker. She knew that if he checked, he’d be worried, but she also knew that there was no way he’d let her and Birdie go. Harry would for certainly be on his side, especially since she was wearing a scarf around her neck in the middle of summer trying to hide that she’d almost been choked out again. 

 

“C-15” she repeated as Birdie noticed, “Caroline. Fifteen.” she repeated softly, turning on her heels to use the flashlight to see what was on the other side of the unit. Boxes were large, and organized in alphabetical order. As she looked at all the boxes, she realized something, “I thought the 15 came from the day he met me, the one time with the drinks and I turned him down. But I think this started way back, I think he means Caroline at fifteen.” she whispered softly, this would’ve been right before Caroline was adopted and she was still living at home with her abusive father and being pimped out in pagents to pay the bills. “This started in Louisiana.” she said softly, as she felt like she gathered some more information.  

 

“Take pictures of everything, and we can print them at home.” Jordan said, probably worried about his job. That’s what they started doing, it had been about 15 minutes of such until Caroline gasped. She dropped the box that she was looking at. The box was filled with newspaper articles about the death of a sleazy photographer who overdosed in his apartment only to be found alone a few days later. There were photos of Caroline and Birdie, with necklaces around their neck circled. “Birdie. 760.” she said softly, showing Birdie the box she’d found. “He knows about…that night…”