This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are a product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

THROUGHOUT MUCH OF my life, I’ve felt as if I’ve been bobbing around, sort of wandering aimlessly, without a real purpose. I’m sure I’m not the only sixteen year old who’s ever felt that way. In fact, I’d venture a guess that most feel exactly that way. Not yet adults and able to enjoy the privileges associated with adulthood and no longer children young enough to reap the rewards of childhood and littleness, kids in my age group hover in an in-between phase, a kind of developmental gray area. At least that’s how I’ve always viewed my existence. Until now, that is.

Riding in the backseat of my mother’s CRV and headed to our new residence in Patterson, I experience a strange phenomenon. I’m not sure how to precisely articulate what I’m feeling, all I know is that I’m struck by a sense of connectedness to the town we’re destined for. The closer we get, the stronger the feeling grows. It rewards me with a kind of calm and quiet happiness, a sense of belonging that grows so potent, I know I’m in the exact place with the exact people I should be with at this exact point in my life. My mother and my sister have always been my anchors, the people who secured me to a sense of being where I should be. I always figured that wherever they were would be home, even if it were a tent in the middle of a desert. But as I ride in the back seat of my mother’s CRV and head toward our new house, that comfort they’ve provided through the years is replaced.

Peering out the rear window, I watch as an endless sea of trees rolls past. Their leaves are a vibrant array of greens that pop against the cobalt sky unfurling endlessly with little more than a few wispy clouds marring it. All that I see is a far cry from the never-ending stretch of asphalt I’m used to. And for the first time in my life, I am coming home. Not to a home that is familiar to me, and not to any home I’ve ever known, not physically at least. I’m going where I belong. I almost feel as if I’m answering a calling. Where I’m called from and who or what beckons me remains to be seen. All I know is that I’m moving toward the place I need to be, the place I’m needed.

“Ugh! Could this be more of a hayseed, country town?” My sister’s exasperated tone, dripping with acid and complete with a drawn-out huff, interrupts my reflective mood. “I can’t believe this is where we’re going to live now,” she continues grumpily and gestures to the passenger side window, beyond which the scenery is lush and verdant.

“Oh come on, Kiera.” My mom reaches across the center console and pats my sister’s leg. “It’s a nice town, a safe town.”

“Yeah, plus we’re going to live in an actual house,” I chime in to try to help.

Living in a house is something we haven’t done in as long as I can remember. All I’ve ever known is an apartment building, elevators and concrete playgrounds. The house we’re renting now is small, not much larger than our apartment really when the basement isn’t factored into the square footage, but it sits on slightly less that two acres of land. When we looked at it with the real estate agent, we fell in love with it. At the time, even Kiera had cracked a smile. Now that the reality of leaving and not returning to the place we called home for so many years has kicked in she’s lashing out. I, on the other hand, am actually excited at the prospect of a new beginning. Not popular by any means, I was virtually invisible in school. With a student population that exceeded four thousand and a principal and vice principal per grade level trying to police such an enormous crowd, school was never a place I felt comfortable in the least. To the contrary, I felt perpetually lost. I wasn’t a small fish in a big pond. I was a fleck of sand in a vast sea, never noticed. Never relevant or important to anyone. Sure, I had one or two guys I played basketball with at the court two blocks from the apartment, but they were little more than acquaintances. I never even felt the need to say goodbye to them. Kiera, on the other hand, was enjoying an entirely different experience in high school. Popular with everyone from the athletes to the debate team to the stoners, she was universally accepted and adored. It’s hard to believe anyone could tolerate her for more than ten minutes and not strangle her. At best she’s unpleasant. At worst she insufferable. It’s a mystery to me that she was as well-liked as she was. But I’m sure the side of her my mom and I see differs dramatically from what she shows others. Which one is the real Kiera? Well, I suppose the jury is still out on that one, though I suspect she’s neither. Regardless, I fully understand why she’d resist moving. She actually has a life she’s leaving behind. For me it’s a fresh start, a hope that all the madness that’s accompanied me after the shooting, will dissipate, that I will be me again, or better. I don’t want to feel the strange pull again. I don’t want to find myself wandering in strange neighborhoods by car or on foot. I want a normal life, want a chance at enjoying the latter part of my teenage years. I can only hope that’s why I was drawn to this location, that instinctively, a part of me knows I can have a normal life here. I hope that was the draw, at least.

After driving a few more miles, we find ourselves in the heart of Patterson. Quaint shops line either side of the road and iron lampposts painted black and with large frosted glass bulbs are interspersed at regular intervals. It’s beautiful, peaceful. The town looks likes it’s been pulled from the pages of a greeting card.

“Wow, isn’t this the cutest town?” My mother slows the car so that we’re doing little more than rolling at this point. She gawks out her window at a scene so idyllic it could’ve been a set from a 1960s television show.

“Yeah, Mom, it’s fabulous.” My sister’s tone drips with sarcasm. She twists in her seat and looks at the few people milling about. She points to a couple. “Oh my gosh, you’ve got to be kidding me! He’s wearing overalls and she’s wearing a scrunchie. And they have like four teeth between them,” she exclaims before she repositions herself and faces forward. Scowling, she continues like a crabby four-year-old. “I can’t believe it. What is school going to be like?” she asks rhetorically, as if fashion is somehow an indicator of a person’s worth.

“Knock it off, Kiera!” My mom’s head whips around. She glares at my sister, pale eyes boring into her in warning. “The school will be filled with normal people just like you.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to remind my mother that neither Kiera nor I are normal in the least. But given the death stare my mother is launching my sister’s way, I hold my tongue.

My sister rolls her eyes exaggeratedly while my mom drives to the end of the street. Nearby and taking up a small section of sidewalk as she stands not far from a traffic light, an old woman with lengths of bedraggled gray hair, ashen skin and gnarled fingers stands. She wears what looks like a sandwich board on her chest and appears to be screaming something, though what she’s screaming is inaudible with the windows up and the air conditioning on. Still her face is contorted, her brow low and her eyes narrowed to angry slashes. Ropey veins in her neck bulge from strain and spittle sprays from her lips. The sight of her, the vehemence with which she expresses herself, sends a chill trailing down my spine.

Gaze vacillating between the roadway and the woman, my mother studies both with keen interest. “Her behavior seems out of place, don’t you think?”

I’m tempted to say, “That’s an understatement!” but I don’t for fear of sounding exactly like my sister. Instead I mumble, “uh-huh” and bob my head like a moron, my utterance interrupted by Kiera’s sharp comment.

“Out of place! Really? Ya think?” Derision oozes from her like pus from a festering wound. My mother’s head whips around, her eyes flashing with warning. Kiera rears her head slightly, backing off, but still says, “Sorry, but this place just keeps getting better and better.” She throws her hands in the air and allows them to slap against her lap when they land to punctuate her point.

My mother purses her lips and shakes her head slowly as we roll past the woman shouting, and as we do I’m able to read the words scrawled on the boards. It reads: They walk among us. They are here. Your children aren’t safe. They are being murdered. The last word is larger and written in all capital letters. All of them are scribbled in a deep rusty red that resembles blood. I shudder, the words corkscrewing into a profound part of me I cannot name, have yet to identify. When my gaze lifts from the woman’s board to her face, I am met with piercing eyes the color of rich soil. They are trained on us, on me. Entranced, I cannot look away. I try, try to look past her, beside her, look to the sky, to the ground, anywhere but at her, but I can’t. The only interruption comes in the form of my sister huffing exaggeratedly.

The car is immediately filled with the rasp of a voice that lashes like a whip, stinging and burning in its tone. “They walk among us!”

“Roll up the window, now, Kiera!” my mother shouts. The traffic light overhead and in the distance turns yellow. My mother stomps down on the gas pedal in hopes of beating the light. Kiera jumps, her head snapping back at the rapid acceleration, but her finger flies to the button to raise the window. I’ve never seen my sister so rattled, or my mother for that matter, not since I died.

Forced to stop at a traffic light that turns red, my mother begrudgingly brakes, tires screeching in protest. The old woman descends on the car, moving with speed and agility that betrays her fragile appearance. Frail fists begin pounding the car and suddenly, the woman’s horrid face fills the frame of the rear window. Eyes wild and darting and face twisted in rage, her breath fogs the glass. I instinctively jerk backward, away from her. She looks crazed, like a witch from my worst childhood nightmares. “It isn’t safe in this town! You shouldn’t have come here!” she screams. She eyes the luggage strapped to the roof and knows we’re moving here. “They’re killing our children! They walk among us! Go back, you aren’t safe!” She screams so loud, a lightning bolt shaped vein protrudes from the center of her forehead. Her panic, her dread, is palpable. It explodes from her, detonating like a shrapnel throwing bomb, releasing fragments that burrow into my skin and enter my bloodstream like shards of glass.

“She’s crazy!” My mother’s voice is shrill and unlike I’ve ever heard it. The light turns green and she guns the engine, kicking up and spraying small bits of gravel. We speed away, leaving the screaming woman behind. As soon as we’re a safe distance from her, my sister turns in her chair and faces me. “What the heck was that?” she asks. Worry etches her features and her tone has lost its usual edge. Her gaze flickers between the woman in the road still shouting and carrying on and my mom and I.

“I have no idea but that was . . . creepy. Crazy.” My mother’s voice sounds distant and disturbed. It does little to quiet the storm clouds swirling and brewing within my brain.

“She was crazy,” I say absently to support my mother. But in the cavernous hollows of my being, I sense that there was more to what the woman was spouting, that she wasn’t insane, and that her words were driven by something far more insightful. I get the feeling that life in Patterson will be anything but normal.

WAKING WITH A START with a fine sheen of sweat coating my skin, I sit bolt upright. My eyes darting from left to right, sweeping the room and searching every corner of it. Far bigger than my old one, my new room is barely filled by small furniture that once dwarfed everything around it. The apartment was cramped, tiny really, especially given that there were three of us living there. This new house we’ve rented is anything but cramped. To the contrary, it’s spacious in every way. Open space dominates, both inside and out. I’m unaccustomed to so much room, in all honesty. Devoid of neighbors surrounding me on all sides, I feel strange, oddly vulnerable even. All my life, I’ve lived with neighbors on either sides, above me and below me. And I’ve never had a yard, big or small. Here, we have a patio and grass as far as I can see beyond it. Culture shock doesn’t scratch the surface of what I’m experiencing, particularly when I lay in bed last night. Used to the wail of sirens and the incessant honk of horns, the buzz of crickets over the layer of thick silence was almost more that I could bear. Between that and the fact that I was anxious about my first day in a new school today, I was barely able to fall asleep, and when I did, naturally I was plagued by nightmares. Nothing new there. That’s my new normal.

Setting nightmares aside for the moment, I swing my legs over and climb out of bed. I quickly shower, brush my teeth and dress then head to the kitchen. As soon as I step out of the bathroom, the steamy scent of soap and toothpaste is replaced by the smell of bacon and eggs frying. Following the hallway to a flight of steps, I trot down them and round a corner into the kitchen.

“Oh perfect, sweetie!” My mom is standing in front of the stove, hovering over a frying pan. The hiss and sizzle of bacon grease is a comforting sound.

“Morning, Mom,” I say and take a few steps toward her. “What’s going on over here?” I point to the bacon and eggs.

Tilting her head to one side, she says, “I wanted to make sure you had a good breakfast before your first day at a new school.”

“Yeah, you’ll need all the energy you can get for your sad attempt to make friends.” I hear Kiera before I see her. She sits at a small rectangular table tucked in an alcove of the kitchen just behind my mother.

“Good morning to you, too, Sis. What’s the matter, you woke up on the wrong side of your coffin this morning?” I walk past my mom and snag a piece of bacon from a paper towel lined plate. “Don’t worry, with any luck, Mom will run over a squirrel on the way to school and you’ll be feeling better again.

“Spit is out, genius.” My sister rolls her eyes. “Use your big boy words. Sounds like . . .” she rolls her hand forward. Her words, tone and gesture all drip with condescension. I shoot her a nasty look and she throws her head back and laughs. “Ooh, that’s intimidating,” she mocks.

I ignore her, a feat that’s nearly impossible, then turn to my mother. “How’d you see her flip me the bird? Your back was to us.”

“Hmm, I guess it’s just mommy magic,” she replies cryptically. “Mommy magic,” a term she coined when my sister and I were little, led us to believe she could hear all, see all, and occasionally make chocolate kisses appear from thin air onto the kitchen counter top after we took a lap around the living room and dining room. She looks over her shoulder and winks at us.

My mother spins and glares at Kiera. “Enough.” Though she’s only spoken a single word, that one word shivers with warning. Her gaze meets my sister’s and my sister immediately drops her eyes to her lap. My mother doesn’t look away immediately. She allows the weight of her stare to linger for a few beats before she returns her attention to cooking. Using her spatula, she flips an egg then removes it and places it on a plate. “So I was watching the local news this morning and I think I know what that crazy, screaming lady wearing the signs around her neck was so worked up about.”

I wait for her to elaborate. When she doesn’t right away, I say, “Oh yeah, what was she worked up about?”

“Well, it’s probably the same reason this town jumped out at you.” My mother’s words land like a slap to my cheek. How does she know I was drawn to this town? How does she know it fairly jumped off the map at me?

I pause, lips parted and mouth suddenly dry. I shake my head after several seconds, snapping out of the stunned trance I fell into. Feeling eyes on me, I slide a sidelong glance Kiera’s way. Her upper lip is curled and she looks as though she’s smelled an offensive odor. “You’re so weird,” she snarls.

Still resembling a deer caught in oncoming headlights I’m sure, I look away from her and turn to my mother. “What? Why do you think that?” I fumble.

Spinning with her hands on her hips, my mother whirls on her, anger flashing in her eyes. “Shut up now, Kiera!”

Shocked that my mother has not only raised her voice but also came dangerously close to swearing, Kiera’s eyes widen and her mouth snaps shut. Part of me wants nothing more than to toss my head back and laugh my behind off, but I don’t. What would be the point? All it would do is worsen an already bad situation. It would incite my sister and guaranteed me a heap of insults and aggravation later.

Composed once again, my mother faces me. “This town likely struck you because it’s been all over the news. There have been six suicides here in the last four months. All girls.” She pauses and makes a clucking sound with her tongue. “It’s terrible, so sad and just terrible.” She shakes her head. “I’m sure a lot of the kids in your new school are still going to be very upset.”

Allowing all that she’s said to process, I study the fleur-de-lis pattern in the linoleum flooring. I vaguely remember hearing about suicides in a small upstate town. Perhaps that is why it leaped off the page at me. Perhaps it wasn’t the manifestation of a new sixth sense of sorts. “Now that you mention it, I did see something about it on the news when it first happened. I didn’t realize it was Patterson, though.”

“I knew it,” Kiera mutters under her breath and then huffs. “You picked the unhappiest hayseed town on earth for us to live in. Thanks.”

My mother shoots her a look then resumes her conversation. “Getting back to the woman yesterday, I just don’t understand why she’d be spouting that our children are in danger, that they aren’t safe. It’s not like suicide is contagious or anything.”

“Uh, hello, she was nuts,” Kiera says. Her cheeks instantly blaze a deep pink when my mother’s head whips in her direction.

“Lose the attitude now, do you understand me?” All warmth drains from my mom’s demeanor. She’s all business.

Kiera’s shoulders hunch forward a bit and she watches my mother through her lashes, silenced for the time being. Little more is said beside the expected chitchat about beginning a new school year at a new school. We eat our breakfast then hop into my mother’s SUV for an uncommon ride to school. We approach the brick building and pull toward a green dome beneath which students can be dropped off and go directly inside through the front entrance.

Kiera sighs. “I’m a senior, that’s why.” Embarrassment is plain on her face.

“Well maybe if you hadn’t failed your road test three times you could drive yourself and be spared the embarrassment of being seen with you mother,” my mom teases and assumes a similar tone of voice to Kiera when she’s huffing and grumbling.

I know failing her road test is a sore spot for Kiera. She went into it assuming she’d pass with flying colors and be on the road enjoying the freedom associated with driving. But when she was unable to pass not once, not twice, but three times, her assumptions as well as her hopes and dreams of freedom flew out the window with all the grace of a drunken bird. I plan to get my learner’s permit this week and then set up my road test as soon as possible. I don’t have any delusions about passing. If I do, I do. If I don’t, I’ll ask my mom to keep practicing with me and eventually I’ll get it. It’s not like I have a bullpen of friends waiting for me to cart them around who don’t already have their licenses. I’m getting it for me, and me alone, pretty much.

My mom stops her CRV beneath an arced green roof and my sister and I climb out after exchanging goodbyes with Mom. Kiera marches ahead, determined to not be seen near me or our mother’s vehicle. I, on the other hand, saunter in. After all, I’m not in any hurry to start a new school year, especially since I’ve never liked school.

Once inside, I notice kids milling about at their lockers and in the hallway. They don’t look different from the ones at my previous school. I cursorily scan their faces to try to gauge them, to get a sense of what they’re about and why I was draw to this town. I have trouble buying that I heard the name on the news and unconsciously gravitated toward it, though I’d like nothing more than for that to be true. But as I look to my immediate right and see the main office, a sensation stirs deep in my gut that the reason for me selecting this town lies somewhere in this building.

After entering the office and receiving my course schedule and locker information from a plump receptionist with an easy smile and an accommodating disposition, I begin making note of the lockers that line the wall, searching for the six hundreds, as mine is number six hundred twenty three.

While I study the lockers, I notice that other students study me. Being scrutinized is an uncomfortable feeling I’d have thought would have diminished after being observed by every person with a white lab coat or scrubs in the hospital. But it hasn’t. Here, in this new school that’s so much smaller than my old I would swear that the whole of the building would only constitute my grade there, everyone interacts as if they’ve known each other forever. Chins are clipped and fists are bumped in acknowledgement as well as warm verbal greetings and hugs that involve at least one female. In my old school, unless you were my sister or a drug dealer, you weren’t getting a fist bump and certainly not a hug.

Reeling from the dramatic differences as well as the pang of regret that strikes me when I realize that instead of being rejected on a large but detached scale I’ll be rejected on a smaller, more intimate scale, I spot my locker. I spin the dial on the lock and try the combination. I breathe a sigh of relief when I unlock it on the first try and, standing with the door open and shielding me, I review my schedule for the day. I glimpse movement in my periphery and look away from the piece of paper in my hand. Beside me is a boy who’s my height, maybe a bit taller, and much heavier than me. He looks over at me. His eyes are a shade of blue so dark they resemble denim, and his skin appears freshly scrubbed to the point of being red. “Hey.” He tips his chin. “New?”

He thrusts a meaty hand my way. “My name’s Tom. Just moved here myself at the end of last school year.” Tom smiles, a warm, open smile.

Tom nods. “Yeah. Got here in April just before spring break.” He blows out a big breath. “What a nightmare that was!” He rubs the back of his neck and closes his eyes as he shakes his head. “Everybody knows everybody’s business here, know what I mean?”

“I came from a big district. Large classes. Huge graduating class. But my dad got relocated here, so we went where his job sent us.” Tom glances at the kids passing. “It doesn’t suck completely. But it’s different, very different than my old school.” He returns his attention to me then begins pulling books from his locker. “What about you, man? What’s your story?”

I run my hand through the front of my hair then jam my hands in the front pockets of my jeans. “Uh, nothing exciting, ya know, similar story as yours.” I clear my throat, the fact that I told a partial truth irking me. “Except for the part about relocating. My mom’s a nurse down in Westchester. She has a long commute now.”

Tom laughs and says, “Oh man, that sucks for her. Why’d you move all the way up here if her job is down there?”

Rocking back and forth slightly from the balls of my feet to my heels, my lips compress to form a line as I carefully consider how to word my answer so that I minimize the lying. “Well, it’s much safer up here, that’s for sure. We were close to the city and things were getting crazy as far as crime and stuff like that is concerned.” I lead off with the obvious. Granted, it’s a grotesque understatement considering I was a victim of a violent crime, guess it would’ve been murder if I’d have stayed dead and all. But I didn’t. And here I am. Of course, I leave all that out.

“And then there’s the money thing.” Both of my brows lift and my eyes widen to punctuate my point. Tom mirrors my expression and suddenly I feel as if we are a pair of old men commiserating on the awful ways of the world. “Living up here is cheaper. We rented a whole house for what we paid to rent a tiny apartment in my old neighborhood.”

“Nice.” Tom seems genuinely happy for my new situation. It’s strange but not unwelcome. I’ve just never met anyone—least of all a teenager—as friendly and open as Tom is. I’m not sure what to make of him so I allow an awkward silence to fill the space between us. As it does, I feel the weight of eyes upon me. I look around, scanning the faces in the immediate vicinity. Immediately, sea foam green eyes peer out from skin a rich tan color. They clash with mine, pinning me in place. Far taller than me and tattooed from his wrists up to the hem of his T shirt sleeve, his demeanor is far older than what I presume his age is, and something about him unsettles me to my core. I begin to wonder whether he is the reason I was drawn here.

Tom scratches his chin. “I don’t know many people, but I know of him. That’s Luke. Luke Carmichael. He’s a strange dude. Doesn’t say a word to anybody. Ever.”

I try to discreetly look back over at Luke in hopes that his attention has been diverted elsewhere. But it hasn’t. In fact, if it’s at all possible, he’s staring at me more intently. He refuses to look away, like we’re embroiled in some kind of staring contest. Thoroughly discomfited, I look away. He wins, I guess. I turn to Tom once again. “Don’t look up right away, but the guy hasn’t stopped staring at me. It’s creeping me out,” I say in a low voice.

Tome shrugs his broad, beefy shoulders. “Maybe he likes you.” His expression is deadpan for a fraction of a moment then an easy smile spreads across his face. He casually looks over his shoulder in Luke’s direction only to find him gone. “Guess he didn’t like you that much.”

“He bolted, so I’m guessing you’re not the one for him.” Tom chuckles heartily. “Sorry, sweetheart. Guess you’ll have to find someone else.”

“Shut up.” I punch him in the arm as if we’ve been friends for years when in reality it has been less than ten minutes. “Where’d he go?”

“I’m guessing he went to class. Jeez, dude, you’ve got it bad for him.” Tom shakes his head and sighs exaggeratedly.

“Trust me, he’s not my type. I like girls.” I turn my head left then right and as the words leave my mouth, my breathing snags, catching in my chest as my stomach bottoms out and feels as if it’s teeming with butterflies all beating their wings at once. There, three lockers away, is perhaps the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Pale blonde hair spills past her shoulders and hangs to the middle of her back and translucent blue eyes gaze at me from behind lashes darkened by makeup. Rosebud lips turn upward into a smile, and for a moment, I swear I have no idea where I am or what I’m doing. Parched all of a sudden, I croak out the words, “Who’s that?”

Tom follows the trajectory of my eyes. “Ahh, that’s Sarah. Sarah Miller. That’s the only other first and last name I know in this building. Everyone knows her name.”

Feeling heat creep up from my collar and coloring my cheeks, I turn and close my locker. While I fumble with my locker, a sweet, melodic voice reaches out with silken skin and caresses the shell of my ear. “Hi, I’m Sarah. First day here?” Standing within arm’s length, notes of vanilla and caramel waft toward me, intoxicating me. I want to speak but can’t seem to find words, or my voice for that matter. “This is the part when you tell me your name.” She giggles. Her tone is neither condescending nor arrogant.

“Danny,” I blurt and sound like a moron. “My name’s Danny. Danny Callahan.”

“Danny.” She says my name and on her lips it is a benediction. “Hi Danny.” She tilts her head to one side, her dulcet voice giving me the chills. “This is my friend Jenny.”

“Hey Jenny,” I say but Jenny doesn’t reply. She rolls her eyes and looks away disinterestedly. I part my lips, mustering the courage to ask what class she has first period, when a loud group of guys comes barreling down the hall. Clad in football jerseys, they command a considerable amount of attention, high-fiving and fist bumping most of the people they pass. They stop here and there, acting as if they’re gracing other students with their presence. One among them, the tallest and best looking, seems to lead the pack. Dirty blonde hair gelled in place just so sits above light brown eyes. He smiles often, revealing deep dimples in both cheeks. Wide shoulders taper to a narrow waist and arms as thick as my thighs are barely hidden by a jersey meant to be baggy in that area. He trains his gaze on Sarah and makes a beeline for her. Hot sparks of jealousy snap to life inside me as he approaches.

“Hey Sarah! How was your summer?” he asks and flashes even teeth that resemble Chicklets.

“Fine, Chris. How was yours?” she replies, and I can’t help but notice that her voice is clipped. Did I imagine it? Is it wishful thinking? I wonder.

“My summer would’ve been so much better if I’d have gotten to see you.” Chris licks his lips and smiles confidently. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge me or Tom, or even Jenny. He focuses on Sarah instead. “You didn’t come to any parties.” His tone is whiney, cloying.

“Yeah I was busy,” Sarah replies coolly. She pats my shoulder unexpectedly and says, “This is Danny. It’s his first day of school.”

Golden brown eyes look upon me with disdain, as if I’m a bug he’d just as soon squash under his expensive sneakers. “Good for him,” he mumbles as his gaze returns to her. “What do you have first period?” he asks her the question I wanted to ask. But before she can answer, the bell rings and several of the friends Chris walks the halls with start talking, distracting him and leading him away from us thankfully.

As soon as he’s gone, Sarah says, “We’d better get going.” Jenny nods. “It was nice meeting you, Danny.” Sarah smiles and my heart skips a beat. She turns and walks away and I turn to face my locker, resting my forehead on the cool metal and silently cursing myself for being so inept with girls. The moment my skin touches the metal, Sarah’s voice rings in my ear. I whip around, thinking I’m surely dreaming that I heard her call my name. “See you later.” Her words are more of a question than a statement, which sends my pulse into overdrive.

“You bet,” I reply, knowing fully that I sounded like a dork. But I don’t care. Something about her causes goose bumps to arise on my flesh, for chills to race up and down my spine. I chance dreaming that she’s the reason I was drawn here. I can only hope she is.

THE FIRST FOUR CLASSES of my day are nothing short of torturous. I don’t know what’s worse, the actual workload and boring lectures that accompany it or enduring the embarrassment of being introduced in each and every class as the new student. I don’t like attention drawn to me. I prefer to fly below the radar and exist in the safety zone of obscurity. Sure, I’ve daydreamed of being popular, of being the guy who’s classmates hang on his every word, the one who commands complete attention, but the reality of it is that I’m not that guy. And those circumstances would never work for me. I’m not that person. I’m just Danny Callahan, the boy who’s existed in a sort of high school limbo so long I wouldn’t know what to do otherwise.

Recalling how at ease Chris was as he strutted down the hallway, heads turning to watch each step he took, I realize I’d never be comfortable in my own skin in his position. I couldn’t see myself soaking up the limelight as he did. Lucky for me because if history is an indicator of what’s to come, I won’t have to worry about limelight dodging any time soon. I was practically invisible in my old school. I guess invisibility has its benefits.

I wish I’d been invisible in a literal sense about forty-five minutes ago when Mr. Lambert had me stand at my desk and tell the class a bit about myself. The lanky social studies teacher whose glasses refuse to stay positioned on the bridge of his nose and whose voice is about as soothing as the whine of a chainsaw urged me to “share” and help the class “get a feel for Danny.” Heat snapped up my neck and colored my cheeks crimson. Not a good look for a guy my age, that’s for sure. I cleared my throat several times and shifted my weight from one leg to another with my hands jammed in both front pockets of my jeans, uncomfortable in a way I couldn’t describe if I tried. I told them I’m from Yonkers, told them I went to a school ten times the size of this one. My pathetic attempt at sharing was met by a few yawns and a general sense of disinterest. To compensate, Mr. Lambert clapped his hands in front of his chest and replied, “Ooh, Yonkers!” as if I’d just told him I grew up on a tropical island. Thankfully, he only made a couple of comments thereafter then dropped it. He moved on to his lesson plan and started class officially. That was a long forty-five minutes ago. And during that seemingly interminable period of time that rivaled watching paint dry in the excitement department, I learned that my little spiel was the most stimulating part of class. It’s sad and kind of scary when I think about it. One corner of my mouth tilts upward into a lopsided smile as I chuckle to myself. The soft sound I make is drowned by the peal of an electronic bell. It marks the end of history class. According to my course schedule, lunch is my next class. The collective sound of books being shut and backpacks being grabbed fills the small classroom. Over it, the teacher attempts to give a reading assignment, raising his nasal voice to a painful pitch. I swear I’m the only one who hears him and the only one who bothers to write down the pages we’re supposed to read. Everyone else makes their way to the door as quickly as they can. I’m not in a hurry like they are. Probably because this is my first time in a new school and I’m headed to a new cafeteria. New cafeterias present new problems, namely not having anyone to eat with. Granted, I didn’t have a table full of friends who’d slide over or save me a seat like my sister had, but I did have familiar faces I’d seek out. Not quite friends, they were acquaintances, people with whom I could share a laugh about a teacher or gripe about an assignment. I don’t have that here, not yet at least.

Reluctantly, I stand and slide my books into my backpack then sling it over my shoulder. I tuck in my chair then exit the classroom. “So nice to meet you Danny from Yonkers.” Mr. Lambert calls out to me just as I step over the threshold and am out in the hallway. Following the scent of food and the general flow of traffic, I make my way to the cafeteria. I get in line and eye the selection of food available only to find a much better variety than what I’m accustomed to. To my delight, I’m able to order a bacon cheeseburger that actually looks like a bacon cheeseburger, not horsemeat, and French fries. I grab a chocolate milk, pay then head out to where round tables are set up, eight chairs at each. The roar of conversation fills the air. Staccato laughter, belches and music from an iPod rises and falls. My eyes sweep from left to right, searching for an empty table. All are filled. The sinking feeling that I’ll be eating in the back parking lot alone begins to corkscrew through my belly. I spot my sister. Not surprisingly, she’s seated with a groups of people holding court. I make eye contact with her, pleading silently to let me join her and her new friends. Without missing a beat in whatever story she’s regaling the group with, she shakes her head, wordlessly telling me to look elsewhere—anywhere but next to her.

Kiera’s are-you-kidding-me expression doesn’t surprise me yet still manages to disappoint me as I navigate the labyrinth of tables and people. When I give up on finding a table and am about to step through a pair of wooden doors, a voice calls out.

Stopping, I turn and take a quick glance over my shoulder, certain the Danny being summoned isn’t me.

I turn and scan the room and see Tom waving a thick arm at me. He appears to be inviting me to join him and a few other guys he’s sitting with. Relieved, I make my way toward them. As soon as I get there and slip into a chair, Tom introduces me to his friends. “Danny, this is Mike, Steve and Pete.”

“What’s up? I’m Danny,” I say to them. The peasantries aren’t drawn out and before long, a conversation about the Spanish teacher’s breath becomes the hot topic of discussion. But as soon as I realize Sarah is sitting at the table beside us, on the end and so close to me I can smell her perfume, bad breath and Spanish teachers fall to the wayside of my attention span. Heart racing so fast it makes me slightly lightheaded, I wonder why I’m feeling as I do. I’ve been around girls before, even went on a few dates here and there. But I never felt as I do now, queasy and breathless, nervous and as excited as a kid on Christmas morning. I wonder if this is yet another strange development that stems from my return from death.

“So Danny, have you heard about what’s been happening here?” Tom’s voice is a slap to the back of my head that forces me to return my attention to the guys at my table.

Mike looks at me incredulously before Tom continues. “The six suicides committed by students here at Patterson High.”

A sorrow-filled hush befalls our small group. I wet my lips and say with regret, “Yeah, I saw something about it on the news.” My voice is low and respectful.

Pete leans in conspiratorially. “Rumor has it those kids were tangled up in some sort of satanic cult and that more are joining. They think more suicides are coming.”

I have no idea who the “they” is that he refers to but I assume that as is the case in most rumor-driven circumstances, “they” are unreliable at best and likely uninformed. Still, my mind instantly reverts to the woman who wore the boards and shouted at my mother, my sister and I as we pulled into town. “That must be what that lady on the street was yelling about,” I mumble and think no one heard. But when all heads swivel in my direction and Tom asks, “What woman?” I realize I mumbled a bit too loud. I quickly tell them what happened. Mike, Pete, Steve and Tom are rapt, eyes wide and mouths agape. When I finish, the word “dude” is expelled several times in varying degrees of surprise and distress.

Their conviction is so complete, so sincere, I can’t help but wonder whether there’s any validity to the cult theory. After all, far stranger things have happened. I’m living proof of that.

“I bet the news report didn’t say that four of the suicides were committed at the old Hanson Mansion, did it?” Pete leans in even farther and no further mention of the old woman is made.

“The Hanson Mansion?” I quirk a brow and regard them curiously. After several beats and several furtive glances pass between them, I debate asking whether I’m supposed to just know what they’re talking about or whether they intend to tell me.

Tom fills his lungs to the point of puffing out his barrel chest then exhales loudly. The act, though a bit theatrical, is laden with tension. “The Hanson Mansion is an old abandoned house that’s supposedly haunted. It’s been said that Satan worshippers hold meetings there, séances and animal sacrifices and all, and that they have started killing themselves in ritualistic suicides as some kind of offering.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head slowly. When he opens them, they are glazed and distant. He scratches his chin then refocuses. “It’s some seriously messed up stuff.” He interlaces his fingers behind his head, his generous biceps bulging and flexing. “We’re planning to break in there tonight and check things out, you know, have a look around and see what we find.”

In my head, I’m screaming, “Uh, yeah that’s what the police are for! And they’ve done it already!” Of course, I don’t utter a word that my brain screams.

“Umm, yeah, sure,” I reply against every cell in my body that shrieks in protest. Trouble has a way of finding me of late. Going and essentially seeking it out doesn’t strike me as a good idea in the least. In truth, it freaks me out to go where people are calling upon evil, worshipping it and hoping to be infused with it. An icy chill traces my spine like a spindly finger of Death. I try to ignore it, try to pretend I’m enthused about it.

I’m busy bobbing my head in acknowledgement of what I’m supposed to wear and bring when a female voice so pleasant to my ears it makes my scalp shrink and feel two sizes too small interrupts the conversation.

“Did you guys say you’re going to the Hanson Mansion?” Sarah’s bright eyes hold me in place, temporarily stealing the breath from my lungs.

“Yes,” I barely manage and hope she doesn’t hear my breathlessness or the pounding of my heart.

Gripping the sides of her green, plastic tray, she stands and walks toward us. She pulls out the chair beside me and sits. “I heard what you were saying before you know.” Her brows lower and there’s an edge to her voice. “Lisa wasn’t into that crap. She wasn’t a devil worshipper.” She picks up a carrot stick from her tray and chomps down on it, chewing furiously. But I see that her eyes shine with emotion. She is in pain, and her pain causes a pang in my chest so pronounced I nearly double over. I want to reach out to her, to wrap my arm around her shoulder and draw her near. I can’t explain it, can’t understand it even. I just met her. She’s one of many girls at my new school. It doesn’t make sense at all. I’ve met plenty of girls through the years and never felt as I feel when I’m around her.

“Oh man, I’m sorry, Sarah. I know she was your friend.” He blushes deeply. “I’m just telling them what I heard.”

“She was my best friend,” Sarah corrects, and the faint tremor in her voice causes a faint tremor in my heart. “I knew her better than anyone else.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I knew she was excited about her date with Joe and then two nights later . . .” Her voice trails off. No one speaks. And I hold my breath. Her eyes open and a single teardrop slips down her porcelain cheek. “She was a happy person, so positive and excited about life, about everything. She’d never kill herself. I know it.”

The air grows charged, laden with hurt that’s palpable. A minute passes before Tom says in a soft, almost apologetic tone, “Maybe Joe canceled. Maybe they had a fight and she got depressed.”

An unnamed emotion flashes in Sarah’s eyes. I see rage. I see hurt. But I also see strength and compassion. “She was a happy person, and popular, and beautiful. A canceled date wouldn’t have cut her down enough to end her life.” The certainty in her voice tolls like a bell, rich and clear. “Besides, I talked to Joe. He was devastated about her death. He really liked her.”

Tom holds up his hands in mock surrender, his cheeks turn pink and his demeanor sheepish. “We’re going to that mansion tonight and if what you’re saying is true—and I believe it is—you should come with us, look around for yourself,” he says.

Four sets of eyes turn on me, Tom and the rest of the boys at the table with me are surprised but not nearly as shocked as I am.

Sarah chews her lower lip and considers my offer. “I want to go,” she announces. “Maybe I’ll see something no one else saw or see something that only makes sense to me. I don’t know, but I’m going.”

“Sarah, I’m sure the police have been over that place again and again and have taken out anything that’s relevant to the case.” He cocks his head to one side, speaking to her with brotherly affection. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up is all I’m saying.”

“Whatever.” She waves a hand in front of her. “I’m going no matter what. What time?”

My heart flutters but I feel the press of eyes bearing down on me. I search the cafeteria for the culprit and am immediately met by a keen, pale-green gaze. Tattooed arms folded across his broad chest, Luke Carmichael watches me intently. And in the seconds that our gazes clash, I am certain in a way that resonates deep in my marrow that I’ve been drawn to Patterson, to this school, for a very specific reason, one I plan to unearth as soon as possible.

EXCITEMENT TRILLS THROUGH my body like a mini adrenaline rush. Smiling so hard my cheeks hurt, I race through the front door, dropping my backpack and stopping at the long narrow table positioned in the hallway. I drop my keys in the small ceramic dish that sits beside an arrangement of faded silk flowers and catch my breath before heading straight for the living room. I’m relieved to be home from a school day that lasted more than six hours but felt as if it flew by in ten blurry minutes. Flashes of classes and conversations whiz through my brain. So many were had, but only one stands out in my brain: my interaction with Sarah at lunch today. Belly feeling as if it’s filled with a hive of bees buzzing at once I picture her face, her pale skin and luminous eyes a shade of ice-blue so striking my breathing snags in my chest just thinking of them, and her lips, plump, pink lips parted as they smile at me. Though we didn’t talk long, I felt a connection to her, a sensation completely foreign to me. I can’t pinpoint what it was exactly, and I must be delusional or something because at one point I let myself believe she felt it too. I’m sure I imagined it, sure it was just me dusting off my highest hopes. After all, she’s the prettiest girl at school, and likely the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, which makes her way out of my league. The most popular boy in school is chasing her, for goodness’ sake. How can I compete with that? Everyone knows guys like Chris, popular and complete with his own group of devoted followers, are the kind of guys who end up with girls like Sarah, not guys like me. This realization sends my heart in a freefall from my chest to my feet. I’m nothing like Chris. Heck, I’ve never even kissed a girl. I’m certain he’s done more than kiss his fair share of girls. Not me. I’m of the more pathetic variety. Perpetually uncomfortable around girls, I’ve always been more of a bystander to the whole arena of relationships. This is a direct result of my general lack of ease around them and their general lack of interest in me. The two working in tandem explains my complete lack of experience with the opposite sex.

Mulling all of this over does little to bolster my confidence as well as doing a number on what little self-confidence I possess. The ridiculous grin I wore all day falters. I try to bolster it with the fact that I made some new friends. That counts for something. That ought to ease the blow my negative self-talk dealt me. But any thoughts of Tom, Mike, Pete and Steve brings me right back to the lunch table and right back to Sarah. Closing my eyes for a split-second I inhale deeply. I recall the distinct scent of her perfume, the sweet and alluring vanilla and caramel notes, and my stomach flops like a fish on dry land.

“Ugh, you’re such a freak!” Kiera’s voice cuts through the stillness of the house and is about as pleasant a sound as nails dragging across a chalkboard. She beat me home so I assume she received a ride home from a friend she made today.

“Hello to you too, sis.” My eyes snap open and find her perched on the arm of the loveseat.

She reaches for the remote and turns on the television, ignoring me for the time being in favor of channel surfing. When she settles on a talk show where guests are shouting while jabbing pointed fingers in one another’s faces, she looks over her shoulder at me. “I saw you sitting with that girl, Sarah.” She rolls her eyes.

“Yeah. So?” I shrug and stuff both hands in the front pockets of my jeans. A rush of warmth steals up my neck and spreads across my cheeks.

Narrowing her eyes, Kiera studies me briefly. Her features relax suddenly and she tosses her head back and laughs. “Oh my gosh.” Her words barely make it past her lips.

“What?” I ask as a hot spark of anger burns through me. “What’s so funny, Kiera?”

“No I don’t,” I say and attempt to overcompensate with false conviction in my voice.

She sees right through it and laughs even harder. “Oh wow. That’s rich!” She wipes the corners of her eyes. “Keep dreaming if you think she’d ever give you a shot.”

I grind my molars so hard the enamel threatens to splinter. A comeback eludes me. Especially one without four-letter words involved.

Apparently, I’m not doing a very good job of concealing my anger because Kiera laughs even harder. “C’mon, you aren’t that dumb, are you?”

I answer her with staunch silence. “She’s the most popular girl in your grade, probably the school. Even seniors want to date her. I’ve only been there one day and I know that. So please, little brother, take your head out of your butt and know you don’t have a chance.”

Trembling with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance, I gnash out a few sentences. “I don’t have a thing for her. We talked a couple of times. She’s nice.”

“That’s all well and good, but just know you have about as much of a chance of landing her as I do of landing Ryan Gosling.” Her laughter continues. “And even then I still have a better chance than you.” Each chuckle is like the peppering of automatic gunfire.

“Get lost!” I fire back. “All of a sudden you can talk to me now, is that how it works?” The memory of her snubbing me in the cafeteria when I thought I’d be eating by myself in the parking lot flashes through my veins like bolts of lightning.

“Yes! That’s exactly how it works!” she explodes in a shrill voice. “What, you think I’d be caught dead sitting with you, an underclassman and my younger brother, on the first day of school? You really are dumb.”

No matter how mean I try to be, she’s always meaner. And for that reason, I’ll never win a fight with her. She stands, glares at me then stomps off to her room, punctuating her huffy departure with a slam of her door. I remain where I am for several moments, enjoying her absence and picking up the shreds of my self-esteem she left intact before I shuffle into the living room and plop on the couch. I heave a sigh and switch the channel to a game show, delighted that I can look at the screen without paying too much attention. My attention span is spotty today at best. Thoughts of long, wavy blonde hair and eyes so blue they resemble ice over water intercept all others. I find myself zoning out, staring at the television while my mind wanders and continually returns to Sarah.

I don’t know how long I’ve been lost somewhere between a daydream and a new game show when the rattling of keys at the front door causes me to sit up and peek over the back of the couch.

“Hey Danny.” My mom, dressed in lavender scrubs, tosses her keys into the bowl beside mine. “How was your first day?”

“Good, actually. I made a couple of new friends.” I leave out the part about Sarah.

“Really? Oh, I’m so glad!” My mother clasps her hands in front of her chest. “That’s terrific!” She disappears into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of water. “How’s Kiera? Where is she?”

“In her room,” I reply and struggle to keep the disdain from my voice.

My mother snorts and rolls her eyes. “Of course she is. Where else would she be?” She shakes her head as she walks to the couch. She sits down on the loveseat and faces me. “So tell me more about these new friends you made.”

“Um, yeah, about them,” I start. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Alarm flickers through her features. “What? What is it?”

“Um, I wanted to know if I can go out tonight.” I clear my throat. “I know it’s a school night but a few of the kids I met asked me to hang out and if I don’t go they’ll think I’m some kind of loser or ditching them or something.” I wait for her to launch into her hard and fast rant about her no-going-out-on-school-nights rule.

She exhales loudly. “Danny, it’s a school night.”

Here it comes, I think. I wait for the rest of a spiel I know by heart from hearing it recited to my sister regularly.

“Please mom. It’s the first time I’ve made friends like ever.” I decide to appeal to her emotions, trying desperately to garner sympathy. Nothing I’ve said or am about to say is untrue. “I don’t want to blow it. I don’t want to be alone all the time like I was at my old school.”

Her eyes lock on mine. “You were alone all the time?” she asks in a soft voice.

“Yeah, pretty much.” I shrug and admit the hard truth to my mother, one I’m not thrilled about copping to.

A small crease appears between her brows as her forehead rumples. “I had no idea.” Her voice is little more than a whisper. “I’m so busy, always working I guess.” Guilt tugs the corners of her mouth downward.

“I never complained.” I bob one shoulder.

“But I should’ve known. I’m your mother and I should’ve asked, questioned why there weren’t kids hanging out at our apartment.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Mom. You’re doing fine,” I try to assure her.

“What time?” she asks.

“What time what?” I respond, perplexed.

“What time do you want to go out?” My mother regards me with a peculiar expression.

“Tom wanted to pick me up here at eight.” I watch and wait for her odd expression to contort to one of outrage as soon as she hears I want to go out so late.

Her eyes widen. “Eight! What tine do you think you’re staying out until? It’s a school night!”

“I know. I know,” I say softly. “Uh, I was thinking eleven.” I recoil and my hands fly to my face as if I’m blocking an approaching blow. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for her to say no. When she doesn’t, I open one eye then the next. My mother doesn’t look upset. To the contrary, her face is smooth, impassive. I cannot read it, in fact, so I plead my case further. “I’ll be home by eleven, not a minute later, I promise.” I rake a hand through my hair. “I’ve never asked you for anything before.” She knows it’s true. I never ask for clothes, money, special dinners. She offers them to me out of pity because she gives so much to Kiera. “You know you can trust me.”

My mother holds my gaze, searching my eyes for several seconds. Her lips tighten and she takes a deep breath, blowing it out silently after her lungs are filled to capacity. “Fine. You can go,” she says.

“Really?” I brighten and am unable to hide my enthusiasm.

“Really. But this isn’t going to be a habit, you understand me?” She levels a flinty gaze my way.

“No, of course not.” I shake my head adamantly then stand. I look down at her and my heart swells. My mother is stronger than any person I know, smart and kind, too. I’m lucky. ‘Thanks, mom. I really appreciate this.” I smile at her and she returns the expression. I walk over to where she sits, bend and kiss her forehead. “You’re the best,” I say and mean it. I turn from her and make my way down the hallway to my room where I proceed to examine the sad contents of my wardrobe.

For the first time, I find myself caring about what I’ll wear, how I’ll smell and what my hair will look like. I lift my arm and sniff my armpit and decide a shower is definitely in order. I head to the bathroom, shower and inspect my face for pimples. Scrubbed and pink from hot water and vigorous washing, I’m proud to see all is clear. I generously apply deodorant then brush my teeth, before returning to my room in just a towel. I search for my cleanest and newest T shirt and jeans then apply gel to my hair. I comb it into a style that resembles what I see guys on television wearing then spritz on cologne from a bottle I received so long ago I wonder whether it retains its scent. When the mist hits my nose and the faint, leathery woodsy scent surrounds me, I know it’s still potent. Ready and as nervous as I’ve been in a while save for life-and-death situations, I check the time and find it’s five minutes to eight. Nerves ramped up to a frenzy, I hear the beep of a car horn and know that Tom has arrived. Taking a deep breath to steel my nerves, I leave my room and rush down the hall. “Bye mom!” I call out as I pass the living room.

“Where’s he going?” Kiera grumbles loudly.

My mother doesn’t respond right away. Instead she looks at me and winks.

“He’s going out on a school night?” She launches to her feet and stomps a foot like an insolent child. “Really?! Ugh! With who?”

I leave hearing my sister grow whinier and whinier. I almost feel guilty leaving my mom behind to endure the brunt of Kiera’s wrath. Though I know if anyone can handle Kiera it’s my mother. Still, I pause for a moment with my hand on the doorknob, debating whether I should go back and at the very least absorb some of the rant that’s undoubtedly underway. After I hear my mom raise her voice and effectively shut down my sister’s tantrum, I turn and head for Tom’s car. The blue Honda Accord has tinted windows so dark I can’t see inside until I open the door. With the dome light on, Steve and Mike are visible. I fist bump each of them and slide into the back seat. Everyone greets each other with a “What’s up, man?” and a nod.

“You ready for this place?” Tom looks over his shoulder at me as he backs out of my driveway. “Rumor has it it’s haunted.”

“Nah, I don’t believe in ghosts,” I hear myself say when in truth, after all I’ve been through in the last month, I’m not sure what exactly I believe and don’t believe.

After about ten minutes of driving, we turn in to a long, gravel driveway that winds and bends, lined by towering stately pines. The trees, with their needled boughs, stand sentinel, watchful and waiting like night watchmen who will whisper in the wind and report to the imposing structure at the end of the lane. A shiver of unease whispers up my spine.

“This is a driveway?” I ask anyone who’ll answer.

“Yeah, the Hanson’s were the richest people in the county a hundred and thirty years ago.”

“Really?” I ask.

“Yup. But money didn’t matter,” Steve chimes in. “All the money in the world couldn’t save that family.”

“What do you mean? Was there a nasty split or something?” I turn and look at Steve but it is Tom who speaks.

“Joseph Hanson murdered his whole family while they slept then did himself in.” He gestures to his head as if striking it with an object. “It’s been said that he’s killed any family who tried to live here, and that anyone who enters is in grave danger.”

Eerie silence blankets the small interior of the car. I wait for someone to laugh or say the punchline. “Oh bull! C’mon guys,” I say with a chuckle.

“Hey man, believe him or don’t believe him,” Mike says. “But it’s true.”

“Satan worshippers have been holding meetings in the house for years,” Steve adds. “Makes for some seriously bad energy in there I bet.”

“Really.” I drawl the word, speaking it softly as I peer out the window. Looking skyward, I watch as the moon is eclipsed by leaden clouds, assembling and advancing like a fleet of warships that set an ominous backdrop for the sprawling chateau in front of me. Light completely snuffed out, the place is awash in gloom. Standing on uncultivated land amid a forest of pines and cedars, I take in the grounds of what resembles a long-since abandoned palace. Rows of trees, dried and lifeless, reach and stretch toward the skyline. Tom lowers his window, his headlights illuminating the scenery and casting shadows that add to its nightmarish quality of all that surrounds us. A stiff, brisk breeze blows, slicing through the brittle growth and emitting a mournful bay, whistling and shrieking as it passes through trees and broken windows. Razor-sharp spires pierce the heavens and dominate the ornate façade of the structure. Windows are boarded, though the wood sags in some places. The place makes me uneasy in a way that penetrates the marrow in my bones. “Let’s hope we don’t run into any Satan worshippers tonight.” I shudder at the thought and my thoughts focus on Sarah. “Hey is Sarah coming?” I try to sound nonchalant when I ask but I’m relatively certain I sound anything but.

“She said she would meet us here, right Tom?” Tom nods in affirmation. “But I can’t imagine she’ll actually show up and hang out with us.” A note of resignation touches Steve’s tone as we reach the top of the driveway.

“Let’s do this.” Tom shifts the car into “park” and cuts the lights. We are submerged in darkness.

Awareness tingles across my skin as I step out of the car. Though a brisk breeze blows, heaviness fills the atmosphere, thick and sinister. I swear that if I listen closely enough, I can hear the cries of a woman and children. It echoes in the breeze, phantom and ephemeral. My breathing becomes short and shallow. Foreign energy, dark and ominous, surrounds me, tries to seep into my pores. I look around, glance at Steve, Mike and Tom. They seem oblivious of what I’m experiencing.

“Got your flashlights ladies?” Tom asks and looks among us.

Mike and Steve nod then they all turn to face me. “Uh, I didn’t bring one.” I feel my cheeks heat and am grateful for the darkness.

Three sets of eyes bore into me. I feel it more than I see it. But before anyone can give me a hard time about me forgetting a flashlight but remembering cologne, headlights slice through the darkness and carve a path straight toward us. A red sedan approaches.

“I guess Sarah’s here,” Mike says.

At the mention of her name my pulse begins drilling the base of my throat.

“Oh wow, she showed up,” Tom says and sounds surprised.

The passenger side door opens first and Jenny climbs out. Sarah exits second and greets us. “Hey guys. What’s up?” Even in the dark, I can see the fairness of her flaxen hair and her white even teeth when she smiles. A breeze carries on it the scent of her perfume and for a moment, I worry I’ll sigh with pleasure as I inhale it.

“Hey Sarah. Hey Jenny,” Tom replies.

Jenny regards us all with disinterest and doesn’t bother saying hello. She does, however, turn to Sarah and say in a whisper as loud as the average speaking voice, “What’re we doing here with them?” She crinkles her nose and curls her upper lip over her teeth, offering up a devastating blow to anyone with even the slightest ego here.

Sarah spins on her friend, her eyes flashing. “Shh! Jenny! They’re nice!” she hisses. “And I told you I want to see where Lisa supposedly killed herself because I know she didn’t!”

“Honestly, Sarah, what do you think you’re going to find that the cops didn’t?” Jenny retorts, an edge in her tone remaining.

“I don’t know. I just feel like I need to be here. Is that okay with you?” Sarah matches Jenny’s sharpness.

Realizing she’s gone too far and annoyed her friend who happens to be the most popular girl in school, Jenny clamps her lips shut.

Trying to defuse the tense moment, I clear my throat and ask, “So, any plan for how to get inside?” I point to the wood covering the first-floor windows. “Everything’s boarded up.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered.” Tom disappears to the rear of his car then reappears wielding a crowbar.

I shake my head and gesture for him to lead the way. We walk through tall grass before reaching the house then stay close to it until we find a low window. Tom pries the wood from it, the nails protesting and the wood splintering loudly. I look around, half expecting someone to show up at any moment.

“Relax, Danny, there’s no one living within miles of here.” Steve’s words, as innocuous as they are, raise the fine hairs on the back of my neck, though I can’t pinpoint why.

Once the wood is off, the window is lifted and one by one we slide inside. Pitch black darkness swallows us whole for several seconds until beams of light, five in all, puncture it. As it turns out, even the girls remembered their flashlights. I was the only one preoccupied with my appearance and other things of that nature who didn’t bring one.

The shafts of light dance across the space, reflecting innumerable dust particles and debris in the air. From the corner of my eye, I spy a human shape, elevated and positioned at an advantage. The light skates across it. I whirl to face it, not sure exactly what I intend to do but determined to protect Sarah if I have to, only to find that the shape is a statue carved of stone and inlayed in the wall. With its head partially destroyed its eyes stare vacantly in a perpetual state of melancholy.

Though the statue proved nonthreatening, I do not feel comfortable letting my guard down as I move deeper inside. To my immediate left is a hallway. Shadows crawl menacingly up the sides of the walls, and piped masonry carved in a pale, decorative pattern intersects at the apex of pointed arch ceilings painted cobalt. While faded, the blue still retains some of its vibrancy. Dusty debris coats the floor. Walls crumble and fallen floorboards litter the path beside the hallway, the one that leads to a wide staircase. I try to take it all in, try to make note of my surroundings, when all of a sudden, I’m slammed by the sensation of being pulled. A current of energy blasts through me, tearing through me and nearly staggering me, nearly knocking me off my feet. Realization whirs through my blood and the oppressive shroud of evil clings to me, to my flesh and bones, like scum on a pond.

Shivering and rubbing her arms for warmth, Sarah says, “This place is creepy.”

“It sure is,” I reply and hope she didn’t hear the tremor in my voice.

“C’mon. This way.” The beam of light from Tom’s flashlight slants and wavers, pointing to a staircase that leads to the second level of the house. “Let’s go upstairs. That’s where Hanson you know . . .” He leaves his sentence unfinished. I glimpse Sarah in my periphery. Her lips are compressed to a tight line and her eyes shine with unshed tears. Instinctively, my hand shoots out. I stop it just short of hers, the need to entwine my fingers with hers and offer comfort is potent. But that need is usurped by the burgeoning pull that tugs me like a magnet. The blackness all around us reaches out to me, tugging me with dusky fingers, and a sense of terror overwhelms me with each step we ascend. The scent of mildew and damp earth lingers in the air. It slams into my chest along with the low vibration of energy slithering from the dark, sinister and strong, and unrelenting. We reach the top landing and walk down the hallway. A room with children’s furniture, yellowed and dilapidated, comes into view.

“This is where the kids were murdered. The oldest heard the commotion in here and ran in to protect his sister. At least that’s how the story goes.” Tom’s voice is somber as it echoes through the ether. And in an instant, I see it. I see it all. A man dressed in dark colored clothing looms over a sleeping child, a girl. Clutching an axe in both hands, he hefts it high, moonlight catching the razor-sharp blade before it cleaves the air with a lethal whistle and lands against a small body dressed in a ruffled pink nightgown. Eyes as black and cold as polished onyx regard the girl with cool indifference as her eyes open in the seconds before the blade makes contact. She screams. It is a bloodcurdling sound that chills the blood in my veins. And then there is blood, so much blood.

Stomach roiling like an angry sea, the vision leaves me as abruptly as it arrived. I’m left standing there, shocked and coated in a film of icy perspiration. “It’s true. The story is true.” I thought I said the words to myself until I’m met with five gazes.

“I told you it was true. He killed his whole family right here.” Tom points inside the room.

Sarah wraps her arms around her midsection. “It is true, Danny. Everyone in this town knows it.”

Scratching the whiskers on his chin, Tom regards me with curiosity, the light from Sarah’s flashlight illuminating his face. “We all know it’s true, but what makes you so sure?”

My gaze volleys from Mike to Steve then to Sarah before it bounces back to Tom. I shrug. “I don’t know. This place is too creepy for it not to be true, I guess.”

They all look at me and for a moment, I wonder whether they think I’m out of my mind. Thankfully, Jenny’s voice interrupts their furtive glances.

“This place scares the crap out of me. Let’s get out of here, Sarah. Please.”

Sarah shakes her head, pretty lengths of golden hair spilling over one shoulder as she does. “Not yet. I need to see where it happened. I need to see where Lisa was found.”

“That would be in the basement.” Steve’s index finger points to the dirty floors beneath our feet.

“Great, I’m sure the basement won’t be even creepier,” Jenny says sarcastically. But through the thick layer of acid, I hear it. I hear the fear in her voice and wish I could tell her she is absolutely right to be afraid.

We descend the flight of steps we walked up and once we reach the main level of the house we find a thick wooden door in the kitchen that leads to the cellar. Yellow police tape warns us away, but we ignore the warning and tear it down, determined to investigate the basement ourselves.

Thirteen creaky steps lead us into the bowels of the home. Dankness mingles with the scent of incense and another metallic stench tinged with sourness I cannot place. The combined effect is overwhelming, cloying. Flashlights explore the expansive space, landing upon an enormous pentagram. The sight of the five-pointed star with a ram’s head intricately designed within gives me a sick feeling. Satanic verses are scrawled in what looks like red paint.

“See, I told you. That Satan worshipping cult meets here.” Equal parts awe and disgust spike his tone, and I understand it completely. It mimics my sentiments exactly, minus the all-consuming pull I feel to the far left corner of the underground pit of horror. Allowing it to lead me, I cross the room with my friends in tow, stopping when I reach what appears to be a partitioned workshop of sorts. Tool storage cabinents line the wall directly in front of me while clamps and vises, some mounted to a long rectangular work table, catch the eye. Saws, drill bits and a handheld sander rest atop the table. A serrated blade pokes up from the table, the piece doubling as a table saw as well as a plain old table. A band saw and drill press occupy the far corners of the room.

“What is this place?” Jenny asks and pinches her nose to avoid smelling polyurethane and varnish. But before anyone can answer, the floorboards overhead groan loudly, as if bearing the weight of an adult. Everyone jumps at the sound, including Sarah who promptly latches onto my arm.

Patting her hand, I ask, “Are you okay?” In truth, my pulse is pounding so hard and fast I wonder whether it’s dangerous, whether my heart will beat clean out of my ribcage.

“What’s that sound?” she asks in a tremulous voice.

“Probably just the house settling.” I reach deep to produce an answer I, myself, am unconvinced of.

Evidently, my words are convincing enough for Sarah, too convincing, in fact, because she releases her grip on my arm. Cold replaces the warmth that just existed there and I am sad in a way that doesn’t quite make sense in my brain.

“Let’s get out of here, Sarah,” Jenny begs.

“Not yet,” Sarah answers.

We move deeper into the workshop and the second we do, my breathing turns to short, shallow pants and my heart thunders so madly I half expect it to echo endlessly through the cavernous hollows of this house. But it doesn’t. It ends where it begins, inside me. Another vision crashes into me with the force of a tidal wave. I see everything as if I’m standing right there with Sarah’s friend, Lisa. She’s with another girl. They’re laughing and talking to someone I can’t see. Then I watch as their expression transform from happiness to fear, contorting in shock and horror in the space of a breath. I see them slammed against the wall behind them, an unseen force lifting them and sending them careening through the air. They scream, abject terror in their eyes as they beg for their lives. But their cries fall on deaf ears. A large blade traces a vertical line from Lisa’s left elbow to the base of her wrist, stopping just short of her palm. She cries out in pain, held motionless as the step is repeated on her right forearm. Blood rushed from the wounds in angry torrents, coating her hands and dripping to the floor in crimson pools. Color drains from her complexion as her lifeblood seeps from her. Witnessing it all, the girl with Lisa sobs so hard she hyperventilates. After hitting the wall, she’s slid to the floor below and scuttled away, managing to position herself behind what I now see is a cloaked and tall being, broad through the shoulders and likely male. The cloaked being whirls on her, and just his eyes are visible. Blacker than the darkest night, his eyes are volcanic glass, shining with hatred that’s palpable, and deadly. Effortlessly and with speed that defies physics as well as logic, the man descends on her, snatching her wrist and slashing her arms in the same fashion he slashed Lisa’s. The girl’s scream is the last sound I hear before the floor rushes to meet me and my field of vision fades to black.

“Danny! Danny!” Sarah’s voice is panicked and snaps me back to reality. My eyelids flutter and I blink several times, her face is all I see for the first few seconds before my eyes adjust.

“Dude, what the heck happened to you? We’ve been calling your name for, like, thirty seconds,” Tom says.

I don’t want to tell them anything. I can’t tell them what I saw. They’ll think I’m crazy.

“Sorry, I guess my blood sugar is a little off. I’m hypoglycemic,” I lie.

“Are you all right?” Sarah asks me.

“Yeah, yeah, I just need to eat,” I tell her and hate that I’m not being truthful. But without any other option, I must.

“Okay, let’s get out of here,” Jenny interrupts us, and for the first time since meeting her, I agree with what she’s saying. I’m not the only one who thinks so either. Tom, Steve and Mike do not need further prompting. They agree, uttering agreements and making their way out of the basement, up the stairs until finally we slide out the window we entered through. Once outside, Jenny marches ahead after requesting that Sarah unlock the doors so that she can sit in the car. Tom and the guys discuss the details they’ve heard through the years about Joseph Hanson and his descent into madness, wandering in front of us and leaving Sarah and I alone.

“Are you okay, Danny, really?” she asks, her voice low and intimate.

“I’m fine.” I inhale deeply before and refuse to overthink the next words that fall from my lips. “But I have to tell you, your friend didn’t kill herself.” I hold my breath, trying to gauge her reaction and expecting her to tell me I’m completely crazy. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stops and turns to face me.

“What?” she whispers. “How do you know?”

I lick my lips and hold her gaze. Though it’s dark, her brilliant blue eyes are still crystal clear. Any shred of logic that I possess attempts to clap a hand over my mouth and prevent me from saying the words about to pass from my lips, warning me that without a doubt, she’ll think I’m insane as soon as I speak them. “I saw what happened down there,” I blurt. Too late to turn back now. “I’m not hypoglycemic either,” I add for good measure. “I saw what happened to Lisa. It was crystal clear.” Sarah’s face is unreadable. If she thinks I’m crazy, she’s concealing it well. I swallow hard and continue, knowing fully that the truly crazy sounding portion of my reveal is about to come. “She was murdered. Someone held her against her will and slit her wrists.” I wait and watch Sarah’s expression, trying desperately to gauge it. But it reveals nothing. Shifting my weight form one leg to the next, I stuff my hands in the front pockets of my jeans and chew my lower lip. My emotions exist in a state of anxious limbo, partially relieved to unburden myself of my vision and be completely honest, and partially wishing the ground would open up and swallow me to end the humiliation I’m experiencing.

After several agonizing moments pass, Sarah asks, “Are you saying you’re psychic?”

I consider her question for a split-second. “No. Well, yes. I mean, I don’t know really. I just see things sometimes.” I hear how idiotic I sound and contemplate running away. But I can’t do that. Not now. Not after I’ve risked it all and told her so much. I have to see this through to the bitter, mortifying end. I wait for her to hit me with a barrage of questions, and possibly just hit me period. But she doesn’t. Instead, she swallows hard and stares at me intently.

“Danny, I sensed something different about you the second I met you, but psychic?” she asks and surprisingly manages to not sound condescending.

I can only imagine that creepy carnival freak show music is looping through her brain. Still I continue, likely burying myself deeper. “I’m telling you what I saw. Your friend didn’t kill herself,” I say levelly.

She pins me with her piercing gaze, searching mine. “I believe you,” she says after another long pause.

“You do?” I wonder whether I heard her correctly.

“Yes,” she says and shocks me to a point where my mouth hangs open foolishly. “I always trust my instinct when it comes to people, and I know you’re telling the truth.”

I’m stunned, speechless and left without a single, coherent word available. Closing my lips, I smile goofily and feel the burn of shame blaze up from my collar.

Sarah leans in and presses her lips to my cheek, a quick peck that nearly stops my heart mid beat, and says, “I have to get home.”

“Yeah, me too,” I babble breathlessly. I watch as she turns and flitters down the driveway, my pulse thundering in my ears like the gallop of a team of horses.

I don’t recall the short walk from where I stand to Tom’s car. And I’d swear under oath my feet never touched the ground. Tom greets me as soon as I place a hand on the rear door. “Did Sarah Miller just kiss you?” he asks incredulously.

“On the cheek,” I mumble and feel a strange flutter quiver through my belly. “She kissed me on the cheek.” I try in vain to reign in my excitement.

“Damn! You didn’t tell me you’re a straight up player!” Tom raises his voice and puts up his fist to bump mine.

“Shut up,” I say with a wry smirk. “It was just a quick peck on the cheek. No big deal,” I lie when it was the biggest deal of my life so far where girls are concerned.

I slide into the back seat without saying another word on the subject. Gazing out the window and watching the Hanson Mansion disappear, I reflect on the horrible truths revealed in my visions. I know they have meaning, and that I’m intended to stop what’s occurring. I feel it deep in my marrow. Still, I can’t get the kiss from Sarah Miller off my mind.

The sky is a lavender canvas interrupted by brilliant bands of sherbet orange as the sun, an eager sphere of fire, begins its journey from the horizon line. A new day is dawning beyond my window pane, and a brand new sensation is brewing within me. Energized and refreshed from a night of sleep spent tossing and turning, I’m not groggy or grumpy in the least. In fact, I’m looking forward to the day ahead of me, especially since I’ll see Sarah at some point. Thinking of her face and remembering the feel of her soft lips gently pressed to my cheek causes excitement to bubble and effervesce in my belly. I can close my eyes and see her porcelain skin, her translucent blue eyes and perfect pink lips. But all too quickly visions of her face that float in my mind transform to horrific, ghoulish images. Black eyes that are little more than passageways to the purest of evil crowd my mind’s eye. Instantly, my mood shifts, transforming from ebullient and hopeful—as a boy my age ought to be—to pensive and brooding. I close my eyes, attempting to ward off the slick slide of foreboding. But it is impossible. I know evil surrounds me, that it’s calling to me like a beacon, and that I must go to it, and that it’s my job to stop it.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to relax and clear my mind, only as I do, awareness sweeps across my skin like shards of crushed ice. The girls, the suicides, the cloaked figure with the black eyes I saw in my vision that slashed Lisa’s wrists as well as the other girl with her, all of them are connected, and none of them are suicides. They are merely a ruse to hide the deeds of the creature with the black eyes.

Stomach churning as bile burns up my throat, I realize why I am in Patterson. I understand my purpose. I am here to end what’s been dismissed as a rash of cult-related suicides. I’m here to ensure another girl does not die in the same fashion as the others.

Whirling and spinning like a carnival ride minus the elated screams, my mind struggles to grasp how I will accomplish the task I’ve been tapped for. I’m just a sixteen year old boy. And while I’ve noticed a definite change in my physique that includes a broadening of my chest as well as swelling and definition of my muscles overall, I am still, by no means, a capable looking sixteen year old. Self-doubt is a seed of inferiority that grows a field of shame and envy. I’m not looking to cultivate either, though what I’m up against seems like an impossible feat. Propping myself up onto one elbow, I take my head in my opposite hand and despair worms its way into my brain. But my thoughts race to the night at the convenience store. That night, I was able to take down a man twice my size. And I did so with ease. It was almost as if I’d been infused with energy so potent, so powerful, it merged with the very blood in my veins, fortified it, charged it. I sit upright, recalling the surge, like an electrical current, that jolted me, awakened me. My heart raced and icy, cold tingles exploded over every inch of my flesh, and for a brief period, I wasn’t Danny Callahan the high school kid whose social ineptitude kept him home every weekend. No, I was something else entirely, something brave and powerful. Another force overtook me and commandeered my limbs. Shockingly, a dark, dark piece of me welcomed it, welcomed the reprieve and the departure from my lonely existence.

Throwing the covers off my body, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Hope begins dueling with the doubt as it winds and weaves a path around my troubled mind. I have no idea how I was capable of doing what I did, but for reasons I can’t quite rationalize, I’m confident the power, the supernova of energy, will return when needed.

With that in mind, I come to terms with the fact that I haven’t the slightest clue what I’m capable of.

After rubbing my eyes and stretching, I hurry to the bathroom, brush my teeth and shower then get dressed. I jog down the stairs and find my mother standing just outside the living room. She’s smiling.

“Morning, Mom,” I say.

“Morning,” she replies, smiling so broadly it becomes unnerving.

“What? What is it?” I quirk a brow at her and wonder what the heck she’s grinning ear to ear about.

“I have a surprise for you.” The words pass her lips, fraught with excitement so complete it’s tangible. I roll my hand forward, encouraging her to divulge her secret. “I didn’t tell you but I signed you up for your road test.” She pauses and allows her words to sink in. “Your appointment is scheduled after school today.”

“What? Really?” Now I am the one smiling so wide and hard it hurts. Power or no power and calling or no calling, getting my driver’s license is a privilege I’ve dreamed about for as long as I can remember. It’s a ticket to freedom, wings.

“Yes, and if you pass, which I’m sure you will, I’m going to let you have the CRV.”

My eyes widen with surprise and my mouth opens. “Are you kidding me?”

My mother shakes her head no. “I had to buy a car with lower mileage since I have a much longer commute now. I already planned it out and am getting it today.”

Lips still parted and wide eyed as I am, I must look like a moron, but I don’t care. I can’t believe my ears. I swear they just heard I’m taking my test for my driver’s license after school and that if I pass, I’m getting my mother’s SUV. Driving! Having my own car! It’s almost too much take in.

“Are you kidding me?” Kiera’s strident voice pitches up an octave. “Mom! Really?” She stomps her foot to highlight her anger. “You’re giving him your car? What about me? I’m the oldest!”

My mother’s face is impossibly stoic as she watches Kiera teeter on the precipice of a teenage tantrum, a cringe-worthy occurrence to have to witness. “Kiera, you failed your road test three times,” she says levelly. “You refuse to practice and no matter when I ask you—what time of day or what day of the week—you can never be bothered. It’s never a good time. So . . .” My mother leaves the remainder of the sentence dangling in the air between us.

“So what if I failed! It’s not fair! It’s not right!” Kiera’s cheeks are flushed a deep pink and her voice is shrill. At any given moment I expect her to throw herself to the ground and begin flailing her arms and legs.

“I suggest you watch your tone, young lady.” My mother speaks through her teeth. Her voice is low and quivers with the promise of punishment of the weekend variety. “I don’t owe you an explanation for my decision to give the CRV to Danny. After all he’s been through, I thought you’d be happy to see him with his license and a car to get around in.”

“Happy that he is going to be driving and have his own car?” Kiera looks at my mom incredulously. “My little brother!” She’s fairly shouting now.

Placing a hand on her hip and narrowing her eyes, my mother says, “Whose fault is that, Kiera? Whose fault is it that her little brother will be driving before her, hmm?”

Silenced, Kiera turns on her heel and stomps into the kitchen. I look at my mom and raise both eyebrows, pressing my lips together to form a small frown.

My mom shakes her head. “I swear that girl will be the death of me.” She exhales loudly then nods toward the kitchen. “Hurry up and grab a quick bowl of cereal before I drive you in. I don’t want to be late for work, especially since I’m leaving early to take you to get your driver’s license.”

I bob my head and do as I’m told, shuffling into the kitchen and avoiding eye contact with Kiera as I pour Wheaties and milk into a bowl. I eat fast and gather my books for school then head out to my mother’s SUV. The ride to school is uneventful. I have the luxury of listening to my mom’s Billy Joel CD as opposed to my sister squawking as she is still pouting from the earlier driver’s license discussion.

We make it well before the first bell rings, and after a quick good-bye, my mother leaves us and begins her lengthy journey to work. Kiera disappears without a single word of acknowledgment to me, and I head straight to my locker. As soon as I begin twisting the dial on my lock, I feel a large hand clap me on my back. “Bro, that was crazy last night!” Tom is beside me, the deep bass rumble of his voice a now familiar sound.

“Yeah, it was,” I agree for more reasons than I can articulate.

“That house and what happened there is so sick.” Tom says more but his words fall to the roar of blood behind my ears when I see Sarah walking toward me.

“Hi Danny! Hi Tom!” She greets us both but her eyes are trained on me, a fact that makes my breathing catch. I can’t believe a girl as beautiful and popular as she is has any interest in me at all. I look up and try to calm myself only to find another pair of eyes on me. Luke Carmichael studies me the way a lion studies a gazelle before he strikes. And while I don’t necessarily feel like prey, Luke does possess a distinct predatory grace that makes me nervous.

Looking away, I lean down low and whisper to Sarah, “What’s up with that guy?” I nod toward Luke as I inhale the intoxicating fragrance she wears, so close to her long, slender neck it hurts to pull away.

Turning, she says, “What guy?”

I look back up and to my surprise, he is gone. I scan the entire hallway. There isn’t a trace of him. It’s as if he simply vanished. “What the heck?” I say more to myself than anyone else.

“Are you okay?” Sarah’s brows are knit. She looks concerned. “Do you need to eat or something?”

The way she asked if I needed to eat I wonder whether she is asking me indirectly whether I had another vision.

“Later guys, I need to get to class.” Tom says, realizing neither Sarah nor I are paying any attention to him. He fist bumps me after closing his locker then jogs down the hallway away from us.

Feeling guilty yet happy to be alone with Sarah, I watch him go. Sarah’s voice returns my attention to her. “So are you going to homecoming on Friday night?”

“Umm, I didn’t even know about it,” I admit. “I mean, I guess. Maybe. I’ll see if Tom is going. I really don’t know anyone here.” I’m rambling, blathering on and on like a complete idiot. Heat snaps up my neck and across my cheeks, embarrassment warming them.

“Well, you know me.” Sarah smiles sweetly. “I’ll be there.”

If I were a betting man, I’d think she were flirting with me, or maybe even asking me to the homecoming dance. Is she? I wonder. Dare I think she would ask me? She couldn’t be, could she?

My head feels as if it’s engulfed in flames and I bob my head knowing fully I’m killing any chance I have with her because I look like a bobble-head doofus.

“I mean I’ll be there. If you decide to go, you’ll know someone.” Her tone if offhand, cool even, and my earlier thoughts are negated. I’m completely confused and disappointed. I guess she was just making conversation by mentioning the dance, and being polite saying she’d be there and I’d know her. I guess I misread her completely. But on the off chance I didn’t, I tell her I’ll be there.

“Awesome. I think I’ll go.” I try to sound as nonchalant as she sounded and fail.

“Great! It should be fun. There’s a lot of stuff planned.” She smiles brightly.

“Great! I’ll see you there then,” I reply, grinning like a fool.

Sarah laughs, and my smile capsizes. “It’s only Tuesday, Danny. I’ll see you before that.”

“You will?” I ask and feel excitement swirl low in my gut.

She giggles and tosses a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Yes, silly. We go to school together.”

Her words land like a slap. My face is beet red. I can feel heat so intense my eyeballs warm several degrees. With nothing else to do to redeem my idiotic behavior, I check the time on my phone and say, “We better get to class,” when I feel like saying, “I’m going to go drop dead now.”

“All right. I’ll see you later.” Sarah smiles at me again then waves. “Bye.”

“Bye,” I reply and as soon as she’s out of sight, I take my head in both hands and scold myself for being so incompetent when it comes to girls. After a few minutes, I fill my backpack with the books I’ll need for the morning and head to my first-period class. Face still scarlet and heart deflated, I admonish myself for entertaining the idea that Sarah was ever interested in me as anything more than a friend.

Chapter 6

Fall always seems to arrive when I’m not paying attention. It’s as if summer slips through my fingers like grains of sand in the wind, and without warning, the days grow shorter and colder. Suddenly, warm, balmy nights are replaced by ones filled with brisk breezes and the scent of freshly fallen leaves. School begins, and long, lazy days are replaced by ones spent rushing to class, taking notes and fulfilling homework assignments. Despite going through the motions of this annual rite of passage for sixteen years, I’m never prepared for it, never ready.

Smoothing the front of my shirt with both hands, threads of cool air wind and coil through the open window of my bedroom and send my curtains billowing and dancing. Flapping and waving like banners, the panels of fabric mimic the cyclone of nerves swirling within me. The air carries on it the aromatic scent of burning leaves. Ordinarily, the smell would infuse me with a sense of comfort and nostalgia, but not this night. Tonight, I’m too excited, too nervous.

Friday, much like the seemingly sudden appearance of fall, came without warning. In the space of a breath, the week ended and homecoming is upon me. And attached to the word homecoming is a face that appears in my mind, placed there with such permanence and etched with such detail it might as well be tattooed in my brain. Sarah. Sarah Miller. Her name whispers through the hollows of my being like a benediction.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head slightly, envisioning her features and feeling a flutter in my belly so pronounced I shudder. I’m not sure what it is about her, what quality she possesses that makes me feel like a puppy wagging his tail and about to wet the floor because he’s so excited. I’ve known pretty girls before. She is, by no means, the first. And I’ve come across my fair share of popular girls too. But none have been capable of holding my attention the way she does, of touching me without ever resting her fingertips upon my flesh. No other girl can hold a candle to Sarah. Everything about her shines brightly: her hair, her eyes, and her smile. All glow, but most importantly, they glow from within.

She radiates a light that draws me in almost as fully as the one that had me in its magnetic force field the night I was shot in the convenience store. It is a new sensation, a strange sensation.

I don’t particularly like feeling as I do. I don’t dislike it either if I’m being completely honest. Fearing I am the proverbial moth to a flame leaves me with a sense of vulnerability. Add to that my basic ineptitude in the dating arena and I am rendered a ball of nerve-riddled flop sweat.

Taking a deep breath and mustering every ounce of self-esteem I can to buoy my confidence, I reach for my bottle of cologne and apply a third spritz. I don’t want to overdo it in the fragrance department. The last thing I want to be is that guy who leaves a trail of cologne in his wake for everyone to hack and choke on. But it’s hard not to want to keep my hands busy, to do something in the moments leading up to homecoming, to seeing Sarah. And since nothing good comes from idle, cologne-wielding hands, I push the rectangular glass bottle to the far corner of my dresser, out of reach and further from my sight.

Breathing in a lungful of air, I rub my temples, daring to entertain different scenarios for how this night will play out. The hopeful narrative in my brain has Sarah leaning in and inhaling, closing her eyes and saying, “Danny, you smell amazing.” In reality, at this point, she may fan her nose and say, “Who bathed in cologne?” The latter would be devastating, obviously. I’d love for her to compliment me, to maybe even kiss my cheek again. Both thoughts cause warmth to diffuse through my chest. Of late, most, if not all, of my thoughts center on Sarah.

The days leading up to this one have been the best I’ve ever experienced. Not only did I pass my road test, but Sarah and I have talked on and off all week, laughing and joking about shows we enjoy, movies we’ve seen and have even had discussions about family that bordered on intimate. She has made school more than tolerable thus far. She’s made it a place I look forward to being. Just seeing her make her way to the lunch table I share daily with Tom, Steve, Mike and Pete knocks the wind from my lungs. Not only do I enjoy her company while I eat, I’m also amused by the reactions of those around us. Judging from the curled upper lips, stares and whispering, I’m inclined to believe her friends don’t approve of her table selection lately. I’d feel bad for them if they didn’t come across so shallow and arrogant, but since the do come across that way, I silently enjoy their displeasure. Thankfully, Sarah is unbothered by it. When asked if she was okay with all the attention her new lunch seat garnered she replied, “Who cares? Let them stare. They need to get a life!” Her fiery disposition is yet another aspect of her personality that I enjoy.

Smiling as I recall the feisty tone she used when she twisted in her seat, leveled a flinty gaze at a so-called friend she overheard voicing her opinion about sitting with me and Tom and the others and made a sharp-witted comment, I gaze into the mirror. After looking at myself for what feels like hours this evening, my eyes begin playing tricks on me. I start to worry my head is too big or my eyes too small, that my lips are unusually full for a guy. I’ve never spent so much time fretting about my appearance ever. Scrutinizing individual features unless there’s a pimple setting up camp there is utterly foreign to me.

Realizing nothing good will come of all this scrutiny, I turn from the mirror and, with my hand on the doorknob of my room, hear the blare of a horn from the driveway. I have my license and could drive, but Tom is. I slip my phone from my pocket and see that it’s seven o’clock on the dot. He is right on time. Breathing deep to calm my nerves, I open my bedroom door and briskly walk down the hallway. “Tom’s here!” I call out to my mother. “I’m going!”

I wait and hear silence for several seconds and am about to leave when my mom appears in the hallway behind me. “Have fun, sweetie.”

Her voice and sudden appearance startles me. Fraught, I jump and clutch my chest. My sister’s laughter, a sound similar to a braying donkey, echoes all around me.

“Might need to change your boxers, little brother.” To my mother, she says, “Did you see how he jumped? I think he messed his undies.” She tosses her head back and continues laughing.

Narrowing my eyes, I glare at Kiera for a moment before returning my attention to my mother. “Bye, mom. I’ll see you later.”

“Hope you have a great time at homecoming.” My mom smiles warmly.

Laughter trailing off, my sister folds her arms across her chest and shakes her head. “I can’t believe you’re going to be there too.”

I ignore her and leave the house. I make my way down the driveway and climb into the back seat of Tom’s car. I exchange greetings with everyone inside and we make our way to the school.

The ride is short and the parking lot has filled. We find a place to park and enter through the rear doors that lead us down a short hallway to the gym. The rumble of bass from the music blaring in the gym echoes down the corridor. Claps and cheers accompany it, indicating that the pep rally is underway. The closer we draw, the louder the thunderous eruption becomes, and when I step inside, it is deafening. Music from the band and a drum line greets us. The crash of symbols, the crisp snap of the snare drum and the rich beat of the bass collide to form a song to which cheerleaders shake pom-poms and chant. Wringing my hands, I scan the bleachers for any sign of Sarah.

“Let’s go find a place to sit, or stand at least,” Tom shouts over the noise.

I nod in agreement and follow him, all the while I check over my shoulder and hope I spot Sarah.

Wading through a sea of students, we find an unoccupied niche between the debate team and a few kids who reek of marijuana. No one seems to notice us and no one acknowledges us. The band stops and the cheerleaders perform a dance that ends with squeals and high leg kicks. But their routine is unimpressive. All I can concentrate on are the doors. Where is Sarah? The question rolls around in my head again and again.

“I don’t think she’s coming,” Tom leans in and says as if in answer to the question my brain posed.

Rearing my head slightly, I pretend I didn’t hear what he said so I can regain my footing. “Huh? Who? What’re you talking about?”

Tom rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. “C’mon, man, you know who. The girl you keep looking around for.”

I feign innocence, cocking one brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Tom swats the air between us with a large, meaty hand. “Whatever, dude. Not gonna get into it with you.

A shrill sound distracts us both as the microphone the man I presume is the football coach protests loudly.

“Oh man, that hurt.” I cup my hands over both ears until the shrieking stops and the man introduces himself as Coach McGrath. He addresses the student body, sharing a story of triumph over opposition as a child deemed too small to play football by his whole town and how he went on to score a game-winning touchdown that clinched the division for his school. The story sounds an awful lot like a movie I once watched with my mother, but I don’t bother mentioning it to Tom and the others. I don’t feel like recounting it and drawing the parallels between Coach McGrath’s harrowing tale and the Hollywood blockbuster, especially not after I see Jenny sashay into the gymnasium with Sarah a few steps behind her. Piercing eyes the color of ice over water search the crowd, and for a fleeting moment, I’m certain they search for me. My heart takes off at a gallop, the notion of her looking for me as I did for her so exhilarating a thrill of excitement pulses through my belly. She spots me and our gazes meet, the electrifying feeling pounding through me multiplying tenfold. She walks past countless girls and a few boys who try to get her to sit with them, declining with a stiff smile and a flick of her wrist. When Chris attempts to intercept her, my posture goes rigid. I watch, waiting to see if she’ll stay with him, hoping against hope she won’t. She blazes past him, not even bothering to make eye contact, and I fight to keep from erupting into a thunderous round of applause that rivals those roused by the pep rally. I beam at her, not caring that I probably look equal parts goofy and terrifying, until she is standing before me, Jenny at her side, chomping and snapping her gum.

“Hey Danny. Hey guys.” She acknowledges me specifically and the rest of my friends as a group, a detail that does not go unnoticed by me. “Sorry I’m so late. My mom had me running errands for her. You know, picking up milk, eggs and dry cleaning. Fun stuff.” She smiles, a lopsided smile that I find myself mirroring.

“No worries,” Tom says. “This thing is just about over. We’re going to get going in a few minutes.”

The tiniest of frowns tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Oh. That stinks.” Jenny glances at her furtively and a look of annoyance flickers across her features. “Hey, are you guys going to Tyler’s party?”

Jenny huffs and turns her head.

“Tyler?” Tom asks warily.

“Yeah, Tyler Adams. His parents are away. He lives in that huge house over off of Brady Brook Farm Road.” She tries to jog Tom’s memory.

“Never been there.” Tom shrugs and his reply is tight, embarrassed almost. It’s clear Tom and Tyler do not run in the same circles. “Besides, we weren’t invited.” A note of dejection touches his tone.

“You’re with me, so yes you are invited,” Sarah counters.

“I don’t know,” Steve chimes in as he shakes his head slowly.

“Yeah, really, I don’t think Tyler or any of his friends will share your opinion of how invites work,” Tom adds.

“Oh to heck with them! Who cares?” Sarah tips her chin defiantly. “I want you there.” Her eyes zero in on me and my heartbeat stutters.

After several beats pass between us, my voice springs from my throat. “I’m in. I’ll go.”

Tom eyes me curiously then looks between Sarah and I. “Okay, I guess we’re going.” His tone is hesitant, cautious. But he’s agreed, and I’m grateful. I’m not sure how grateful I’ll be if we get there and are promptly turned away at the door, but for the time being, I’m elated to be going anywhere with Sarah. Heck, she could be telling me I’m in for an exam from a proctologist and I’d be thrilled just to be with her.

“Oh great!” She looks over her shoulder and sees that the faculty is putting on a corny skit. “Let’s get out of here now and avoid the stampede, and this ridiculous nonsense,” she gestures to the teachers humiliating themselves.

We make our way out of the gym, out of the school and into our respective cars. Following Sarah, we navigate several long and winding roads until we find ourselves driving down a tree-lined lane. Towering pines lend a stately presence to an already picturesque stretch of road. Pines give way to brightly colored, lower growing foliage. Leaves colored vibrant shades of orange, red and yellow fall from branches, cascading to the ground like flames. The road we travel looks as if it’s been pulled from the pages of a magazine or from the canvas of a famous painter, even in the dark.

“Wow, this neighborhood looks nothing like mine,” Tom mumbles.

“Yeah, I hear that,” Steve agrees.

We pull up to a cul-de-sac with just three houses separated by acres of land. Sarah guides her car to the middle driveway and follows the steep slope to a sprawling house set high on a hill. An array of other vehicles are parked on either side of the driveway, both on the grass and off it.

“Wow,” is all I manage as I take in the sheer size of the house and the property.

“I know, right,” Tom agrees.

Guys and girls mill about the perimeter of the property, some chatting in small groups while others pair off.

“No way do we belong here,” Steve says from the front seat.

“Yeah, this is crazy. I don’t think we should stay,” Mike chimes in.

I’m not sure how I feel. All I know is that if I have an opportunity to hang out with Sarah, I’m staying.

“Let’s go, get out of here and grab a slice,” Steve suggests.

Tom twists in the driver’s seat and glances at me. “I think we should just see how things play out, right, Danny?”

“Absolutely,” I agree. “We’re with Sarah. No one’s going to question her. We’ll be fine.”

Without any further resistance or discussion, we exit the car. Sarah greets us and we follow her through the front door and into a tiled entryway. Loud music blares somewhere in the house, filling the space with a rumbling rhythm that vibrates through my bones.

“Let’s go out back,” Sarah shouts over the music. She carves a path through bodies that undulate and sway in time with the beat until we reach a sliding glass door off the kitchen. Beyond it is a covered in-ground swimming pool. At least fifty boys and girls linger around it. I immediately spot my sister, Kiera. Flanked by two other girls and circled by about six boys, she holds court for a rapt audience. Her eyes grow wide when she sees me. Shocked, she mouths the words, “What are you doing here?” Her brow is furrowed and her expression is one of pure hostility but she doesn’t miss a beat. No one with her sees her do it.

I take a tentative step toward her, sick and tired of her abuse at this point, but feel a small, warm hand land on my forearm. “This place is crazy, right?” Sarah is smiling at me, her face highlighted perfectly by the outdoor floodlights.

“It sure is,” I agree. “I’ve driven by houses like this but never been inside one.”

“I’ve been here before, but this place, no matter how many times I come, always manages to amaze me. I always find something different or something I didn’t notice last time.”

Cocking my head to one side, I ask, “Like what?”

Sarah chews her lower lip then turns from me, scanning the expansive piece of property on which the house sits. “Those trees.” She points in the distance to a row of stout trees with blood-red leaves. Those are Japanese maple trees.”

I follow the trajectory of her finger, never so interested in a tree in my life. “Those are nice. I really like them.” I fumble for the right words to say then shift my weight from one leg to the next.

“Funny thing is, I asked Tyler’s mom if they’re new and she looked at me like I have ten heads, said they’ve been here forever.” She brushes a silken lock of hair from her forehead and I swear I envy her hand.

“Hmm, wow, that’s cool.” Cool? Cool! Really? That’s the best I could come up with! Heat sweeps up my back, blazing a trail up my neck until it reaches my cheeks. I clear my throat and hope she doesn’t notice that sweat beads my forehead now. Suddenly, I’m grateful for all the cologne I applied as I’m sure my deodorant has just been put to a test it failed. “It’s cool that you notice things like that.” I try to aptly express what was in my brain. “Most kids our age don’t pick up on things like that or know the names of pretty little red trees.”

Sarah tips her chin so that she’s staring right into my eyes. She has the face of an angel, amazing eyes that shine, and I immediately forget how to breathe. She doesn’t speak for several moments, just holds me in a trance-like state, mesmerized by her gaze. “Tyler’s mom’s name is Linda. She’s an artist and planted a butterfly bush out front by the walkway.”

I smile goofily, adoring how she just comes out with random facts. No matter, though. She could say just about anything, take me to an expo where we watch paint dry together and I’d still smile like an idiot. “A butterfly bush.” The term is foreign to me.

“It’s a big purple bush, also known as a summer lilac.” Sarah’s eyes glitter with a modicum of pride.

“Awesome,” I say and bob my head. “So the lilac attracts butterflies?”

“Yes!” She bounces on the balls of her feet excitedly. “That’s exactly right.” She reaches out and touches my arm. The act sends a wave of warmth crashing into me, only not the sweaty embarrassed kind. This wave snatches the breath from my lungs and makes me wish she’d never move her hand ever. I’m about to reach out my hand and cover hers when Chris and four of his friends exit through the sliding glass doors we exited from. When they see us, they head straight for us, and my stomach plummets to my feet.

“Hey Sarah.” Chris’ voice is cloying as he addresses only her. “What’re these losers doing here?” He clips his head toward me and anger snaps through me like a current of electricity. But before I’m able to open my mouth and utter a single word, Sarah whirls on him.

“Do you always have to be such a jerk?” she fires with venom in her tone. “They’re with me and they aren’t losers!”

Chris scratches his chin as if deep in thought, then his lips part to form a slow, vicious smile. “Yeah Sarah, they may be with you but they weren’t invited, and I know I can’t speak for Tyler, but I know how I’d feel if a party at my house was crashed. I’d toss the losers out after giving them a little something to remind them why it’s rude to show up to parties uninvited.” He cracks the knuckles on his right hand then his left.

“Well lucky thing this isn’t your house.” She matches the acid in his voice and smirks just as he does.

Chris tightens his upper lip over his teeth in a sneer, holding Sarah’s gaze. Instinctively, I place my body between Sarah and Chris. Chris looks over his shoulder at a guy wearing a black hooded sweatshirt with writing down the sleeves and a mowhawk. “Hey Ty! Buddy! Did you invite these losers to the party?”

Tyler looks at us then shakes his head no.

Chris whips his head back and glares at me, a smug look on his face. “There you have it. It’s time to go.”

“Jerk!” Sarah shouts.

“Me?” He rears his head as if he’s just been struck, his features screwed up in exaggerated shock. “I’m the jerk? Really? I’ve been asking you to come with me to this parry for a week now and instead you hang out with losers.” He shrugs. “And I’m the jerk? Ha!”

“They’re not losers,” she growls through her teeth.

“Ha! That’s a joke!” He tosses his head back and laughs. “Why don’t you give me a chance? Every girl here would kill for the chance. But not you.” The slur in his voice is apparent. He’s been drinking. He reaches around me and grabs her arm, the stench of alcohol surrounding him in a sour cloud.

“Get off me you’re drunk!” Sarah screams but he doesn’t let go.

“You’re not going to make a fool of me in front of everyone,” Chris hisses between clenched teeth.

Anger charges through my veins like razor-sharp shards of glass, the situation happening so quickly, my brain struggles to process it at first. But when it finally does and when everything gels, I pull his hand off. “Get off her.” My voice erupts from a place deep inside me, dark and dangerous. His hand lands against his leg with a slap and a stunned look flickers across his features. But he quickly regains his composure.

“Whoa, now, I’d calm down if I were you, little man.” Chris puffs out his chest to punctuate his obvious height and weight advantage.

“Just leave her alone and we’ll go. She’s not interested,” I say referring to his advances.

Chris advances a step and, before I can anticipate his movement, thrusts his arms forward and pushes me.

I stumble but regain my footing instantly. Insides trembling, I try to diffuse the situation. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.” I raise my hands to chest height, palms facing out.

“Yeah, I bet you don’t,” Chris snickers. “But you went and got yourself involved and now you’ve got it.” He shoves me a second time and I lurch backward, narrowly avoiding falling into the covered pool.

My breathing ratchets up several notches, my anger soaring, and all fear seeps from me. I plant my feet and feel pure instinct overtake me. All negative self-talk is silenced. Inferiority complexes fall to the wayside. And any doubt about my capabilities evaporate. “Chris, if you touch me one more time, you’re going to get hurt.” My voice streams from me coolly, confidently. It sounds exactly like I feel.

Chris looks among his friends as if checking to see that he heard me correctly. “I’m going to get hurt?” He looks left then right for approval. “Wow. I’m really going to give you a beating just for that.”

“Leave him alone, Chris!” Sarah shouts, her voice hoarse and fraught with worry.

Without taking my eyes off Chris. I reach my hand back and wrap it around one of hers. Giving it a gentle squeeze, I say, “Don’t worry about it, Sarah. He’s the one who’s going to get hurt.”

Sarah looks at me strangely, but I do not have time to ask why. Chris flies into a rage, charging me and swinging his left fist at me. With swifter reflexes than I ever dreamed I’d have, I sidestep him and grab him by the back of his neck. I thrust him forward and he lands in the pool, making a huge splash that draws the attention of just about everyone at the party. Jumping up and as angry as any person I’ve ever seen, Chris lifts himself out of the water. Laughter erupts, and it’s aimed at him.

Face beet red and water dripping off his soaked designer clothes, he glowers at me. “Just for that, I’m gonna put you in the hospital.” And with his words, he swings again. I dodge his blow a second time, and with the same ease I evaded the first. Only this time, instead of catching him by the back of his neck, I shoot my leg out and thrust him forward using his own momentum. He stumbles over it, careening full speed into wrought iron patio furniture, landing hard and sending it flying. Staggering to his feet, I see that his lip is bloody and that a gash marks his forehead.

“Just stop now. I don’t want to hurt you,” I say.

“You don’t want to hurt me?” he screams and bloody spittle sprays from his mouth. Lunging at me, I duck down. As he is on me, my body rockets upward with him still on top of me. He is lifted off the ground and sent flying. He lands to the ground hard and with a thud.

Getting up slowly, he charges again and swings at me, his movement clumsy. Seeing his arm as if it’s moving in slow motion, I catch his arm, twist it behind his back and shove him to the ground face first, still clutching his arm and with me on his back. Heart drilling my ribcage, I lower my head, my breath coming in uneven pants. “Stay down,” I growl. “Stop this now before this gets bad.” My voice shivers with warning, with the promise of violence, and I feel the tension seep from his muscles. Slowly, I release him and stand. Chris scrambles to his knees, his head hanging low, then rises to his feet. He refuses to look at me, or anyone else for that matter, as he makes his way across the patio and through the house. My eyes follow him until he passes a cluster of upperclassmen, and a familiar pair of eyes finds me. My sister, Kiera, regards me with equal parts awe and disbelief. For once she isn’t mocking or ridiculing me. Her eyes do not dance with derision. To the contrary, pride glimmers in the depths of her gaze. My attention is ripped from her, however, when Sarah’s dulcet voice caresses my ear.

“How did you do that?” Her tone is little more than a breathy whisper, sweet and soft like summer rain. “Do you study martial arts or something?”

Shaking my head and going with the first idea that pops into my mind, I answer, “Nah, I’m from Yonkers. You have to know how to fight if you grew up in the neighborhood I grew up in.” I realize how stupid I sound but given all that happened, I can’t muster the strength to backpedal.

“That was awesome!” Steve is suddenly beside me, eyes wide and a huge smile carving his features.

“How the heck did you do that?” Tom asks.

“We’d better get out of here.” I dodge his question, the need to be as far from Tyler’s house as possible burgeoning.

“Yeah, that’s probably best,” Sarah agrees. Then she turns and extends her hand to me. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” I look at her, confused.

“Just give it to me,” she demands.

I slip it from my front pants pocket and hand it to her. Her slender fingers dance across the keypad.

“Call me tomorrow.” She smiles and my heart melts.

“I will,” I say as she turns on her heels and blazes a path through the growing crowd. We leave Tyler’s house, all heads swiveling with mouths agape as they stare at me. For the first time in my school career, I am the center of attention. I’m not sure whether I like it or not. All I know is that Sarah just put her phone number into my phone and asked me to call her tomorrow. Everything else is a blur of sound and color.

Chapter 7

Pacing around my room for the greater part of the last three hours trying to summon the courage to call Sarah has been harrowing. I’m not sure why. After all, she did give me her phone number and she did ask me to call her, so why can’t my trembling thumb, poised over the call button on my phone, complete the task?

Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and allow my thumb to touch the screen. The sound of a phone ringing begins after a second or two, and I feel a lacy web of panic ensnare me.

“Hello?” Sarah’s sweet voice echoes on the line.

Throat suddenly dry, I swallow hard then say, “Hi Sarah.”

She pauses for a beat then says, “Danny, how are you?” My heart sprints. Maybe I’m imagining things, but it sounds as if she’s happy to hear from me. The thought is tempting. Dare I believe she is? “That thing you did last night, how you handled Chris, it was amazing.”

Opening my eyes and smiling, I thank her. “Thanks.”

“No one’s ever gone against him like that. No one’s ever stood up for me like that either. You’re a hero.” Her words surprise me, and not so much the part about no one standing up to Chris. I can’t fathom that anyone wouldn’t have done exactly what I did in the same situation. He was grabbing her arm, speaking in a low threatening tone. As far as I’m concerned I didn’t do anything special. I’m certainly not a hero, though it feels amazing to hear her say that to me.

“Hmm, hero, not sure if I agree with you on that one. But if you insist.” I chuckle nervously and am thankful when she laughs too.

“I do.” She giggles. It’s an intoxicating sound. “I do insist. From now on you are Hero Danny.”

My cheeks warm. “Hey, you won’t catch me complaining about my new name.” My words make her laughter bubble anew.

The giggles die down and she clears her throat. “So yeah, that was intense last night, for sure.”

“That it was.” I bob my head not knowing why I am. She can’t see me.

“What you did to Chris was long overdue,” Sarah shocks me by saying.

“Really?” I can’t help but ask. “It seems like everyone likes him.” I recall him making his way down the hallway on my first day of school. “All he needed was a pink taffeta dress, a tiara and a sash and he could’ve passed for a pageant queen marching in a parade in her honor.” It makes me want to gag but not Sarah.

Laughter vaults from her in a rush of melodic notes. “Oh my gosh.” She gasps and splutters. “You’re killing me! That’s all I’ll be able to see from here on out. Chris in a dress, waving like the Queen of Corn or something.”

Her laughter continues throughout the remainder of our hour-long conversation, a detail that leaves me feeling ecstatic. She thinks I’m funny, otherwise she wouldn’t laugh. Emboldened as the conversation draws to a close, I muster the courage to ask her what I’ve been wanting to ask since she said hello. Inhaling deeply, I ask, “So, uh, what’re you doing tonight?”

“I don’t have anything planned,” she answers casually. “How about you?” She doesn’t get that I’m trying to ask her out, not that I’m doing a good job of conveying my intentions. Jeez, I wish I were smoother!

“I was, uh, wondering if, uh, you’d like to hang out.” I fumble over my words, breathless and suddenly lightheaded.

“Sure!” Her enthusiastic response causes me to suck in a lungful of air, only saliva accompanies it and I hack and cough to the point my eyes bulge and my face reddens. “Danny, are you okay?” she asks.

Wheezing, I answer. “I’m all right. Just choking on my own saliva.” Embarrassment clings to me like scum on a pond. “How about dinner and a movie, you know, if I can stop coughing,” I say between bouts.

“That sounds great. What time are you picking me up?” she asks.

“Does seven work for you?” I silently hope it does. I doubt I can wait longer than that.

“Perfect. I’ll text you my address.” She pauses and I assume she’s composing her message. When my phone beeps and her number comes up I’m certain. “What movie are we seeing?”

“Um, I’ll let you pick. I don’t really care as long as we’re together.” Oh my gosh! Did I just say that out loud? The question screams through my brain, loud and shrill like air breaks. I’m stunned. The second sentence slipped past my lips as if of its own accord. Sweat beads on my brow and back. Hearing me say that must make her think I’m not only an idiot but a loser too.

“That’s so sweet, Danny. I’m looking forward to hanging out with you too.” The phone nearly slides from my hand. I bobble it before regaining control. I bring it to my ear.

“Ok, see you at seven.” I try to sound cool, to sound as nonchalant and relaxed as possible. But in reality, I’m a quivering pile of nerves.

“Ok I look forward to it,” she replies.

We hang up and the rest of the day creeps by so slowly I swear the hours are reversing, not moving forward. When finally six-thirty arrives, I leave my room and trot down the staircase. Swiping the keys from the ceramic bowl on the table in the hallway. “Bye Mom!” I call out, “I’m leaving for my date.” Saying the word “date” and knowing it’s with Sarah feels incredible.

Instead of my mother’s voice, I hear Kiera. “Who are you going out with?” She appears, arms folded across her chest and one eyebrow arched arrogantly.

“Sarah.” Just saying her name makes my chest flutter. “You know, the girl I don’t have a chance with,” I add for good measure.

The smug look melts from my sister’s face. “How? How did you manage that, and how did you do what you did last night?”

Just then my mother rounds the corner. “What did he do last night?”

I shoot Kiera a look of warning.

Her eyes toggle between me and my mom. “Oh nothing,” she says smoothly, missing only a fraction of a beat. “I was just wondering how he got a date with the most popular girl in school.”

“Your brother is a wonderful boy, that’s how.” My mother puts in her two cents with confidence.

“Yeah, wonderful, right,” Kiera says. Then to only me, she adds, “We’re not done discussing this.” She holds my gaze for a moment.

“Right,” I say before I turn my attention to my mother. “Bye, Mom.”

“Bye, sweetie. Drive safely. And have fun!” she adds as I’m walking out the front door.

Stepping out into the driveway, the first thing I notice is the way the air smells. Clean and earthy, the scent of ozone hangs heavily. The pavement is wet and brightly colored leaves litter the walkway, as well as the front lawn. Rain has fallen. The day was unusually warm for October, hot even, but now a brisk breeze blows, sending leaves in rich reds, yellows and oranges cascading to the ground like embers. They circle and swirl all around me and I lift my chin, inhaling deeply as I turn my eyes skyward. Clouds race by, revealing a large swath of sky scrubbed to a perfect pastel blue. The color, so pale and striking, reminds me of Sarah’s eyes.

Sarah. Just thinking her name sets off a tornado in my belly. My insides tremble, and for a moment, I worry I won’t be able to drive. But that worry is quickly dismissed when I consider the possibility of not seeing Sarah even for a fleeting moment. There isn’t a chance in the world I’d cancel. Death would be the only way I wouldn’t show up, and considering that I’ve died already once in the last three months, I think I’m safe for the time being.

After unlocking the driver’s side door of the Honda CRV, I slide behind the steering wheel and enter her address into the GPS app on my phone.

The drive to her home takes less than ten minutes, but in my state, it might as well be a three-hour journey. I can’t wait to see her. When finally I pull into her driveway and park, my hands tremble so violently that ringing the doorbell is a challenge. The door is answered immediately, and a tall woman with impeccable posture answers.

“Hi there, you must be Danny. I’m Ellen, Sarah’s mother.” She waves me inside. “Please, come in. Sarah will be down shortly.”

Stepping inside the tiled foyer, the scent of apples and cinnamon greets me along with tasteful fall décor.

“Can I get you a drink? Iced tea? Soda? A bottle of water?” Ellen asks.

Fiddling with the keys on the keychain in my hand, I politely decline. “No, thank you,” I say when what I’d really like to do is accept the bottle of water, chug it, then ask for another to dump on my head. All the nervousness and stress leading up to this date has made my head feel as if it’s the flame at the tip of a candle wick. I shift my weight from one leg to the next, clear my throat and then smile nervously.

“So how do you like living in Patterson so far? Sarah tells me you’re from Yonkers.” The last statement reaches me as more of a question.

“Yes, that’s true. I grew up in Yonkers. Lived there my whole life.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” She cocks her head to one side and nods. “Living here must be a welcome change.” The corners of her mouth tilt upward, her smile a bit wooden and failing to reach her eyes, and her tone bordering on apologetic.

I hold her gaze for an extra beat, wondering what exactly her odd demeanor means. “Yeah, it’s nice here,” I say, my voice flat.

“Danny,” Sarah says. I turn toward the sound of her voice and my breath catches in my chest. Flaxen hair spills over her shoulders, styled in loose waves and her pale blue eyes are rimmed in dark makeup, making her gaze all the more bewitching.

“Hi,” I manage breathlessly as I take her in. Dressed in skinny jeans and mid-calf riding boots with a fitted long sleeve T shirt, Sarah is a vison. Stunning. “You look amazing.”

She blushes and a small smile curves her full, pink lips. “Thanks. You look nice too.”

Jamming my hands in my pockets, I lower my head, inhaling the sweet scent of her perfume and wonder whether I died a second time and am in some alternate realm. “Thanks.”

Ellen looks between the two of us and sighs quietly.

“Are you ready to go?” I ask Sarah.

Bobbing her head, she grabs her purse and slips it onto her shoulder. Together, we walk to the front door.

“Have fun, kids,” Ellen says in a rueful tone.

“Bye, Mom,” Sarah says without looking at her mother.

I pause and turn. “Thank you. It was nice meeting you.”

Ellen dips her chin, her smile brightening a bit. She closes the door behind us and we walk to my SUV. I open the passenger side door and let Sarah in first then we drive to the theater.

“So I picked a movie. It starts at seven forty-five so we should be good.” Sarah checks the time on her phone. “We have a half hour to get there and buy our tickets.”

“Awesome. What movie are we seeing?” I couldn’t care less what movie will be playing. It’ll only be background noise to thoughts of Sarah that will undoubtedly caper through my mind.

“Oh it’s a good one. It’s called Haven and it’s by that author Nicky Larks who writes all those books that become epic love movies.”

The name is vaguely familiar. I think I may have seen him interviewed on a morning show over the summer. “Yeah, I know the one. That sounds good.”

Sarah recites the movie trailer and chats excitedly about the plot as we pull into the theater lot and park. I buy our tickets as well as popcorn, candy and sodas, and we make our way to the theater.

The movie starts and immediately a narrator begins speaking, his deep voice melancholy and ripe with wisdom. Seagulls fly over a beach in North Carolina and immediately, the groundwork for a gut-wrenching love story begins. Romantic movies are typically not my first choice of movie to watch. They aren’t my second, third or fourth choice either. But this was Sarah’s first choice. She even bounced a little when she saw that this particular book, penned by an author famous for tear-inducing movie renditions of his work, was playing. Now, as each scene unfolds, she is riveted, clutching the bucket of popcorn as it is balanced on her lap. But I’m barely watching the movie. My attention continually reverts to her. Smiling broadly as the male lead proclaims his love for the slightly emotionally damaged female lead, I see unshed tears shining in her eyes and the intense passion she possesses is apparent. Filled with heat that spirals and coils in a helix formation through my core, I force myself to return my attention to the screen, though it hurts to do so. I want nothing more than to look at her.

An hour passes, and the drama of the movie intensifies. I’m hardly affected by it, though I can hardly pay attention to it save for staring at the screen while focusing on the feel of Sarah’s arm brushing mine as she shifts her position on the armrest. The contact sends a wave of tingles sweeping up my arm and my heart rate speeds. I glance at her in my periphery and see that a thin stream of tears trickles down her cheek. Instinctively, I reach out a hand and take hers in mine. Heart firmly lodged in my throat, I pray she doesn’t stiffen up or yank her hand away, or both. She doesn’t and I’m about as thankful as I’ve ever been.

Interlacing her fingers with mine, she gives a gentle squeeze that sends my pulse skyrocketing. I look to our joined hands then follow the line of her arm to her shoulder and neck, ending at her face. She blinks back tears, touched by the fictitious tragedy that has developed, and I’m spellbound by her sensitivity, by her beauty.

I continue watching her, focusing on her profile from the corner of my eye more than the movie itself. When the credits finally roll and the lights brighten slightly, Sarah releases my hand and turns to me. Wiping her nose with a tissue she’s pulled from her purse, she huffs a lock of hair off her forehead and smiles. “Hmm, I’m probably a mess right about now.” She digs for a mirror, careful to keep her head low and seeming self-conscious. It’s hard to imagine someone as lovely as she is feeling anything less that stunningly gorgeous.

“You’re beautiful,” I blurt the words ahead of my brain and feel my cheeks heat.

The small compact Sarah stares into slips from her hand and ribbons of pink kiss her cheeks. She smiles and touches a hand to her chest. “Thank you.” Her words are heartfelt, so much so I’d think she never received that compliment before.

I smile nervously then ask. “Are you hungry?”

She glances at her mirror a final time and mumbles something about her eyes being puffy then answers. Licking her lips, she leans in as if conspiring. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m not one of those girls who eats yogurt and salad. I eat like a linebacker.” She crinkles her nose cutely.

“Your secret is safe with me. I promise,” I assure her.

“Good.” She drawls out the word and bobs her head. “Despite eating most of that bucket of popcorn, I’m starving. If word of that got out, I’m sure there’d be a rumor tomorrow that I binge and purge.” She rolls her eyes. “You know how some people are: always looking to bring you down to make themselves look better. Not that that ever works, not to anyone with half a brain, that is.”

Fire glitters in the depths of her ice-blue eyes, a fire I admire. “I hear you.”

Gnawing her lower lip, I glimpse that self-consciousness I witnessed before. “I know I’m rambling. Small schools are great and all, until you become a target, then that’s who you are until you graduate. There isn’t room for redemption and there isn’t chance for change.” Sadness touches her tone.

“I didn’t grow up going to small schools but I get it.” I nod.

“You’re lucky. Small schools are overrated.” Sarah stands and slings her purse over her shoulder.

I stand as well. “How so?” I ask and usher her forward.

She walks until she reaches the aisle. Many of the moviegoers have already left. We’re able to stroll and take our time. “Well, for starters, if you don’t want to be part of a group or be labeled, you don’t have to be.”

I arch a brow at her. “Umm not to be a jerk here but no one has to be part of a group or labeled if you think about it.”

She stops and looks at me, and for a minute, I’m sure she’ll scold me. When a half-smile tilts one side of her mouth and I realize she isn’t offended, I breathe a sigh of relief. “I guess I never really thought of it that way.” She chews her lower lip contemplatively. “Being here, growing up and going to school with kids I’ve known since preschool, things just become what they are, you know? The jocks stay jocks and only hang out with each other. The smart kids stick with each other and don’t venture into sports.” She splays a hand out to her side. “You get what I’m saying, right?”

“I do, and it was sort of the same way in my old school, just on a larger scale. And because there were so many kids, it was easy to get lost.” The admission springs from me unexpectedly.

Thoughtful eyes glance my way. “Did you ever feel lost there, Danny?”

Shoving my hands into the front pockets of my jeans, I shrug. “Yeah, I guess I did.” I surprise myself with my divulgence. I’ve never shared how I felt in school back then save for with my mother, and even then, I held back somewhat. I never articulated precisely that I felt like a face lost in a vast crowd.

She lowers her voice, her tone suddenly intimate. “That sounds awful. I’m so sorry.” She holds my gaze for several beats and I narrowly avoid walking into a blonde planet carrying a jug of cola and the largest barrel of popcorn I’ve ever seen.

“Watch where you’re going,” the large blonde woman snaps. She narrows eyes circled in electric blue eyeliner and eye shadow at me.

“Sorry, my bad.” I hold up my hands in mock surrender.

“Yeah right,” the woman snarls and huffs angrily.

As soon as she passes, Sarah begins laughing. “Oh my gosh! What’d you do, back over her cat on your way here? Jeez!”

“I know, right? She was mean.” I toss my thumb over my shoulder in the direction of the woman.

“Mean.” Sarah repeats what I’ve said, my word choice inducing another fit of laughter. “Yeah. She was,” she barely manages through giggles. “Hope she doesn’t come back here and kick your butt.”

Widening my eyes, I turn and look behind me. “Yeah, you and me both.” Then I add, “She isn’t coming is she?”

Sarah tosses her head back and laughs, the sound rich and pleasant. “Nope. I think we’re safe for now, as long as you watch where you’re going that is.”

I hold up my hands in mock surrender. “I will. I swear.”

We continue our banter until we reach the car. I open the door and let her in then slide behind the driver’s seat. “So what are you in the mood for? There’s an Italian place Tom told me about. He says the food is great.”

“Hmm, I was thinking we could just go to the diner on Route 22 and have burgers.” Sarah smiles mischievously.

“Only on one condition,” I say flatly.

Sarah’s eyes widen as if she’s taken aback. “What? What is it?”

“We have to wash those burgers down with chocolate shakes.” I look her dead in the eyes.

A large grin rounds her cheeks. “Deal.”

I nod. “All right then.”

I drive less than a mile and park outside the diner. We walk in together and are greeted by a plump woman with blue-black hair and more eye makeup than I’ve ever seen any woman wear. “Two?” she asks and slips two menus from a stack.

“Yup,” I nod.

“Follow me.” She leads us to a booth. “I’ll be back when you’re ready.”

“We’re ready.” Sarah surprises me by speaking up. “I’ll have a hamburger and fries, medium well and a chocolate milkshake, extra thick, please.”

The woman smiles and looks to me.

“I’ll have what she’s having, just throw some bacon and American cheese on that burger and I’m good.” I look between the waitress and Sarah.

“Ok, doll. I’ll go put your order in.” She disappears like a wraith, seemingly absorbed by the clink and tinkle of silverware against ceramic plates.

While we wait for our food, Sarah asks, “Do you come from a big family? How many brothers and sisters do you have if any?”

The waitress returns with a glass of water each for us. Sipping it, I say, “I have one sister, Kiera.”

“Oh, wow. Kiera is your sister?” she tilts her head to one side and asks.

“Yeah, lucky me, she is.” I roll my eyes and remember some of the awful things she’s said to me in recent days.

“You are lucky. I just met her and think she’s so sweet.” Sarah seems genuine, a point that shocks me.

Kiera? Sweet? I wonder whether Sarah has the right person in mind. “Is there more than one Kiera at the school?”

Sarah shakes her head. “Nope.”

“Huh. Weird.” I jerk my head back slightly, unable to imagine my sister ever being sweet save for the day I died.

“What’s weird about that? You live with her. You know how awesome she is.” Sarah shrugs and fiddles with the glass of water.

“Yeah,” I drawl the word. “I do live with her. And because she’s my sister, I won’t talk bad about her. All I’ll say is that she’s neither sweet nor awesome at home.”

Sarah scrunches her features and looks even more adorable if that’s possible. “Really? That’s so hard to believe.”

“Believe it. Trust me.” I raise my brow to punctuate my point.

“Oh, wow. Huh. I guess you learn something new every day.” Sarah relaxes against the back of the booth seat just as our food arrives. We eat and drink and chat and I wish the night would never end. But when the check arrives and I glance at my phone to check the time, I realize our date is quickly coming to a close.

After paying the check, Sarah and I leave the diner. On the way to the SUV, she slips her hand into mine, interlacing our fingers and stealing the air from my lungs in one swift motion. I reluctantly release her hand to open her door for her then slide behind the steering wheel. I drive her home, feeling heavyhearted and exhilarated simultaneously. I pull into her driveway and that feeling multiplies exponentially. I park and leave the car running. Turning to her I say, “I had a nice time.”

“Me too.” She smiles and adds, “I hope we can do it again soon.”

My heart swells so that it feels too large to be contained by my ribs. “I’d like that. Let’s do it soon.” Tomorrow night would be great, I think.

She brightens. “Okay. I’d love that.”

Silence dances between us. She has to go inside and I have to go home. But both of us seem to want to stay. I know I do. Leaning toward her ever so slightly, my gaze drifts to her lips. I wonder what they would feel like pressed against mine. The thought sends my pulse through the roof. I look to her eyes once again and see that hers flicker between my face and my mouth. Heart on the verge of exploding, I move in closer. She matches my move and we continue gravitating toward each other until I feel her minty breath caressing my face. Closing my eyes, I force fear to the back of my mind and close the distance between us, pressing my lips to hers and savoring the softness, the feel of her mouth on mine. Neither of us moves for a good twenty seconds. And it is the best twenty seconds of my life. When finally we part, Sarah says goodnight to me. I resist the overwhelming urge to tell her I love her because at this precise moment, I do.

“Goodnight,” I reply. This was the best night of my life, I think. I watch her unlock the front door and step inside.

I don’t remember the ride home and I don’t remember showering and getting undressed. All I remember is the feel of her mouth against mine. I touch my fingertips to my lips, and her face is the last vision I see before I drift off to sleep.

Chapter 8

Walking into school on Monday morning, I feel as if my feet do not touch the ground. After a weekend spent chatting on the phone with Sarah for hours at a time, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been in recent memory. The hallway is lined with kids, many with their backs turned, huddled and deep in discussion. I’m hardly aware of them though. There’s only one face I’m searching for, one person I seek: Sarah.

Making my way to my locker purposefully, I notice that the faces I scan all wear the same general expression. Each seems troubled. Each bears sadness, confusion, and fear.

Seeing Tom in my periphery, I turn to face him as he fumbles with the combination on his lock. “What the heck is going on? What’s with all the long faces?” I ask.

Tom’s eyes narrow and confusion knits his brow. “You didn’t hear?”

“Hear what?” I ask, perplexed and intrigued.

Tom sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. I notice his eyes are bloodshot and puffy. “Jenny Sanders, you know, Sarah’s best friend, she committed suicide last night. They found her in the basement with her wrists slit just like the other girls.”

My stomach plummets to my feet and a wash of icy numbness prickles my skin. “No.” The word comes out as a breathy whisper. Guilt collides with anger as I realize Jenny’s death is my fault. I was sent here to prevent such occurrences, though I haven’t the vaguest clue how I’m supposed to accomplish such a feat. Regardless, I’ve become distracted. I’ve become preoccupied with Sarah. Her face fills my thoughts. Her voice echoes in my mind. And the ache in her heart becomes my own.

Sensing her proximity, I look up and see her. She walks toward me, her hurt palpable. “Sarah,” is all I can say.

“Danny,” she barely manages. I hear the tightness in her throat, see the rivulet of tears streaming from her eyes. She reaches out and touches my arm, her fingertips feathers on my forearm.

Immediately, I envelop her, drawing her close to my body and wrapping both arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” I say into her hair, the sweet scent of strawberries and vanilla wafting from her golden locks.

She allows me to hold her as sobs rack her body. Her shoulders shudder and I hold her tighter, begging every deity I can conceive of to allow me to take her hurt and make it my own. “This can’t be happening.” Her words come between sniffles. She steps back and her eyes, now the brightest, palest sky blue I’ve ever seen, meet mine. “She didn’t do it. She didn’t kill herself. She wasn’t like that.” Her arms fall from my waist and wrap around her own. She clutches her midsection as if attempting to literally hold herself together. “Jenny loved herself. A little too much at times.” A small, pained laugh passes from her lips. “This is like the others, the other girls who allegedly committed suicide, isn’t it? Only she wasn’t found at the mansion, she was found at the house.” I reach out and pull her closer so that her head rests atop my heart. “Danny, what’s happening?” Her voice is a wisp burdened by raw grief and confusion.

“I don’t know.” My answer is feeble in every sense of the word. “I wish I had a concrete answer, some sort of explanation for which I had a solution. But I don’t. All I know is that I was drawn to this small town, and that the vision I had when we visited the Hanson Mansion did not include suicide.

As if reading my thoughts exactly, Sarah pushes away from me and tips her chin. Our gazes collide and a potent blend of anger, hurt and fear flashes in her eyes. “The police are going to say she was in the same cult as the others. And that’s crap! That’s total crap!” She raises her voice and the few people around us turn to stare. “What did you see at the Hanson Mansion? How did you know what happened?” she demands.

Eyes darting left first then right, I check to see whose attention she’s caught. Conversations seem to have resumed. Any glances that land our way appear insignificant. Confident what I’m about to say won’t be overheard, I say, “Look, Sarah, I’ll tell you everything, okay? I’ll tell you everything I know. But not now. Not here.” I rub my forehead and feel as if my toes are curled over the edge of a great precipice from which I’m about to pitch myself. Once she knows what I know, there’s no turning back. She’ll either think I’m crazy and never speak to me again, or we will grow closer. Either way, I’m taking a huge risk. “I’ll tell you after school. I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Sarah nods, her gaze never wavering from mine. And in that moment, the risk I’m taking by telling her seems too great. I don’t want to lose her. The thought of her thinking I’m insane and never speaking to me again is too much for me to bear.

Without anything else to say, without any other word of assurance to offer, I tell her what is in my heart. “This is going to stop. We are going to stop it.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I’m filled with a kind of conviction I’ve never felt, a sureness that saturates every cell in my body and I know I’ll make good on my promise. I will protect Sarah until my dying breath.

Sarah nods a second time. Unshed tears shine in her eyes. “Okay,” she whispers then swallows hard. “I have to go now.” She rakes a hand through her hair and blinks several times. “I have to go see how my friends are holding up.” Her gaze is intense as it seizes mine.

“Okay.” I try to stare straight into her brain and gauge what she’s thinking, but as far as I know, I don’t possess such a power. All I see is a girl who just lost her best friend. She maintains eye contact for several beats then turns and walks away from me. Watching her go sends a pang directly to the center of my chest. I worry I’ll see it again after I tell her in detail what I saw. She’s be well within her means to think I’ve lost my mind. And who knows? Maybe I have.

Shaking my head, I allow my chin to drop to my chest. I squeeze my eyes shut for a split-second, the dizzying whirl of thoughts spinning through my mind overwhelming me. When I open my eyes, Tom’s navy stare bores into my skull, his pink skin paler than usual. “What the heck were you talking about with her? What’re you going to stop?”

Taken aback and staggered for a moment, I’m at a loss for words. Mouth dry and unable to blink, I draw a blank on how exactly I should respond.

“Dude, you okay?” Tom arches one brow and cocks his head to the side as he studies my face.

Snapping out of the stupor that claimed me seconds ago, I say, “Yeah, fine. I’m fine.” I trip over my words.

Tom nods, his expression relaxing only marginally. “So what was all that you were saying to Sarah?”

I clear my throat and feel as if the temperature in the school has climbed by at least ten degrees. “Oh, uh, that stuff about stopping stuff?” Tom bobs his head. “Yeah, uh, I was just trying to make her feel better, you know?”

Both of Tom’s brows dip. “It sounded a lot stranger than that.” He seems unconvinced by my pathetic attempt to lie. Searching my face, he asks, “Is everything all right?”

The question is loaded, that much I know. I clear my throat a second time. “Yeah, fine, I’m fine. Everything’s fine,” I reply with far too much enthusiasm. A girl just lost her life, either to murder designed to look like suicide or by suicide. Nevertheless, a young girl is dead, and I’m spouting about everything being okay and fine when in fact nothing is fine or okay.

“Riiiight,” Tom draws out the word. He searches my face for a moment then, as if a switch has been flipped, his features relax. “I’m out. I’ll see you at lunch.” We fist bump before he walks away.

Rattled by the fact that I had to lie to someone I like and respect, the first friend I’ve had in as long as I can remember, I return my attention to my locker to gather my books for first period. As I twist my body, I am met by a pair of sea foam green eyes. Like twin laser beams, they slice through the clusters of kids gathering in the hallway, peering out from rich, tan skin. They clash with mine, holding me hostage briefly. I wrestle with the urge to squirm under the weight of his gaze, to immediately lower my gaze to my feet. But I don’t. I stand my ground. Rolling my shoulders back in a sad attempt to compensate for the five or so inches he has on me. To my surprise, I watch as a tattooed arm crosses his body to adjust the strap of his backpack before he turns and walks away, breaking eye contact.

Unsure of whether I should be disturbed by his abrupt exit or taking a victory lap, I take a wooden step toward my locker and clumsily grab textbooks and binders. But when my arm brushes a photo I snapped of Sarah on my phone and printed from my mom’s computer and I glance at it, my pulse speeds dangerously. Positioned with her arms at her side, spread as if awaiting an enormous hug, when taken, I felt as if I captured a moment of pure joy. Everything about her—her smile, the crinkle of her eyes and nose, and the way her arms are splayed—implies happiness. That is how the picture looked when last I saw it. It does not look as it did yesterday. Upon the tender flesh on the inside of her wrist, crude lines are scrawled in red, meant to be blood and with droplets falling from them and pooling at her feet. Heart sprinting so that it thrashes within my ribcage, the allusion the picture makes makes my entire body tremble. That trembling intensifies when I see what’s written on the inside of the door to my locker. In what looks like black marker, a message has been written for me. It reads: I know why you’re here, but you can’t save her. You can’t save any of them.

Pitching backward several steps, voices in the hallway fade in and out from a roar to an eerie muffled sound close to silence. The temperature, suddenly as uncomfortable as the midday New York sun in July, swelters. My vision wavers, flickering from dark to light and I feel as if I’ll faint. This situation, the horror of what I saw in my vision, has become personal. Someone near to me, someone I love, has been threatened. Sarah is in danger, and I have no idea how to keep her safe, only that I must find a way. I must find a way to keep her alive.

Chapter 9

Moving from class to class, I feel as if I’m existing in a phantasm or a hideous dream. I can’t concentrate on lectures, can’t even think a single thought that doesn’t center on Sarah. Spinning and burrowing like a wheel in mud, my mind spirals out of control. Sarah is in danger. Those four words ring through my marrow, tolling with the finality of funeral bells and resonating through the cavernous hollows of my being. Compounding the sense of impending doom that haunts me and saturates the very air in my lungs is the fact that this is my fault. Sarah being in danger is all my fault. Whoever or whatever is doing this knows what I am and is toying with me. Why else would the picture and the message appear in my locker? Sarah is a pawn. The thought that her life is viewed as expendable to anyone causes the blood in veins to churn and bubble like molten lava. She is innocent. And she’s suffered enough after losing yet another of her best friends to a suicide that is bogus.

As I contemplate the rash of alleged suicides that’ve occurred in Patterson, a face keeps popping into my mind. Luke Carmichael. Pitch dark hair and mint green eyes, both striking in presentation against skin the color of brown sugar, fill my thoughts. I’m not sure why but it’s there. Perhaps his face lingers there because he’s been watching me since my first day of school, never socializing or interacting with anyone else. New to the district and devoid of any connections, he exists as a singular entity, a lone wolf with an enigmatic air about him. I’ve tried to casually gain information about him without success. No one seems to know a thing about his past, his family, where he moved here from. Not a shred of information big or small abounds. He’s a phantom. And while he drifts about like a shadow, his presence is anything but insubstantial. To the contrary, when he’s nearby, the atmosphere shifts. The weight of his gaze can be felt. Something about him makes the hair on my nape rise and quiver. I’m uneasy when he’s around. He seems to see me for what I am, whatever that is. He seems to sense my pull. I can’t be certain what he sees. All I know is that when I am held hostage by his penetrating gaze, all I can think of is the strange pull I’ve felt on more than once occasion, and I feel as if he’s watching what unfolds in my mind like a movie. That phenomenon is what leads me to believe his path has not crossed mine coincidentally, and that he’s somehow involved in all that’s going on with the suicides.

Submerged in thoughts of Carmichael and concentrating hard on making the connection between him and the deaths, I am oblivious to Sarah until she’s before me.

“Danny, what’s going on? Are you okay?” Bright blue eyes, puffy and squinting with concern, search my face.

“Yes, yes, of course. I’m fine. Are you okay?” My voice is low and intimate but only conveys a fraction of the worry I’m feeling for her.

Her lower lip trembles and a single tear trickles from the corner of each eye. She wipes her nose with a tissue balled in her right hand. “No, Danny, I’m not okay. Not at all.”

I reach out and lightly grip her shoulders then guide her toward me, bringing her close. But she interrupts my action, keeping herself at arm’s length from me. She looks directly into my eyes. “Danny you need to tell me why you’re so sure the deaths aren’t suicides. I need to know what’s happening. I need to know what you know.”

Matching the intensity of her stare, every fear-laced possibility of the future plays out. In the space of a breath, I envision her slapping my cheek and calling me a liar, crazy, a freak. I see her turning on her heels and walking out of my life for good. I see her hating me. Though I do not believe them to be predictive or in any way related to the pull that strikes me and tows me along like a being I’m not in control of, vulnerability associated with falling in love produces worst-case scenario results. Swallowing hard, I respond. “I will. I promise I’ll tell you everything. But not now. Right now I have something I have to take care of.”

I watch as the corners of her mouth sag, a small frown forming. “Please, Danny. I need to understand. I need to make sense of all this if sense can be made.” Her eyes plead with me, breaking my heart softly but completely.

Slumping my shoulders and allowing my head to droop, I realize I do not have another choice. I opened up to her at the Hanson Mansion and revealed more than I should have. I cannot turn back now. I’ve reached the point of no return. Words cannot be unsaid. I’ve come this far. Turning back now is not possible. Sighing, I say, “All right. Let’s go. I’ll tell you everything.” I take her hand and lead her to the front parking lot, to where my car is parked. I open the passenger side door and close it once she’s safely inside. I slide in behind the steering wheel and start the car so that music can play in the background while I share with her the bizarre happenings in my life in the last few months. As a song by Passenger plays softly, I lick my lips and fill my lungs. “I’m going to tell you a lot of stuff. It might sound crazy and unbelievable, but you have to know everything I’m telling you is true.” I reach out and take both of her hands, wrapping them in my own. “Please, promise me you’ll listen with an open mind at the very least. Promise me.” My grip on her hands strengthens.

She returns the gesture by squeezing my hands. Her eyes are wide and glassy as she nods. “I will. I’ll do that.”

“Please, it’s important. I’m not a liar and I’m not crazy. I want you to know that.” The desperation in my voice is tangible, the urgency clear. I’m seconds away from telling her secrets no other human being on this planet knows. Not a single living soul.

She doesn’t respond verbally. She simply bobs her head.

“Okay,” I breathe before I start at the beginning. I begin by telling her that I was shot in a convenience store just blocks from my house. Her brows gather and she places a hand over her heart as I describe the searing, white-hot pain, the explosion of sound and color before nothingness claimed me. I tell her about the deep darkness and the light that beckoned me toward it. I tell her about the man who seized me and returned me to the hospital gurney, returned me from death. I explain to her the sensation that lays claim to me, the one that takes possession of me and commandeers my body, leading it to an orderly who I’m sure murdered a little girl in for a routine appendectomy and eventually to a second convenience store to find the man who shot me. I share with her that I killed him and the bizarre phenomenon that occurred thereafter. I tell her about the house I journeyed to, the one that belonged to the orderly. I explain everything to her in great detail, only leaving out the part about the picture of her in my locker that was colored upon and the message that accompanied it. I don’t want to frighten her any more than she is frightened already.

I do not know how much time has passed when finally I pause and sip from my water bottle. I’ve lost all sense of it, of seconds, minutes and hours. I’ve been sharing my truth. I’ve told Sarah as much as I can.

A long pause spans the distance between us. I await a response of some sort. But Sarah says nothing.

“Say something, please.” I turn so that my body faces her. “After everything I just said, surely you have something on your mind.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “Danny, I don’t even know where to begin. My brain is overloaded.”

Her words land like a ham-fisted punch to my gut. I want to double over, to curl into a ball and be sick. I’ve done what she asked of me, told the unvarnished truth and now she won’t make eye contact with me. She stares straight ahead.

My throat tightens around the lump of dread lodged there. I try to clear it. “Tell me what’s in your head, what’s in your heart.” The last part of my sentence is little more than a hoarse whisper as emotion cracks my voice.

Still gazing out the windshield and into the now setting sun, Sarah’s face is awash with soft buttery light. Slowly, she turns to me, a scattering of platinum highlights woven through her golden hair. “I believe you,” she astounds me by saying. “I don’t know why. What you’ve told me sounds like something out of a paranormal television series or something.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “But I believe you.” Her eyes open and I swear she gazes directly into my soul. “I can’t explain why, but I do. I believe you, Danny.”

My breathing snags, and the empty aching pain that constricted my throat and leveled me dissipates. She believes me. Impossibly, Sarah believes me.

Taking both her hands in mine once again, I tell her she needs to get home.

Alarm carves a line between her brows. “Why? Do you think I’m in danger?”

Every muscle in my body tenses, resisting lying to her. “I don’t know. Two of your friends are gone. I don’t want to take any chances with you. I don’t want you going anywhere by yourself.” Under normal circumstances I’d think I sound like a possessive lunatic, but the circumstances are anything but normal. Sarah should not be alone.

“Okay,” she agrees, and I see that locks of her hair tremble. She’s visibly shaking.

“I’ll walk you to your car then follow you home. Is anyone there?”

Sarah’s gaze darts left then right. She checks the time on her phone. “Uh, yeah, my mom should be getting home right about now.”

“Okay, good. Lets’ get you home.” I open my door and walk around to open hers. I take her hand and help her out then walk across the parking lot to her car.

The sun hovers near the horizon line, stubbornly fighting to keep her hold on the sky. But day inevitably surrenders to night. Darkness waits. Its arrival is imminent.

With my eyes cast skyward for the briefest of seconds, fear washes over me. But when my gaze returns to Sarah, firm resolve takes hold. I vow to not let anything happen to her, to protect her.

After settling her into her car, I follow her home, say goodbye and then return to my home. There I head straight to my room, thankful that my mother is working the evening shift and won’t be home to question me should the need to leave arise. Kiera is out as well, likely taking advantage of our mother’s absence. Once in my room, I toss my backpack on my bed then settle behind my computer. I do a general search for Luke Carmichael, his name, his face, niggling at my brain all day. My search turns up very little in the way of information, that is, unless Luke is secretly a fifty-nine year old cardiologist from Santa Monica. And while it isn’t that odd to not find a boy my age on a general search, at the very least, it would reveal social media accounts. But any and all avenues lead me to the same place: the corner of nowhere and a dead end. The closest I come to unearthing insight into who Luke is happens when a Patterson address with the last name Carmichael linked to it pops up on my screen. I quickly scribble it on a piece of loose leaf paper then stuff the page in my pocket. But before my fingertips leave the sheet, awareness tingles across my skin. Like a cool breeze over damp skin, it leaves me with goose bumps. Immediately, I call Sarah to make sure she’s okay. She tells me her family is home and that all is well. No one has plans to leave. They are all in for the night. That piece of information provides a modicum of relief. I stand and stretch, stepping away from my desk, then walk to my window. Night has fallen, the world beyond my pane of glass so dark all I see is my own reflection when I attempt to peer out.

Darkness. Luke Carmichael. Suicides. The words meld to form the equivalent of a barbed wired ball that rolls around in my brain, spiking and piercing everything in its wake. I head to the kitchen and have a toasted buttered bagel and a glass of orange juice. But food doesn’t help. And with each step that I take to return to my room, the address that I scrawled on a piece of paper makes a crunching sound, as if calling attention to itself. I try to ignore it, try to pretend I don’t hear it even when I return to my room, plop on my bed and run my hand over it, causing the sound to intensify. I do so for an hour before the urge to leave and find the address on the crumpled page becomes overwhelming. I stand and practically run to the front door and steal off into the night to my SUV, unable to resist a second longer and grateful once again that my mother isn’t home. I punch the address into the GPS navigation system of my phone and follow the instructions until I find myself at an average looking raised ranch with cream colored siding and brown shutters. A sleek black sports car is parked in the driveway. In the interest of not getting caught, I park a few houses down the street.

In my spot, I watch and wait for a little more than two hours. Stiff and with aches and pains in places I can’t rub in public, I start to think this trip was a complete waste of my time. Luke, if he even lives here, is probably sitting on the couch watching television or playing videos games. I decide I should be doing the same and determine that leaving is the most logical option at this point. But before I do, I exit my car and creep across the street to the edge of the property. Only as soon as my foot touches grass, the front porch light turns on and the immediate vicinity is bathed in bright light. Startled, I scramble back to my car, careful to remain crouched low. Once concealed and safe in my car, I peek over the dashboard in time to see Luke walking to the black car, keys in hand. He climbs in and starts the engine before backing out and taking off down the street. I wait for a beat or two then start my engine and follow. I’ve watched enough movies and television shows to know that when I’m tailing someone, I need to stay back a few car lengths.

I follow Luke through town and to the entrance to the Taconic State Parkway. A highway with two lanes that appear to be one decent sized one divided in half, the Taconic Parkway is a winding stretch of asphalt upon which motorists drive as if their racing the German Autobahn. With little experience with highway driving, the particular one I’m entering looms as a daunting, terrifying challenge. I lean forward, close to the steering wheel and hold it so tightly my knuckles blanch. I drive that way for about a half-hour, exiting at Hopewell Junction. Remaining a safe distance back from Luke’s vehicle, I continue to follow and am relieved to be off the highway as I navigate through a small, quiet town. Shops line the streets and only one shopping plaza boasts a supermarket and a commercial donut shop in its lot. We pass the plaza as well as a bank and enter a long driveway. I pull off and park, keeping my SUV as far from streetlights as possible. Realizing we’ve entered a recreation area before I park means the way we entered is the only way we can exit, I recognize the necessity of traveling on foot from here on out.

After my vehicle is locked, I jog past tennis courts, basketball courts and a baseball field, following the path to a playground nestled beside a track and a football field. I hug the trees that line the entire area, careful to keep to the shadows. I do not see Luke’s car. In fact, all I see are areas designed for activity and picnic areas interspersed here and there in between.

I venture out of the shadows and away from the safety of the trees for a moment, and when I do, I’m struck by the sensation of being drawn into a pull so magnetic it rivals gravity. My senses heighten. My skin prickles with awareness. And I suddenly know that coming here tonight was for a distinct reason, that I was right. Luke Carmichael is the one. He must be. Any and all fear melts away and I begin to move with purpose, no longer clinging to the shadows of the tree line. I venture away from the woods, moving deeper into the park.

As I cross a baseball diamond, the wind blows, and on it the sound of a female voice is carried. I freeze, halting and reaching out with all my senses, and I hear it again. Panicked, dripping with fear, the cries I hear slash at my core. They spark anger. They spark action.

Taking off, my legs race with speed I never knew I possessed. Running so that my heart thunders like the beat of a war drum in time with the pounding of my feet against the ground, I race toward the sound. Growing louder and clearer, they guide me and I know I’m heading in the right direction. When I spot two girls lying in the dew-covered grass crying, I slow to avoid trampling them. Faces bruised and arms bound behind their backs, the girls are bloodied and matted. The sadness I feel for them overwhelms me as completely as the outrage at what was done to them. Yet in spite of all that I’m feeling, I can’t help but ponder how Luke could’ve possibly had the time to do what’s been done to them. After all, he just arrived maybe minutes ahead of me, if that much. The wounds these girls have sustained took more time than that. Even if he’d done this earlier and left them here until now, they would’ve been discovered. It doesn’t make sense. The timeline doesn’t add up.

Seeing me as I mull over how thy came to be as they are, the girls scream.

“No, no, I’m not going to hurt you,” I whisper loudly. They shrink away from me and guilt coats me like a scum on a pond. “Are you okay?”

“Th-they’re going to k-k-kill us. They’ll kill you too,” one girls says as violent tremors rack her body.

“Who? Who’s going to kill us?” I ask.

But before I hear an answer, a blunt object swung at a high speed connects with my back, knocking the wind from my lungs and upending my balance. Gasping, I fall to the ground face first. Anticipating another attack, I roll over and look up. A man who appears to be in his early twenties looms over me with a thick tree branch clutched in both hands. He wields it like a baseball bat. Stony moonlight casts an eerie shroud on all that it touches, deepening the hollows of his face and gleaming off eyes that are darker than the night sky and shine like polished onyx.

Black eyes. Black, soulless eyes that are windows to the deepest, foulest pits of the underworld. They evoke a primal reaction from me. Without thinking, I spring to my feet with the speed and agility of a trained predator and launch my full weight at him. Using my thumbs, I drive them into his eyes and he howls out in pain. I do not relent, though. Instead, I ball my hand into a tight fist and drive it into his face again and again until something warm and wet spills on my hands. I am in the clutches of vengeful fury. I know what he is and what he intends to do to the girls, to my sweet Sarah, and I can’t allow that. I pummel him until consciousness escapes him and his large body buckles. My sense of accomplishment at dropping him is short-lived. Feet begin stomping my torso and legs. I twist and writhe and find three men, all with eyes blacker than the darkest night, poised to kill me. A flurry of fists and feet assault me. I twist and turn and attempt to get to my feet but I’m outnumbered. One of the men descends on me, moving in closer than the others and blasting me with his fists. They connect with my face, generating a supernova of pain and light that bursts before my eyes. A gush of warmth pours from my nose and blood spatters my shirt. Firm fingers grip my upper arms, lifting me off the ground. I writhe and buck, doing my best to break their grip, but it’s no use. My face is pounded again and again. The others simply hold me in place as a human punching bag.

Darkness begins to tease at the edges of my vision. Consciousness escapes me. I wonder whether this is how I will die. I survived a shotgun blast to my chest, yet a walk in the park will be my demise. The irony of it is almost too much to fathom.

Head snapping back from the impact of another punch, I struggle to keep my eyes open. Somehow, though, through the swelling and stinging, my eyelids flutter. I look up and into the eyes of the person punching me, and when I do, I catch sight of moonlight glinting off the blade of a dagger as it flies through the air. It lands with a sickly thud when it lodges in the man’s throat. The whir of another blade is heard seconds before it sticks in the eye of one of the two men holding me. The third releases his hold on me and I fall to the ground.

Slow to move and with every part of my body throbbing in time with my heart, I manage to get to my feet and scan the landscape. Crouching low and fearful of another flying dagger aimed at me, I set off at a clumsy run in an effort to get the heck out of the park. When I do, I see a figure charging toward me from the darkness. In the space of a breath, he appears as if from thin air. Experience tells me to bolt, but inexplicably, my current situation demands that I stay. The closer he draws, the more familiar he becomes. Luke. Luke is racing toward me.

Lengths of inky black hair billow behind him like banners and he moves with the speed and grace of a jungle cat. But neither his hair nor his speed is what commands my attention. It is his eyes. Glowing with the whitest light I’ve only seen once before when I died from the shotgun blast, his eyes are trained straight ahead, on the last man left of the three. Seeing Luke, fear plagues the man’s face. He immediately scuttles to his feet and tries to run, but Luke leaps, clutching a blade in one hand and closing the distance between them. With a war cry, he hoists the blade high and drives it into the man’s skull, ending his life in one swift motion.

Not missing a beat and removing his weapon from the fallen man, Luke squares his shoulders, turning so that he faces me. Pure light as warm and buttery as rays of sunlight at the dawn of a new day radiate from his eyes. In their glow, I feel at peace. I’m also infused with a strong sense of familiarity, the sense that I’ve known him my entire life. I don’t want to look away. The light, as intriguing and welcoming as the one I experienced when I died, reaches out to me. My legs are rooted to the ground upon which I stand until a bone-chilling screech rings out, piercing the atmosphere and bleeding it of its safety. The sound accompanies a foul, sulfurous substance that wafts from the bodies of the slain. As ephemeral as a cloud and as grotesque in sight and scent as death itself, the sound continues, and the bodies shudder. Rumbling and convulsing, the bodies unexpectedly explode in a sonic boom. Ill intent snakes from the detonation like serpents, yet matter does not. Flesh and bone is reduced to ash that is promptly carried away on the breeze. Howling suddenly, the wind purges the earth beneath my feet. I am left standing with my mouth agape.

“Did you see that?” I mutter the question.

“Of course, I saw it. I’ve seen it thousands of times,” Luke replies.

Mouth dry and in a degree of shock from all that I’ve witnessed, I ask, “What is it?”

Luke turns, his hair swishing and falling over one shoulder. “It is evil being destroyed,” he says with the offhandedness of a man who just made reference to how toast is made. “It’s why we are here.”

“We?” I wonder whether I heard him right.

Holding up a hand to halt any further questioning, Luke shakes his head. “Not now. Save your questions. Right now we have to get out of here before someone finds us.” He sets off at a sprint, rushing to the girls being held and releases them. They run off, grateful to be free. He then faces me. “Let’s go. I’ll tell you everything you need to know as soon as we’re out of the area.”

Nodding woodenly and aching all over, I agree. And in that moment, I realize, I have no other choice than to hear him out, for deep in my bones, I know he is a part of my destiny.

Eyes the color of emeralds train on me as they carve through the darkness. Shifting as they drill into me, I slide my hands into my pockets. “Get in your car and follow me.” Luke’s voice is low and gravelly, a deadly shiver to his timbre.

I nod wordlessly, and if my face is any indicator of what I’m feeling, I look like a complete buffoon. Not wasting a moment, I rush to where my car is parked, but even rushing, by the time I get there, Luke is already waiting. Fumbling with my keys as I open the driver’s side door, I barely have time to start the car and turn on the headlights before he takes off, dust and gravel kicking up as he does. I follow him, turning right out of the recreation center then left onto a main road before turning right into a shopping center. The neon lights of a supermarket glow and a few employees stand outside sipping from white Styrofoam cups and chatting. Luke passes the front lot that faces them, opting instead for a corner that’s farther away and with fewer streetlamps. Cloaked in darkness, he turns off his headlights and I follow suit. He climbs out of the car. Mind racing yet not forming a coherent thought, I mimic his actions, exiting my vehicle.

With the predatory grace of a panther, Luke advances, bounding toward me and reaching me in two steps. His face is set in stone, lips tight and eyes fixed coldly. I recoil, anticipating a fist to my face.

With fists and faces in mind, the injuries I incurred just moments ago no longer ache. It’s odd how that’s the final thought that echoes through my head in the seconds before Luke’s face is inches from mine.

“Why were you following me?” he demands. His words are a low growl that slip through his teeth.

“I-I,” I start but he cuts me off with more questions.

“Were you drawn here? Did you think I needed your help? Because I don’t.” Everything about his posture is threatening. I take an instinctive step backward, putting some much-needed space between us.

“My help?” The words leave my lips before I have time to think about them, the absurdity of him needing me trumping a more sensible question such as “How the heck did you throw those daggers with deadly precision?”

Bordering on enraged now, my two-word question worsens matters. “Those were my kills! You stole one from me!” One fist is tight while his index finger on his other hand points at me accusingly. Of course, I still have no idea what he’s talking about.

Taking a deep breath and expecting that he’ll level me as soon as my next question hits his ears, I cannot take the confusion a second longer. “What the heck are you talking about?”

To my surprise, Luke doesn’t move to deck me, and his face, pinched to an angry point until now, relaxes. He stares at me blankly for several beats. I clear my throat, my lips pressed together to form an expression that is neither a smile nor a frown but a look of expectancy. I’m waiting for his response.

Luke closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. He lowers his head and his glossy black hair falls around his face. He pulls it straight back into a low ponytail, and it reflects moonlight in a blue-black sheen. When he lifts his head, his gaze meets mine. Do you even know what you are? What we are?”

“Do I know what we are?” I repeat the question he’s asked to be sure I heard it properly.

Dropping his hand so that it slaps against his thigh, his face puckers in agitation. “What are you, a parrot? Why do you keep repeating me?” He huffs and his upper lip curls over his teeth. “Do you even know why you’re still alive?”

I haven’t the vaguest idea what he’s talking about and a part of me wants to repeat the last part of his series of questions and say, “Why I’m still alive?” but I’d bet a kidney that would get my face punched in at this point. So I hold my tongue despite not knowing what he’s talking about.

When he glowers at me for a long, hard period, I squirm. “Speak!” he hisses through his teeth.

“How were your eyes glowing like that? That white light that was there . . .” I don’t say that it was achingly familiar, that it was identical to the light I saw when I died.

Slapping his formidable hand to his forehead before dragging it down his face, Luke snarls at me. “Oh my gosh! You’re a complete noob!” He throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “So tell me, when did you die?”

Shocked by not only what he’s said but by the confident, offhand tone he uses, I jerk my head back as if I’ve just been struck. “What? What’re you talking about?’ I stammer and feel my cheeks redden.

Luke arcs a brow and glares at me.

Everything about his demeanor—his posture, his facial expression, and the flicker in his eyes that flares like a flame—screams that he knows a lot more about what’s happening to me than I do, so I decide to end the charade and not bother telling another lie. “When. Did. You. Die?” He enunciates each word slowly and clearly, his penetrating gaze never wavering.

Mouth dry and throat feeling so parched it might as well be lined with cotton balls, I say, “A few months ago.” I shift my weight from one leg to the next, clearing my throat and waiting, the air around us charged with energy similar to the atmosphere before a thunderstorm.

Boring a hole into my head, Luke stares at me unblinkingly as the small muscles around his jaw bunch and flex. After several moments pass, he asks, “Was that the first one you killed?’ He clips his head toward the direction we came from, toward the recreation center.

“The first one?” I ask, unsure of his exact meaning.

His lips tighten to a furious circle. “Stop repeating everything I say!” His fist is clenched at his side, and for reasons I cannot explain, I fear it more than any firearm I can conceive of. “Was that the first Dark One you’ve ever killed, you know, a black-eyed dirt bag?” he spits the words, Dark One and black-eyed dirt bag with complete disdain.

My gaze meets his. I hold it there, almost afraid to tell him no, but an instinctive voice warns me that lying to him will only result in trouble for me, and potentially unimaginable pain. “No,” I say in a small voice. “It was the second. But the first one didn’t burst into ash like the ones at the park just did. Why? And then there was another I should have killed but I got him arrested instead,” I ramble.

“He wouldn’t burst into ashes in a public place. There’d be witnesses. And arrested? Are you kidding me?” Luke asks, the shock and incredulity he’s feeling plain. But instantly, shock and incredulity turn to rage. “Are you kidding me?” he roars. “That’s not going to get it done. That isn’t why you’re here.”

He speaks in riddles that confuse and terrify me. “What do you mean, why I’m here?” Now I am the one who throws his hands in the air in frustration. “I don’t understand! I don’t understand any of what’s going on!” Hot tears sting my eyes. I furiously blink them back. The last thing I want is for Luke to see me spun up as I am now. All that’s happened since that fateful night I went to the convenience store has been an overwhelming, all-consuming mystery. What he’s saying only compounds that feeling.

I don’t know whether Luke pities me because of my tone or the fact that I feel as if I’m about to burst into tears. Regardless, he softens his tone and some of his rigidity softens. “You’re alive for a reason, Daniel. You came back for a reason, and that is to slay Dark Ones—as many as you can find and whenever you are drawn to them.”

As if clearing an Etch-a-Sketch, I shake my head and try to process what Luke’s said. “I don’t understand,” I admit. “Why me? None of this makes sense! Why would I need to be running around killing people?”

“People?” Luke screws up his features. “You see these things as people?” The planes of his face are razor sharp and his eyes are suddenly glacial tunnels. “They are pure evil. Each one you kill saves countless lives, make no mistake about that.”

Deep in my marrow, his words resonate with inarguable verity so profound I shudder. What he’s saying is true. That much makes sense. What I don’t understand is why I would be charged with such a task?

That question, more than any of the others that burn in my mind, plagues me. It troubles me so that when Luke’s voice echoes, my head snaps up. “When you died, what did you see?” he asks.

I’ve longed to tell another living soul besides Sarah what I saw since the moment I returned, yet now that the opportunity has been presented to me, now that I’ve been asked, words escape me. Words cannot do it justice. I close my eyes and see it. I see the purest, clearest light I’ve ever seen. But moreover, I feel it. The peace that emanated from it, the warmth of an embrace and the safety of a home unlike any I’ve ever known; it was a sensation that could never be replicated. “I saw the most beautiful white light. I was drawn to it. I wanted to be a part of it so badly.” Even now as I speak of it, the yearning returns, the aching need to move toward the light.

“You’ll never be a part of it.” Luke’s words are a sledgehammer to my temple. My eyes snap open and I regard him quizzically. Again, I’m certain in a way that’s inexplicable that what he’s saying is true. “So forget about it.”

“Why?” The loss I feel as I accept what he’s said causes physical pain. I clutch the space above my heart.

“You’re here forever.” His words ring with finality. “You have a mission to accomplish that’s far more important. You’ve been entrusted and charged with the task of protecting humankind. The powers above made you one of us.”

The world tilts on its axis and I’m suddenly dizzied by what’s been revealed. Chosen by the powers above to protect humankind? What does that even mean? And who are the “us” that he refers to? “One of who?”

Luke sighs. “I already told you, you’re a Hunter of the Dark Ones, a Hunter of the Light.

“Dark Ones and Light? I hunt both? It seems counterintuitive.” My hands splay at my sides.

“You hunt Dark Ones to end their existence on this earthly plane and you hunt light to sustain your existence. Do you understand?”

“No, not at all. I don’t understand at all, and I don’t understand why me? Why I was chosen?” my voice pitches up and my frustration and confusion mounts.

Luke shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t see it.” He eyes me up and down with disappointment. “But you must have something inside you, a strength. Decency. Whatever the reason is, you were deemed a good match and chosen.”

“Match?” I can’t help but ask.

Luke rolls his eyes. “We’re not doing that again, are we, the parrot thing?”

I quickly shake my head no.

“What else did you see when you were near the light?” he ignores my question concerning being a match.

Licking my lips, I hesitate for a moment. “There was a man, a powerful being.” My gaze grows distant as I recall what transpired. “I was headed for the light. I was close, so close.” I squeeze my eyes closed and my lungs burn between breaths. “But this man, this being with a life force that rivaled the light itself, pulled me away.” My eyes open slowly. “The next thing I knew, I was in my hospital room and surrounded by a stunned staff of workers.”

“You didn’t come back alone.” Luke’s statement is grave and leaves no room for argument.

“Wait, what? What’re you saying? I did come back alone. No one else landed in that hospital bed with me. Unless he was there and I didn’t see him, is that what happened?” My head is spinning like an out of control merry-go-round.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he shakes his head at me as if I’m a complete idiot.

“No, I don’t.”

I don’t see how he’s surprised by my admission, but he is. His eyes widen before narrowing to thin slits. “He is a part of you. He saw something in you—strength decency, whatever—and you were chosen.” He folds his arms across his chest, satisfied with the answer he’s given, the one that answered exactly none of my questions but only spawned more.

Shaking my head as my brain struggles to comprehend what I’ve heard and continue to hear, I rub my forehead. “I don’t feel anyone with me.” I say the first thing that comes to mind and immediately regret it. Luke regards me with the kind of contempt one regards dog poop on their sneaker.

“Daniel, please!” He runs his hand over the smooth front portion of his hair. “He’s not with you in a literal sense. You’re one and the same now. Do you understand?”

I shake my head no.

Luke grinds his teeth so hard I hear enamel cracking.

“The being that you encountered on the other side, he was of the higher power. He came back too.” Pale emerald eyes hold me hostage where I stand.

“Okay. He came back with me?” I ask dumbly.

“No, you are him and he is you.”

None of what he’s saying makes sense on the surface, but in a deep dark recess of my being, it rings true. “But what about the light?” I can’t help but ask, the powerful, all-consuming allure of it too great to overlook. “Why won’t I ever get to go there, to be a part of it?”

“Because you can’t,” Luke says sharply. “Never. Should you fail and fall by the hand of a Dark One, every part of you will cease to exist, just like when one of them dies, their souls are destroyed. You’ve seen it happen, yes?”

I nod, knowing exactly what he’s talking about. I could never forget it. It’s indelibly etched in my mind.

“You need to know that with each Dark One you claim, you will grow stronger. Your powers will grow.” He delivers this information as casually as he would tell me it’s going to rain later. I am left dumfounded and with my mouth agape. “Say something, Daniel. If you continue to stand with your mouth open as it is, something is sure to fly inside.”

I don’t know whether he’s attempting humor or is simply being mean. Either way, I heed his warning and ask the first question I can think of. “How many have you killed?”

“Two hundred thirty one.” He puffs out his chest slightly and beams.

The number staggers me. “Wow,” I gush and hate myself for doing so. “That’s a ton.”

“I have been a Hunter for a hundred and eleven years,” he says and the smile slowly sags.

Surprise carves my features as my brows rocket to my hairline. “You’re more than a hundred years old?”

Luke nods somberly. “I was chosen when I died of polio when I was eight, so technically I guess I’m a hundred and nineteen.”

“Whoa.” I slump back so that the CRV supports my weight. “So you don’t age?”

“We age until we are fully grown. Then we remain as such forever.”

I envision myself in a perpetual state of youth and imagine the questions that would arise. “Don’t people find that strange?”

Rolling his eyes again and shaking his head in annoyance at my question, he says, “I’ll answer your inane questions another time. Right now, I need to know what you know about the murders in Patterson.”

“Nothing really.” I bob my shoulders then place both hands in my pockets. Then my mind focuses on the message in my locker and my hands ball into fists so tight my fingernails dig into the tender flesh of my palms. “But someone threatened Sarah.” Luke leans in. “Someone put a note in my locker threatening her. I thought it was you.”

“Me?” Luke jerks back. “Are you out of your mind? You couldn’t sense I was like you?”

“No.” I shake my head slowly.

“Wow. That’s not good.” He scratches the scruff on his chin. “It means that whoever’s doing this is powerful, most likely far older than me and has probably killed hundreds of Hunters. Only one who’s claimed many has the ability to camouflage his power and walk among our kind unnoticed.” His gaze intensifies. “I can’t even sense him and I’ve been in Patterson for six months. This definitely isn’t good.”

“So they get stronger when they kills us?” I ask to verify that what I’ve heard is true.

“Of course,” Luke huffs. “It works both ways. When they died in their first life, they went a different way for whatever reason the powers that govern the universe saw fit.” He points to the ground, his implication clear. “And they returned to this earthly plane possessing an evil within them beyond all comprehension.”

Hearing that, my thoughts immediately returns to Sarah. “I can’t let whatever it is get to Sarah. I won’t let them . . .” I can’t bring myself to say “kill her.” To do so would somehow give those who hunt her power in my mind. Raking a hand through my hair, I push off the SUV. “I haven’t even told her she’s in trouble but I told her what I know, about the strange things that’ve happened to me and that I died.”

Luke’s head, bowed as he listened to me, whips up. His gaze clashes with mine. “You told her about yourself?” He is practically shouting, anger so potent it bubbles and brims like lava venting from a volcano.

“Uh yeah,” I admit with trepidation. “Why?”

“You can’t do that! People cannot know what you are. Do you understand me?” He articulates each word and punctuates them by jabbing the air with his pointer finger.

“Yes, yes, I understand.” I back away, my hands at chest height with my palms facing him.

He heaves several breathes then says, “All right. Let’s get out of here.” He turns to get into his car but pauses mid-movement. He looks over his shoulder at me. “You’d better figure out who it is that’s after her. If you don’t do it soon, she will be lost.”

His words are a finely honed blade that lance my core, my heart. I nod and feel a fierce determination infuse me as I open the driver’s side door and slide behind the wheel. I return to Patterson filled with a healthy dose of fear tempered by pure resolve.

Chapter 11

As soon as I’m in the driveway and stepping out of my car, I dial Sarah’s number. The first ring strikes a chord of fear so deep it vibrates through my being and causes my hand to shake. The second one sends me into a full-blown state of panic. That panic is only allayed when I hear her melodic voice on the other end.

“Hello?” she says. She sniffles. I hear the emotion in the single word.

“Sarah.” I can’t hide the relief in my tone. “Are you okay?”

“No, not at all.” I hear her hiccup. “I-I can’t believe Jenny is gone.”

“I know. I’m so, so sorry,” is all I can say. Words of comfort do not exist when pain and grief is this raw, when a young life is claimed from this earth. Sarah lost her best friend. There’s nothing I can say that will make her feel better. All I can do is comfort her, and guard her with my life so that she doesn’t meet the same fate as Jenny.

The threat of Sarah ending up like Jenny sweeps up my spine like an arctic breeze, chilling my skin and causing me to shiver.

“Me too.” Her voice is breathy and quivers with emotion. I feel her pain, ache for her.

“Sarah, I wish there was something I could say, something I could do.” I’ve never felt so inept, so lost for words.

“I know. But there’s nothing you can say. Nothing anyone can say.” She takes a trembling breath. “I’m just so hurt. I’m glad my parents are here with me. Imagine that! I am actually glad they’re home and hovering.”

You and me both, I feel like saying. I don’t, of course. To do so would require me telling her why, that she is in mortal danger. I don’t want to do that. Not yet at least. “They’ll be home for the night?”

“Yeah, they’re not going anywhere. We’re just going to have dinner and stay in.” She sniffles again and I swear that if I listen closely enough I will hear the mournful beat of her fractured heart.

I clutch the left side of my chest and silently wish I could take away her pain, absorb it and have it as my own. Swallowing hard, I close my eyes. “That’s good,” I say. “You need them close. Let them take care of you.” I open my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I listen as she sighs. “Sarah, again, I’m so very sorry. I wish I knew the magic words that’d make you feel better, that such words even existed. Please just know that I’m thinking about you and that I care about you.” My heart sinks like a stone. “And that I’m sorry about Jenny.”

“Thank you, Danny. That means a lot to me.” I hear warmth in her tone and it melts me. “Call me later?”

“Absolutely.” I pause for a moment, my forehead leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, and want nothing more than to tell her how I feel, to tell her that I love her. “I’ll check in on you in a little while.”

“Okay. Talk to you soon.”

We each say our good-byes, and in the back of my mind I can’t help but fear it’ll be our last. My heart rate spikes and my hands tremble. It takes every bit of strength that I have to not call her back, tell her all that I know, drive to her house and not leave her side until I figure out what the heck is going on and how I can protect her. Tears of frustration burn the backs of my eyelids. I ball one hand into a fist while the other grips my phone so hard I fear it will bend. I resist the urge to throw it, realizing the second before I hurl it into the far wall that I need it. It is my lifeline, my connection to Sarah at this point. I reconsider and lower my hand, replacing the phone to my pocket, then head straight to my room. Once inside, I grab my laptop and the student directory, a voluntary handbook that lists social media accounts of participating people whose parents have consented. I begin looking up random people, anyone I’ve seen in recent days who seemed capable of doing such a thing. The problem is, I can’t conceive of a student—an average kid who worries about acne and body odor—committing a heinous act such as the murders taking place in this town. Still, I search, due to the fact that the girls didn’t show signs of struggle. In the vision, they were at the Hanson Mansion voluntarily, so they were obviously with someone they trusted initially. Though the likelihood of the murderer being someone outside of the school exists, every cell in my body screams otherwise.

On a hunch, I search Chris. I look through his Facebook page and any other public social media site he belongs to. I read posts on his wall, look at pictures he’s posted and read his Tweets. After exhausting the social media avenue, I turn to a general Google search, and when I do, what it reveals causes my blood to run cold. In a local newspaper article that dates back seven years, I discover that Chris had drowned in the family pool when he was ten. His uncle found him and was able to resuscitate him after he’d been found lifeless and floating face-down near the diving board of the in ground pool. His mother was quoted as saying his survival was a miracle.

A miracle.

Was his miracle similar to mine? I wonder.

Slamming the lid of the laptop shut, my mind begins to spiral out of control. It’s him. It must be. It’s not a coincidence. He died and came back. Instances such as that are not common occurrences. It has to be him. The only anomaly exists in the form of what happened at the party. I handled him with ease. Did he allow it? The possibility is a likely one. If Chris is as strong as Luke thinks he is, so strong that even he didn’t sense his presence, than he very well may have allowed me to overtake him in order to keep up appearances, to maintain his charade. It also served to throw me off his trail. It was a smart move on his part if all that I’m thinking is true, which I grow more and more convinced of with each second that passes.

Feeling as if my blood is boiling within my veins, I strip out of my clothes and into a pair of sweatpants I sleep in and a T shirt. After heading to the bathroom and brushing my teeth, I return to my room and plop down onto my bed. Leaning back, I interlace my hands behind my head and close my eyes. Immediately, Sarah’s face fills my head, but quickly, images of Chris usurp it. He is now on my radar. He is my primary person of interest. His is the last face I see before sleep claims me.

Hours filled with fitful nightmares end with the incessant beeping of my alarm clock. I jump, my heart lurching as if it’s been hit with a defibrillator. I sit up and blink several times to clear the bleariness, to purge the horrific images of sliced open wrists that’ve filled my brain for the last five hours, before swinging my legs around and placing my feet on the floor. I make my way to the bathroom, brush my teeth and shower then quickly dress for school. After breakfast, I leave for school and as soon as I get there, I look for Chris.

Scanning the faces of everyone that passes me, I am a hunter, and nothing will satiate my need for prey but Chris. Several moments pass. I worry he’s absent and am about to leave before I’m late for first period when I see him round the corner and strut down the hallway. Blonde hair styled meticulously, fawn colored eyes and deep dimples on either cheeks are what everyone sees. They see a tall, athletic teenage boy, good-looking and popular by any standards. But I don’t. I see something else. I see a killer.

As if sensing my eyes on him, he meets my gaze, a strange, unreadable expression flashing across his features. I do my best to not bear my teeth like a junkyard dog, to not reveal that I’m onto him. I casually look away but do not leave when his small group stops in the vicinity of my locker. I fiddle with the combination to my locker, opening it and lingering as if searching for a book and listen as one of his friends asks him to hang out after school. He declines, stating he has plans yet refuses to say what they are when pressed. In fact, he gets snippy and changes the subject, even going so far as to say his friend is acting like his mother. And in the moments that I hear that interaction, I decide I will catch him in the act. I will follow him tonight. I won’t let him harm Sarah.

The group disperses and moves on and I head to my first class of the morning. After enduring it and three others like it, a bell rings and my lunch period begins. I head directly to my locker and nearly collide with Sarah.

“Whoa!” I say and reach out, gently gripping her shoulders. “Hey. Hi. How are you?”

“Hi.” Her voice is as soft and sweet as the fragrance she wears. “I’m okay, well, as okay as I can be I guess.” Her gaze drops.

I hook my index finger under her chin and lift it so that her eyes meet mine. “I’m so so sorry.” I repeat how much I regret that she’s enduring such a painful loss.

“Me too.” Her voice quivers and I feel my heart clench. She raises her eyes and looks directly into mine. “Can we get out of here? Can we leave and, I don’t know, grab some lunch?”

I don’t need to be asked a second time. I’d run away with her in a heartbeat and never return if she’d agree to it, but lunch is good start I guess. “Sure. That would be great.” I nod and am sure I look like a fool. “Let’s go now. Let me put your books in my locker to save some time and we’ll take my car.”

“Okay, that sounds good.” A faint smile curves her perfect lips.

She hands over her books and I slip them into an empty slot between my binders and textbooks. I turn to her and nod toward the front doors. “Are you ready or do you need to go the bathroom or anything?” I cringe inwardly that I asked if she needed the restroom. Though it’s a valid question, I’m sure putting her on the spot and asking outright as a parent of a potty-training toddler would is not exactly what she’d want. “Sorry,” I mumble and feel my cheeks heat.

“For what?” Her nose crinkles cutely as she tilts her head to the side slightly.

“For the, you know, bathroom question.” I clear my throat then shove my hands into my pockets.

She regards me quizzically. “Seriously, Danny?” She arches a brow then leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “It’s okay. I use the bathroom. And for the record, I know you do too.” She leans back and nods, a wicked smile playing upon her lips. I am grateful for that smile. I know how hard it is for her. I know how difficult smiling is for her at this point.

I laugh aloud, unable to hold back despite the undeniable somberness that coats the entire school like a gummy layer of grime. “Guilty as charged.” I hold my hands in the air at chest height in mock surrender.

“I knew it! Ha, ha!” Her laugh sounds like a cartoon villain and I’m so happy to see her joking and laughing I want to scoop her up into my arms and hug her as hard as I can. “See, that story I read about everyone pooping is true!”

I pause for a beat, stunned that she just said “poop” even if referencing a children’s book. It’s hard to believe a girl as pretty and popular as she is said that to me. I snort then laugh again.

“What?” She shrugs and smirks then winks at me. I can’t help but wrap an arm around her shoulder and draw her near.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here,” I say between laughs.

We walk together, my arm draped over her shoulders, to the parking lot in front of the school. I open the passenger side door of the CRV and she slips into her seat. I move to the driver’s side and climb in. We leave the grounds of the school and head to the nearest fast food restaurant. Once there, we make our meal selection and find a booth in the far corner. As soon as we sit, I feel as though I need to say something to her about Jenny. I don’t want her to think I’m being disrespectful with all of my laughter and fooling around.

“Listen, Sarah, I’m sorry about before,” I start. She looks at my face, puzzled. “You know, the joking around and everything. I know you’re hurting, and it’s probably, I don’t know, wrong or inappropriate for me to be laughing and acting like an idiot.”

She chuckles softly. “You’re not an idiot.” She holds me with her gaze for several seconds before dropping it and concentrating on her french fries. “And laughing and joking around isn’t wrong or inappropriate. You’re trying to cheer me up. It’s sweet.” She looks up at me, her cheeks tinted a faint pink.

“Is it working? Have I cheered you up at all?” I ask the question and immediately regret doing so. The death of a best friend is not exactly a situation one can be easily livened from. Especially when it happened just days ago. “I’m sorry. That was really stupid of me,” I mumble, chastising myself aloud.

“Danny, stop. Stop being so worried about what you say to me and how you act around me. You’re doing great. Perfect actually. I couldn’t ask for a better boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” The word passes through my lips before I have a chance to halt it. And it comes as a question, a wide-eyed, dopey question. As if my brain couldn’t stop my heart from the explosion of romantic hope that just erupted from it.

Sweat trickles down between my shoulder blades to the small of my back as I await her response. “Well, yeah.” She looks at me through her lashes. “You are my boyfriend, right?” she lifts her chin and I am greeted by brilliant, pale-blue eyes.

For a moment, I forget where I am. The hum and whir of the self-serve soda station and the chatter all around us quiets. Time seems to stand still and all that I am and all that has happened ceases to exist. There’s only the two of us. Just Sarah and I. I swallow hard. “Yes, I am, I mean, if you want me to be I am.” I slobber all over what I’m trying to say, and any attempt at sounding smooth or cool crumbles. “Do you want me to be your boyfriend?” I clear my throat.

Sarah shakes her head and a silky, flaxen lock falls over her brow. Half of her mouth tilts upward in a lopsided grin I find adorable. “Danny, are you asking me to be your girlfriend?” Her voice is playful, flirtatious even.

“I’d like that very much.” All teasing leaves my tone and I look directly into her eyes. In their frosty hue, I see light and laughter and happiness. I see the future. I see someone whose side I never want to leave. Someone I want to protect. Someone I love.

“Good because I feel the same way. I’m happy to be your girlfriend.” She doesn’t say anything further on the subject. Instead, she picks up her chicken sandwich with both hands and takes an impressive bite of it. I do the same and we sit together, eating in comfortable silence, until Sarah says, “Danny, have you figured out what’s happening here?” Her eyes pleads with me. I want to tell her all that I know, all that I suspect, and about Chris, but I know doing so would only put her at greater risk.

“I’m working on it.” My statement isn’t a total lie. I am, in fact, working on it.

“Good,” she replies earnestly. “I don’t want anyone else to die.” Her words resound with an aching sincerity I am all too familiar with. I don’t want anyone else to die either, especially since she is the next target.

“Are you staying home tonight?” My question serves two purposes. First, it steers the conversation away from future victims, and second, I need to know exactly where she’ll be so that if I need to get to her in a hurry, I can.

“Yeah, it’s a school night. Normally, Jenny would come over and we’d watch a movie but . . .” Her voice trails off and cracks, her grief evident.

“Your parents will be with you, right?” I ask out of double concern.

“No, they’re going to the movies,” she replies.

“You’re going?” I ask.

Sarah looks at me as if she’s just smelled an offensive odor. “No, are you kidding me?”

I shrug pathetically.

“I don’t make a point of hanging out with my parents. No thanks.” She shudders as if a shiver traced the length of her spine.

“Sorry I asked.” I hold my hands out in mock surrender again.

“No, Danny, I’m sorry.” She rakes a hand through the front of her hair. “I didn’t mean to be obnoxious.”

“You weren’t,” I assure her.

She continues eating. All the while, my worry intensifies. She will be alone tonight. Vulnerable and alone. I realize I’ll have to keep close to Chris and not let him out of my sight. I will not let him hurt her.

Sarah and I finish eating then head back to school. With a full belly, full heart and a head full of worries, I find solace knowing that I am confident who is responsible for the deaths in Patterson. Hopefully I’ll be able to stop him before he hurts anyone else, before he hurts Sarah.

Chapter 12

Worry sets up camp within me, festering like a sore until it chafes me to the brink of madness. I sit on my bed, a textbook and binder wide open. I should be reading a five-page passage and answering questions about it but concentration is eluding me. The sun has set. School let out about an hour ago and Sarah is home. As of now her parents have not left for the movie theater yet. But they will soon, and she will be left alone.

Too restless to sit still much less concentrate on homework, I stand and pace the floor. The thought of Sarah as prey rolls around my brain like an oversized burr, puncturing and abrading everything in its wake. And with each second that passes I become more and more convinced that if I don’t stop Chris, he’s going to kill her. Time is running out. I can feel it, hear the loud echo of a grain of sand dropping through an hourglass, but instead of being a soft, nearly silent sound, each crashes like thunder, signifying a countdown to extinction for the girl I love.

Gnashing my molars, my hands ball to fists and tighten so that my nails dig into my palms. Anxious and restless, I stalk about my room, watching the clock and waiting for seven thirty to come. That’s when I overheard Chris say he was going out. And shortly before that hour, I will arrive at his house and follow him wherever he goes.

I call and check on Sarah multiple times in the hours that pass. I call under the false pretense of homework confusion in every subject, not caring if I come across as a completely incompetent student. She fields my questions and I get confirmation that she’s safe, for the time being at least. When seven o’clock rolls around—a half hour earlier than the time I overheard Chris say he was leaving for his mysterious rendezvous—I grab my keys and rush out the door. I head straight to Chris’ street but park a block away from his house. Up until recently, I’d never tailed a person before. But seeing as how this is the second time in a week, I’m guessing I’ll get better and better at it. And since Sarah’s life is on the line, there isn’t any room for mistakes.

After a half hour of sitting in my car and staring so hard at Chris’ front door a hole should be drilled in it, he emerges. Looking all around as if sensing eyes on him, he scans the immediate vicinity. If he sees me, he doesn’t acknowledge as much and proceeds to his car. He pulls out of his driveway and into the street. I follow him, a single purpose pounding through my veins like the beat of a war drum.

The night is clear and the sky is a navy swath of diamond-crusted velvet and the moon is round and fat as I shadow Chris through the heart of town and past any roads that lead to Sarah’s house, a fact that I am relieved to note. Instead, he pulls into the long driveway of our school. Hesitating and watching as he directs his sleek sedan down the winding pathway, I turn off my headlights. I remain a safe distance from him so that I am unseen.

Few cars are in the lot, likely maintenance staff. I can’t understand why he’d be here, what his plan is. It doesn’t make sense.

I watch as he gets out of the car and opens the rear passenger side door. He grabs what looks like a blanket, pulling it out and clutching it to his chest. He looks all around. Worrying he’ll see me, or worse, senses me, I duck down in my seat. Still, I peek over the steering wheel and scrutinize his every move. His body language suggests stealth, it suggests that he’s up to something bad. The more I observe, the more unsettled I become. I won’t let him hurt anyone else. Least of all Sarah.

He turns after surveying the entire parking area. I sit up and lean forward, my eyes straining against the darkness. Slinking toward the tree line at the rear of the school, he makes his way toward the woods, the beam of his flashlight carving a pathway through the night.

I wait a few moments, my pulse drilling the base of my throat, and then exit my car. I don’t have a flashlight on me, just a flashlight app I recently downloaded for free after the embarrassing incident at the Hanson Mansion. I don’t use it though. The last thing I want is to draw attention to myself, to be seen. I’m left to depend on instinct alone, to navigate a labyrinth of branches, vines and weeds and pursue who I believe is a monster released from the depths of hell and responsible for a series of murders in town.

Wandering through the woods and narrowly avoiding losing an eye to a low-hanging branch, I make several attempts to reach out with all my senses, to see if I can feel where Chris went. But the more I try, the less success I have. I do not see the light from his flashlight and I can barely see what’s in front of me.

Frustration mounts within me, building to a crescendo as each second ticks by and I neither see Chris nor feel the pull that guides me to what Luke refers to as the Dark Ones. I stop, aggravated and defeated simultaneously, and rest my hand on the rough bark of a tree. I contemplate turning back and waiting for Chris to exit when a female voice rings through the ether. Muffled at first, the sound is that of a struggle. Every hair on my body rises and quivers and adrenaline races through my veins like fire. Shoving off against the tree trunk, my legs twitch to life and I take off, not heeding the entanglement of foliage I’m contending with. Thin branches lash and whip at my face and I stumble over vines that slink along the wooded floor, but I do not stop. A girl’s life likely teeters in the balance.

Not bothering to slow, I rush headlong until I reach a clearing. Moonlight streams from overhead in silver ribbons and illuminates two shapes, Chris and a female I can’t identify. Both are on the ground and in states of undress, a blanket—the one I saw him retrieve from his car—beneath them, and both appear to be in the throes of passion. I take a step backward and am about to turn when a twig snaps under my foot. Chris and the mystery girl freeze then their heads whip around in my direction. The girl tugs her open shirt closed and glares into the trees, seemingly right at me. Shame burns my cheeks.

“What the heck? Perv!” the girl shouts, condemning me when I thought she was being attacked and despite the fact that she can’t see me, at least I think she can’t see me.

Chris springs to his feet and bounds toward me. Twisting and intent upon high-tailing it out of there, I try to run, but my feet are ensnared by low growth and I fall backward. Within seconds, Chris descends on me. “What’re you doing here? Why are you following me?” He grabs a fistful of my shirt and lifts my upper body off the ground.

“I’m not.” My attempt at denial is transparent. I’m a terrible liar. And I’m at a loss for words. I hadn’t planned out what I’d say if I were caught. I didn’t think there’d be any conversation at all, in fact, just battle.

“Did Tyler send you?” Chris’ grip on my shirt lessens before he releases me altogether and I fall back with a soft thump. “Please don’t tell him.”

“Tell him what?” I ask as I look over at the girl pulling on her pants. And when I do, I recognize her and the situation comes into focus. The girl is Debbie Murphy, Tyler’s girlfriend. And Tyler is supposedly Chris’ best friend. “Oh,” I say to let him know that his plea for my silence is understood.

“Yeah, I know.” Chis leans back and rakes a hand through his hair. “This is only the second time we did this.” He sighs heavily. “It would destroy him.”

“It’s the fourth, you liar!” Debbie is suddenly beside Chris. She slaps him on the arm lightly.

“Fourth, whatever.” Chris tosses one hand in the air. He slides a tender look Debbie’s way then casts a harder gaze at me. “What’re you doing here? I haven’t bothered you at all.”

A bitter laugh seeps from my lips. “Yeah! Haven’t bothered me at all! Right!” Chris looks puzzled. C’mon. You didn’t leave a note in my locker threatening Sarah?” It sounds more like a venomous statement than a question.

His features contort. “Threatening Sarah? Are you crazy?” Sincerity registers in his tone and realization hits me. Chris didn’t write the note. He isn’t a monster. He’s a jerk, just a run of the mill jerk. I sense it now, feel it as plainly as I feel the cool wind on my face. I continue to study his features, however, as a strange look clouds his features. It borders concern.

“What?” I ask. “What is it?”

Chris shakes his head slowly. “You know I did see your friend go into your locker.” He gazes at the ground, his stare distant as he recalls the details. “I thought it was odd. He closed his and opened yours. He had his ear to the lock, like he was listening for clicks the way bank robbers do in movies.” He looks up at me, the moonlight drawing shadows beneath his eyes that age him. “I mean, he’s a weird dude, but seeing him do that,” he wets his lips, “that was weirder than usual. That’s why I noticed.” He shrugs. “I didn’t think to question him. I just assumed you gave him your combination.”

Chris’ words float around like nebulous puzzle pieces, refusing to gel straightaway. “What friend?”

“The big guy.” Chris lifts his arm so that his hand is above his head, signifying that the person to whom he refers is even taller than he is. “Tom. That big guy Tom. The one that crashed Tyler’s party with you.”

Awareness snakes through my veins like an icy channel. But I resist it. I refuse to acknowledge what I know to be true deep down in the depths of my core. “Did he see you?” I ask, still deluding myself that I can cling to the hope that it’s a prank he’s playing.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replies.

I stand up. “Sorry for this.” I gesture among the three of us. “I have to go.” I immediately begin making my way back along the path I traveled to get to the clearing where I found him and Debbie.

“Hey!” Chris calls after me. “You’re not going to tell Tyler about this, are you?”

“No,” I shout over my shoulder before I set off at a gallop out of the woods and to my car. Once there, I call Tom’s house. He doesn’t pick up and my heart speeds frenetically. I try his cell phone next and do not get an answer there either. I scramble with my phone and connect with the Internet, quickly looking up his address. As soon as I have it, I enter it into my GPS. The app estimates that his house is approximately five minutes from the school. I test the engine of the CRV and race down the long, winding driveway of the school and out on to the main road. I follow the female voice directing me. I arrive at the address listed only to find a dilapidated structure that looks as if it would collapse under the weight of an inch of snow. Streaks of black lap at the outer walls facing the street, undoubtedly caused by fire and the upper windows are covered with planks of wood. The house is not Tom’s home, of that I am certain.

Overwhelming waves of panic claim me. My hand trembles as I pick up my phone and dial Sarah’s number. It rings over and over and my heart lurches into my throat. I immediately call her home phone and it rings four times then goes to a prerecorded message, Sarah’s voice, and it states that the Millers aren’t home but will return my call at their earliest convenience.

My phone falls from my hand and lands on my lap, and awareness claws down my back with icy fingers. I realize I may have failed Sarah, that I may be too late.

Chapter 13

Stomping down on the accelerator of the CRV, I tear out of the drive, kicking up a spray of dirt and gravel. My mind spins, my mouth goes dry and my heart beats a dangerous rhythm as I race to Sarah’s house. All the while, a single question hammers at my brain: Was it really Tom this whole time? It doesn’t seem possible. He’s a normal teenager, my friend, isn’t he? He couldn’t possibly be capable of the heinous murders in town. Chris had to have been mistaken, or thought he saw something different than what was really happening. If Tom were fiddling with a lock, with my lock, he had to have had a good reason. And maybe Sarah isn’t picking up her cell phone or the house phone because she’s out with her parents and left her phone home. It happens all the time. It probably happened today. I hope it happened today.

All hope dies, however, when I pull into her driveway and up to the house. Both of her parents’ cars are parked out front, and so is hers.

Turning off my car and slipping out, I dash to the front door and immediately begin knocking. As I knock, the door creaks open revealing a sliver of the foyer.

“Sarah?” I call quietly. Then a little louder, I say, “Mr. and Mrs. Miller?” Several beats pass. “Hello?” My voice is met by preternatural stillness, and the stillness pulsates with darkness, with danger. “Sarah!” I try again and step inside through the foyer and into the living room. Light from the television flickers as camera angles shift and scenes change. My eyes travel the room, stopping as they land on a scene so macabre, I look away, nausea and revulsion make my stomach pitch. My body chills and I close my eyes, but it’s no use. The image of Mr. Miller, Sarah’s father, is indelibly etched in my mind’s eye. His body is slumped against the wall behind the sofa. His head is caved in, crushed so that bone and gore are on display, and bits of matter are peppered within a large spattering of blood.

Rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, I turn my head and open them slowly. When I do, though, I see that Mrs. Miller lay lifeless on the floor a few feet from her husband. Her neck is twisted so that her head faces her back.

Tremors rack my body and my stomach plummets to my feet. All I can think of is Sarah. I fear Sarah has suffered the same fate as her parents. Taking the steps two at a time, I bound upstairs and go straight to her room. Her bed stands unmade, her laptop open but the screen dark. In the instant that I see that, that I see a room that was occupied not long ago, I feel as if every ounce of my blood drains from my body and pools at my feet, my legs leaden for several moments before they spring to life and I take off. I search every room in a wild panic, throwing covers and pillows to the floor, digging past shoes and boxes in search of her. But my search is futile. She is not in the house. Chest heaving and sweat trailing down my back and stippling my forehead, a chilling revelation strikes me. I know where she is. I know where he’s taken her.

I race to my car, my heart lodged in the vicinity of my throat and drumming away frantically. I call Luke as I drive. I do not bother with greetings. As soon as his voice crackles on the line, I say, “She’s at the Hanson Mansion. I’m sure of it. He killed her parents.” The words rush from me in a frenzied jumble.

Luke doesn’t ask questions. He understands exactly what I’m saying. “Don’t go in until I get there,” he warns. “You can’t handle him on your own, he’s very powerful.”

His words mean little, though a voice in the back of my mind cautions they should. I can’t imagine myself waiting for Luke to arrive when I know Sarah’s life is on the line. I depress the gas pedal, not relenting until it touches the floor, and speed, recklessly passing cars and red lights until I turn on to a long, gravel driveway that winds and bends, lined by towering pines. The trees resemble mustached watchmen, guarding the threatening house of horror that looms at the end of the lane. Knowing that she’s there, that she’s within the walls of a kill house, the next in line to be slaughtered, sends waves of terror prickling across my skin.

Headlights slicing through the smothering dark of night, the backdrop of the sprawling chateau is menacing. Swathed in gloom and sitting atop overgrown land, the abandoned structure is surrounded by a forest of pines and cedars, their needles intact, while rows of trees, dried and dying, line the space between. Windows are boarded though the wood sags. It is just as I remember it. It is the stuff of nightmares. It sends a bolt of dread and fear through me that adheres to the marrow in my bones. I do not heed it or Luke’s warning. As soon as I slow to a stop, I rush out of the car and around the house, wading through tall grass, to where a window, previously boarded, is now vulnerable, the same window Tom used a crowbar to enter through the first time I came here with him, Sarah, and a group of friends. I climb in and am greeted by pitch-black darkness. It absorbs me fully until I fiddle with my phone and activate my flashlight app. The shaft of light skates across the space, reflecting dust and debris in the air. In my periphery, I see the statue that, during the last visit, I mistook for a human. This time, I do not whirl to face it. I do not slow to look at it even, and I do not let my guard down as I move deeper inside. My mind calls upon the mental map made last time. To my immediate left is a hallway. Shadows crawl menacingly up the sides of the walls, and piped masonry carved in a pale, decorative pattern intersects at the apex of pointed arch ceilings painted cobalt. All are vaguely familiar. All were seen when I was here with Sarah, Jenny, Tom and the others. And again, I’m slammed by the sensation of being caught in a gravitational pull so potent it threatens to yank my bones through my skin. A current of energy rockets through me, ripping through me and causing me to stumble for a moment. Heightened awareness whirs through my blood, and the oppressive evil present in the house manifests itself fully.

I dash to the kitchen and immediately spot the thick wooden door that leads to the cellar. Yellow police tape once cordoned the frame but was torn down when last we came. Thirteen creaky steps I remember well lead us into the bowels of the home. Dankness mingles with the scent of incense and another metallic stench tinged with sourness I cannot place. The combined effect is overwhelming, cloying. The light from my phone dances over the enormous pentagram on the concrete floor and the all-consuming pull I feel to the far left corner of the underground pit of horror leads me exactly five steps before my eyes rest on a sight that causes the air from my lungs to whoosh like a punctured life raft. My shoulders hook, my chest collapsing in on itself.

Sarah is pinned to the far wall, held in place by an unseen force. She holds a large blade to her wrist with her right hand. Her eyes are wide with fear, tears streaming from them as they dart to and fro. They flicker upward and she sees me, the slightest flash of hope glimmering in their crystal-blue depths. “Danny, help me, please.” Her words are tremulous, terror strangling them.

I advanced a step but am intercepted by Tom. No longer bearing the jovial demeanor he maintained before, his eyes are pools of inky blackness swirling with malevolence, with hate so profound it plunges to the pits of hell. His mouth is curled at the edges to form a cruel sneer. “You made it, buddy.” He holds up his fist for me to bump it with my own. I ignore the gesture, envisioning his fist rammed down his own throat. “We’ve been waiting for you.” The balled hand releases and he makes a sweeping gesture toward Sarah. He leers at her then returns his gaze to me. “What’s the matter, Danny? You can’t say hello to a friend?” His tone is pure acid. He is bitterness personified.

“Let her go right now.” The words tremble from my lips. “She didn’t do anything to you.”

Tom levels me with a gaze that accuses me of losing my mind to ask that question at all. It quickly transforms, however, to a malicious stare topped by a smirk. “Or what, Danny?” he says through his teeth. “Do you honestly think there’s anything you can do to me?” The air thickens and is suddenly laden with the stench of sulfur, and before my eyes, a transformation begins to occur. Rippling and burbling, Tom’s skin changes, darkening to black and sprouting coarse hairs that stick out like deadly spikes. The sound of bone crunching and shifting is a sickening sound that fills the space around me, and I watch in stunned, horrified silence as his spine lengthens, curving near his shoulders, but extending so that he towers over me and stands at nearly seven feet tall. The whites of his eyes glow a garnet hue, and teeth that were once straight and even are replaced by sharp, deadly fangs that drip with saliva. Evil radiates from every foul pore of the creature before me. Any and all humanity Tom possessed is gone.

Instinct compels me to lunge at him so I do, but before I am on him, he raises a giant, clawed hand and an invisible force hurls me backward, slamming me into the wall behind me. Pain explodes at my back and snakes down my limbs and through my skull. I slide to the concrete floor and try to get to my feet, scrambling to a standing position. I try to advance a step and attack again, but my arms are locked at my sides and my legs react as if anchored to the surface beneath me. I cannot move a muscle.

“Oh Danny, really?” The beast that was Tom addresses me, his voice gruff and raspy.

No sooner than the words are out of his mouth, Luke bursts into the room. Black hair tethered in an elastic band swings like a pendulum as his hands move quickly to produce a blade which he promptly launches at Tom. He does it with such speed Tom cannot react fast enough. It sinks into his shoulder. As Luke tries to retrieve a second dagger, Tom rushes him, raising his other arm. Within seconds, he is within reach. He grabs a fistful of Luke’s shirt and tosses him with ease across the room. Luke’s body collides with the wall, his head ricocheting against the wall with a sickly thud. He goes limp, his head lolling, and drops to the floor unconscious, possibly dead.

Tom in his beastly form shakes his head and makes a tsking sound as he looks down at Luke’s inert form. “Oh, too bad.” He sighs heavily. “I was hoping he was going to get to watch this.” He clips his oversized head toward Sarah. “You two pathetic creatures came to this town thinking you’d be able to stop me.” Vicious laughter drips from his lips like venom. “I’ve been walking this planet for five centuries. Neither of you had a chance. I was just having fun with you.”

My breathing, labored and coming in short, uneven pants, hitches further. “Why are you doing this?” I ask perhaps the dumbest question known to man, the first words that come to mind.

The heavily creased, leathery dark skin at Tom’s brow arches on one side as if to ask if I’m kidding him. But quickly, his brow lowers so that it nearly covers his eyes. “Because it’s fun,” he snarls. “Now get ready for the final act.” He looks to Sarah who is sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. With a flick of his wrist, he gestures to her. Her hand moves as a marionette’s would, the razor-sharp blade she clutches in one hand dragging vertically up her forearm and creating a gaping wound.

Sarah emits a scream that pierces my very soul.

Blood seeps from the open wound, slowly at first then faster until it drips to the floor in fat crimson droplets.

“Danny, help me!” she screams, her face contorted in agony. Every fiber of my being responds to her plea, to help the girl I love, and adrenaline saturates my cells. I writhe and fight with every ounce of strength I have against a power so potent it is insurmountable. I am helpless, forced to watch as she suffers, terror and anguish carving her features.

“Stop! Please don’t do this.” My words are hoarse, strangled by the thickness in my throat, by the lump of dread lodged there.

Tom simply slides me a sidelong glance, the ruby-red surrounding his pitch-black irises and charred black skin glowing devilishly. They narrow to hateful slits and a malicious smile reveals saliva-coated fangs as he draws a vertical line in the air with his index finger. His motion commands Sarah’s blade. After switching hands, she slices her other forearm from her wrist to her elbow, carving a deep ravine of crimson. Blood gushes from both wounds and her color drains as quickly as her lifeblood. “NOOOOOO!” I cry a scream of despair so loud it could be felt around the world, but Tom is unfazed. He looks on with an expression of demonic glee as Sarah fades fast. “No! No! No!” I wail from a primal place within me. I watch her gaze grow vacant, her eyes blank.

The weight of shock and profound sorrow drags my bones down, down deeper than the depths of hell. My body lurches forward. The only thing that keeps me from falling is the power holding me hostage, holding me still.

“Well that was fun, wasn’t it Danny?” Tom says. He turns on me, eyes wide like a predator with his sights set on prey. “Now it’s your turn.” He enunciates each word but I hardly hear him. Sarah is dead.

Sarah is dead.

I watched it happen.

Sarah is dead.

Why couldn’t I save her? Why couldn’t I keep her alive? The calling, the pull that brought me here, it didn’t matter, did it? Luke and whatever power I’d been instilled with when I died wasn’t enough to prevent the Dark One, pure evil. Justice didn’t exist. I am suddenly angered by my newfound power, by what I thought was a gift. I reject it. I reject the Universe and all that it stands for I’m repulsed by it, angered by it, embittered by it. Whatever it is I serve I no longer want to serve or be a part of now that Sarah is no longer a part of this world. The pain, the loss, is simply too much.

Numbing cold diffuses from the center of my chest and down my limbs until it touches my fingers and toes, and I close my eyes briefly. My chin drops to my chest and I open them only to find that my life has narrowed to a pinprick of light, color and sound. A spell of dizziness and uncontrollable trembling claims me before all goes still. Tom cackles, a dreadful wheeze that is muffled and indistinct, as if I’m hearing it from under water. Then suddenly, the air is filled with a strange and sweet perfume. Molecules of light reverberate, vibrating and echoing all around me like pure white bells ringing out, before strength, unlike any I have ever felt, roars through my veins. Awareness tingles across my skin and energy ripples within me. A current of energy, more powerful than the mightiest of tides, pulses at first then rages like an awakened beast of vengeance, of righteousness.

Lifting a foot that was frozen in place seconds ago, I slide it forward and take a step. My power surges, bucking the counter resistance and succeeding, and I take another step, this one easier than the first.

Seeing my movement, Tom’s head whips around. He raises his hand and a wave of power crashes into me, pushing me back for a moment. I fight it, moving against it until it yields. Confusion clouds his soulless features for a split second before it is replaced by something else, something dark and sinister. Brewing beneath the surface of his skin is a volcano, an explosion of deadly force. Growling, his eyes drill into me. “Impossible,” he mutters. A razor-thin membrane of control is all that separates him from lunging. He quivers with a tempestuous urge to tear my throat open. I sense it. I feel it. But with it, I also sense fear, an emotion I doubt he’s never felt before. It is an emotion I do not feel at the moment.

Fueled by inexplicable power and motivated by the purest of pain, I push forward slowly, bulldozing the dark energy coming in a steady stream that rams into me. I do not stop until I reach him. With him at arm’s reach, I smell the stench of sulfur and blood, of death, hate snapping around him like sparks from a lit fuse. I feel the frictionless clash of our energies. Balled and coiled tightly, his energy is an enormous blood clot that pulses, radiating blood-soaked viciousness and palpable malevolence.

Forcing it back with every ounce of newfound strength I possess, I launch my hand forward. It rockets out, my hand gripping his neck. Lifting him off the floor, I slam him into the concrete wall behind him.

He cries out on impact and his eyes squeeze shut in pain. “No,” he whimpers. But instead of conjuring mercy, all his mewling does is incite me. I pull him toward me then slam him again. His skull knocks against the hard surface a second time and a thin rivulet of blood trickles down his temple.

Gnashing his teeth so loud I hear enamel splinter, his eyes roll back in his head. He tries in vain to harness his pain, to reign it in and challenge me. He staggers forward, swinging clumsily at me in an attempt to land a blow to my chin. I take a small step back, avoiding the swipe with ease. Then, capitalizing on his forward momentum, I grip his shoulders and drive him to the concrete floor. His head knocks violently. He flounders for a moment but I don’t relent. I lift him off the floor. He tries to resist, kicking impotently. I raise him and thrust him against the closest wall, ramming his skull into it again and again.

“Please don’t.” He begs this time, a tremor of agony-induced fear rousing it.

Bitter laughter bubbles from my throat and my grip tightens on his neck. “You think I would show you mercy?” The wet rasp of his labored breathing intensifies. I squeeze harder. “This is the reason I’m alive, the reason I came back.” The words stream from me from an unfathomable part of my being and my hand clenches like a vise. Tendons surrender to the pressure and bone snaps, and in the moment that I realize I’ve killed Tom, I know the truth of my destiny. I know why I am here and why I was returned to this earthly plane. Exerting every last drop of energy I possess and envisioning Sarah’s face as I do, I crush all that I hold until his skull flops to one side. Eyes bulging and tongue protruding, I stare into the face of evil incarnate.

I release him and he drops to the floor. As soon as his body hits the concrete, the air around him quickens, darkening and shimmering like inky water. I watch as it undulates then unexpectedly, a hot rush of fire blazes forth. I shield my eyes with my forearm and turn away from it, feeling its heat and hearing it hiss and crackle as it rushes past me. Quickly, the fire is extinguished and the stench of brimstone, decay and blood assaults my nasal passages. I stare into the section of air that rolls and swells and listen as creaks and groans from upper levels of the house bemoan the weight of the structure. A ghostly moan howls dolefully and the foundation buckles. The walls shake and I watch as Tom’s corpse explodes into ash that refuses to settle, but hangs in the air before disappearing altogether. He is gone forever, the world is purged of his wretched existence and by my hand. I am filled with a sense of purpose and belonging. But that feeling is short lived. My gaze settles on Sarah, beautiful, sweet Sarah.

Blonde hair draped over her face and seated in a puddle of crimson blood, the sight of her punches a gaping hole through my chest. Raw and ragged, it is a wound that will never heal. Feeling the burn of tears sting my eyes, I go to her lifeless form and drop to my knees beside her. I wrap my arms around her and draw her close, hugging as hard as I did when she was alive. I pull her close to my chest, remembering her eyes and her pretty smile, her quick wit and the feel of her hand in mine, and I sob unabashedly.

She is lost.

Sarah is gone forever.

I failed her.

I didn’t save her.

Chapter 14

Still on my knees and clutching Sarah’s head to my chest, my heart bleeds, hemorrhaging one tear at a time. I am broken, shattered into a million pieces that will never mend. Pain unlike any I’ve ever experienced surrounds me, swallows me. I don’t know what to do with it, the agony of loss; this profound sorrow of mine that will remain with me until my dying days. I press my lips to her head, kissing her flaxen crown and smelling the vague notes of her shampoo mingle with the coppery stench of blood. My pulse stutters and my shoulders curl forward. I let her die. Her blood is on my hands. I didn’t save her.

Guilt and shame collide shaping a form of self-loathing so potent it is an entity of destruction. It is a dark passenger I fear will walk with me for the rest of my life. Chest heaving, sobs beset my body. “Sarah,” I mumble into her hair as I hold her tighter. “Sarah.”

“She’s gone, Danny.” A familiar voice echoes. I look over my shoulder, eyes swollen and vision blurring from crying, and see Luke standing behind me. “Let her go.”

“I can’t.” The words scrape from my throat from a raw and primal place.

Luke sighs heavily. “You have to.” His statement is not intended to be harsh or cold, but they strike a nerve.

“No!” I reply fiercely. “I’m not leaving her. Not here. Not now. Not ever.”

Luke shakes his head and frowns.

“Don’t give me the disappointed dad look, you understand me?” I cling to Sarah, refusing to relinquish my grip even though my brain realizes I cannot sit here as I am with her indefinitely.

Luke raises his hands to chest height, his palms facing me. Several beats pass between us before he clips his chin toward a space on the concrete floor that is charred and still stinks of sulfur and decay. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?” My head spins. I’m minimally aware of his movement.

“How did you kill him?” I feel his eyes boring into me. “It’s not possible.” His expression is impassive but wonder lurks in the depths of his sea foam green eyes as he regards smears that resemble swept charcoal. They are all that’s left of Tom. “He’s a Dark One who’s been around for more than five hundred years. His power was unmatched.” His brows link for a fraction of a second.

“Who cares?” I erupt. Anger and grief merge. I glower at Luke. “Who cares how I killed him. The bottom line is I did, and I did it too late because she is dead!” I am shouting, spittle spraying from my mouth and my nose running. I sniff and release Sarah with one arm so that I can wipe it with my sleeve. Swallowing hard, I demand, “Why didn’t you think I could save her?” I wait a split-second then shout, “Tell me!”

“Danny,” Luke’s tone is calm, soothing, and he advances toward me slowly. “As soon as you told her what you are, the chance to save her ended.”

I feel my eyes widen with surprise. “What?” my voice is little more than a whisper.

“I couldn’t tell you.” Regret plagues his features. “I thought if you found him on your own maybe you’d have a chance.” He shrugs and his voice trails off.

I shake my head, struggling to comprehend his words, what I think he’s saying. “So you’re telling me I killed her; that the powers that sent me here made this happen to silence her?” My voice grows louder and louder until I am screaming. “Is that what happened?” Anger swells within me in turbulent waves. What universe do I serve would see fit to claim the life of an innocent girl just to silence her? A cruel, unjust universe, that’s the kind.

“Danny, it’s not like that.” Luke closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Slowly, he opens them and looks directly at me. “You just weren’t going to get the help you needed.” He licks his lips. “You cannot tell people what you are. I can’t impress that point strongly enough. You. Cannot. Tell. Anyone. What. You. Are.” He pauses and holds my gaze hostage with his own to ensure I understand what he’s said. Several moments pass between us before he says, “I still don’t understand how you did this.” He gestures to the dark smudges on the concrete where Tom once lay. “He was way too powerful, very old and far more powerful than any Dark One I’ve ever encountered.” He scrubs his face with both hands. “I don’t understand. It doesn’t make sense.”

“What’s not to understand? He’s dead. And so is Sarah. Period. How I did it and his strength and age are irrelevant. It’s done!”

Luke doesn’t utter a word of protest and he doesn’t retort. He simply stares at me. After a minute or so passes, he looks as though an idea has occurred to him. “Danny, when you were headed to the light and a man intercepted you, what did he look like?”

“I don’t know, tall, broad shoulders, whatever. Who cares?” I shrug off his question.

“Danny, this is very important. I need to know exactly what he looked like. I need you to describe him in detail.” Luke is suddenly more intense than usual, leaning forward in expectance of my reply, his jaw set and his brow low.

I shift and face Luke, releasing my grip on Sarah incrementally. “He was tall, really tall, and built like a linebacker, you know, broad shoulders, big muscular arms,” I start. The only image branded in my mind as fully as the pristine light I was drawn to is the image of the man who ripped me from my path toward it. “He had long black hair that fell past his shoulders, longer than yours and shiny like glass.” I pause and close my eyes, my mind suddenly filled with his face.

“Go on,” Luke prompts me.

“He had blue eyes like Sarah’s. They looked like ice over water only brighter, clearer, not like any eye color I’ve ever seen. He had a straight nose and his bottom lip was thicker than the top and his jaw was square.” I inhale. “But what I remember most about him is not about what he looked like, but his presence. He had this air about him, regal, powerful. I don’t know if that makes sense even.” I shake my head and open my eyes. And when I do, I see that Luke’s features are clouded, his expression one I’ve never seen him make.

“Danny, do you know who that was?” he asks.

“No Luke I don’t. We didn’t exactly introduce ourselves and exchange numbers,” I hiss sarcastically. “I was dead, remember? And I was trying like hell to get to that light. But he stopped me, and according to you, he shared himself with me, as icky as that sounds and whatever the heck that means!” Exasperated, my patience is completely exhausted. I am fraught, overwhelmed by grief and confusion, and this guy is asking if I caught the man’s name! Is he out of his mind? I wonder.

“Who he is is who you are,” Luke says with the practiced calm of a serial killer.

I stare at him blankly for a second. “Ok Jedi master, any more riddles for tonight? ‘Cause I’m done with today’s lesson!”

“Danny,” Luke starts again but I cut him off.

“No, no more! I don’t care what you have to say. I’m done. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore, not for a power that would let her die.” I cast my eyes toward the beautiful girl in my arms whose laugh I will never hear again. “That power can kiss my—”

“Enough.” Luke’s voice is a clap of thunder. It resonates with power but also with something else. I swear it’s filled with respect that wasn’t there earlier. “You are here for a reason. Don’t you get that?” Luke’s demeanor has changed. He exudes reverence. He isn’t talking down to me anymore. I don’t know whether to be happy or scared. “Something is coming. Something horrible must be coming. It’s the only reason you’re back.”

The fine hairs on the back of my neck rise and quiver. I know he speaks the truth. I can sense it as readily as I sense my own pulse, sense a shift in the atmosphere, a shift in the balance of things. Still, I balk.

“I don’t even know what that means! Am I supposed to know what that means?” I feel my face redden. I’m done with all the cloak-and-dagger mystery. “I’m just going to live my life like a normal kid. I’m not doing this anymore.”

Luke’s eyes are sad when he addresses me. “Danny, you can’t go home. You understand that, right?”

I shake my head no.

“You need to leave now. The Dark Ones, they are all going to sense what happened here, sense you, and come for you. You are not safe and neither is your family. If you stay, your loved ones will die.” His words bleed the air from my lungs. I picture my mother and my sister then feel Sarah’s limp body sagging against mine, and my throat constricts so tightly I struggle to breathe. “Everything you love will be destroyed.”

“Where am I supposed to go?” My voice is a strangled whisper. “I’m only sixteen. I don’t have any money. I don’t have anything.”

“You are not a sixteen year old kid, and you don’t have a choice in this.” He levels me with a gaze that is grave. His tone is urgent when he says, “You don’t even have time to say goodbye. We need to leave now.”

I release Sarah, placing her on the floor, and stand. Shock and disbelief meld with the multitude of emotions swirling in the vortex of pain that has become my reality. “No. I’m not going anywhere with you. I told you, I’m not doing this anymore.” The words, while I mean them with every part of me, sound wrong as I speak them, as if I am trying to deny that the color of the sky is blue on a clear day.

“You don’t have a choice one way or the other. You purpose on this earth was chosen for you. It’s why you were returned from death.”

I ignore his words and turn from him, making my way to the staircase.

“Where are you going?” he calls after me.

I do not acknowledge him and I do not turn.

“Danny! Come back!” he shouts as I take the stairs that lead from the basement to the kitchen two at a time. He is still yelling when I exit the Hanson Mansion, and I wonder why he didn’t chase after me, fight with me to stay.

Crips autumn air greets me as I climb out the window and into the waiting night. I don’t know what to do or where to go. All I know is that I refuse to live my life as a puppet to a power that allowed Sarah to die.

Unlocking the door to my CRV, I slide behind the steering wheel and start the car. I begin driving without the slightest clue of my destination, where this life of mine that has been torn to shreds in the space of a breath, will lead.

“Danny, you can’t do this!” Luke’s voice rages over the whir of the engine. But I do not look back. I cannot look back. To do so would hurt too much. Sarah is dead, and I have to leave my mother and sister without saying goodbye lest they suffer the same fate. I cannot live with their blood on my hands. I don’t know how I’ll live with Sarah’s blood on my hands. They are stained eternally. So I pull away into the darkness and into a future that is unknown, uncertain. I leave Luke standing in the driveway, leave behind my family, my friends, my life. I head straight for the highway and watch through the rearview mirror as the town grows distant, as everything I care about fades to black. I am not whole. I have left a piece of me behind. I only hope that one day I will have the chance to return to them, to return to the life I had as just Daniel Callahan.

Jennifer and Christopher Martucci hoped that their life plan had changed radically in early 2010. To date, the jury is still out. But late one night, in January of 2010, the stay-at-home mom of three girls under the age of six had just picked up the last doll from the playroom floor and placed it in a bin when her husband startled her by declaring, “We should write a book, together!” Wearied from a day of shuttling the children to and from school, preschool and Daisy Scouts, laundry, cooking and cleaning, Jennifer simply stared blankly at her husband of fifteen years. After all, the idea of writing a book had been an individual dream each of them had possessed for much of their young adult lives. Both had written separately in their teens and early twenties, but without much success. They would write a dozen chapters here and there only to find that either the plot would fall apart, or characters would lose their zest, or the story would just fall flat. Christopher had always preferred penning science-fiction stories filled with monsters and diabolical villains, while Jennifer had favored venting personal experiences or writing about romance. Inevitably though, frustration and day-to-day life had placed writing on the back burner and for several years, each had pursued alternate (paying) careers. But the dream had never died. And Christopher suggested that their dream ought to be removed from the back burner for further examination. When he proposed that they author a book together on that cold January night, Jennifer was hesitant to reject the idea outright. His proposal sparked a discussion, and the discussion lasted deep into the night. By morning, the idea for the Dark Creations series was born.

The Hunter of the Light series, the Planet Urth series, as well as the Arianna Rose series and the Dark Creations series, are works that were written while Jennifer and Christopher continued about with their daily activities and raised their young children. They changed diapers, potty trained and went to story time at the local library between chapter outlines and served as room parents while fleshing out each section. Life simply continued.

As the storyline continues to evolve, so too does the Martucci collaboration. Lunches are still packed, noses are still wiped and time remains a rare and precious commodity in their household, but it is the sound of happy chaos that is the true background music of their writing. They hope that all enjoy reading their work as much as they enjoyed writing it.

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