It wasn’t long before there was a body.

It looked like her, like Laney. When Cassie first saw it, cold and unmoving in the coffin, she felt drawn to her. She repeated, like a mantra, that it wasn’t Laney, it wasn’t real. But it was solid, firm. Her hair was dark and long, her skin pale. The small mole on the left side of her face, just skimming her jawline, was there. Every detail, every aspect of this body perfectly mimicked Laney’s.

The Blakes wept. Like wounded animals, they sobbed over their only daughter’s body. Part of Cassie felt that Laney must really be dead because no decent person could let their parents live through what her parents were living through.

There was a wake. Cassie skulked in the back, and most attendants left her alone. Rebecca stayed near her, two girls in an exclusive club that neither had ever wanted to belong to. The wake wasn’t like Jessica’s. There was no touching tribute on the lawn. Something had shifted. The line of mourners still wrapped around the building. The parents of the dead girl still stood next to the open coffin, shaking hands through red-rimmed eyes. The flowers were over-the-top and benignly descriptive. The change was with the students. One of their own was taken again. It was not some freak accident. It was more personal; someone was attacking them. Because two girls didn’t die accidentally from heart failure. Something had happened.

Officer Gibbons sat down next to Cassie. She had taken the back corner seat, watching the procession from a distance, the crowd keeping a respectful distance from her. Ryan and Jon hovered nearby. Her parents stood next to the Blakes, ready to be of assistance should one of them break.

“It’s a real shit day,” Gibbons said. Cassie nodded.

“Thank you,” she said. She stared forward, her attention inadvertently pinned to the coffin with the impostor body. “That could have been me.”

He nodded and pat her arm, getting up and moving to give his condolences to the family.

When the impossibly long line of grievers had finally abated, the front door closing on the soft pattering of rain from outside, Cassie sighed in relief.

Laney’s parents were saying their final goodbye. They weren’t crying now, they looked too exhausted to breathe.

Ryan was waiting with his parents by the front door. Cassie stood and walked over to him, reaching up on tiptoes to give him a kiss goodnight.

“Thank you,” she whispered, noting the widening eyes of his parents behind them. Her parents, too, would probably be surprised. Though how everyone in that room hadn’t seen this coming, this firming of whatever was going on between Cassie and Ryan, she didn’t know. He smiled gently and kissed her forehead, lingering just long enough for Cassie to blink back the tears that had formed. They whispered goodbyes and Cassie turned to find her mother’s open arms waiting for an embrace.

She went willingly, letting her mother cradle her.

“We can go get the car,” she whispered, “if you want a moment to say goodbye.”

Cassie nodded, not knowing what else to do. The Blakes were walking to the back room, following the funeral director and his soft condolences. Silhouetted by gray sky and pouring rain, her parents wrenched open the front door. Cassie watched them leave and then turned, alone in the room with the body that looked like Laney.

She walked slowly across the space. It seemed huge now, devoid of crushing bodies all slick with rain. The flowers were fragrant but wrong, not soft, like lavender, like Laney. The body itself was wrong.

Because, of course, it’s not her, Cassie thought, mentally chastising herself.

Laney was free, probably running wild and without care. It didn’t matter to her that her parents were heartsick, that Cassie was left incomplete, always turning to her side, waiting for Laney to fill in her blanks.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say to the lifeless body below her. Her features hardened, and she felt anger flood her bloodstream. She turned on her heel and ran from the room, ripping the door open and stepping into the rain.

People moved past her, walking briskly down the sidewalk, getting cars for friends and relatives who didn’t want to get wet. A small gathering of waiting people pooled underneath the building’s small awning.

The sidewalk was thick with puddles. Cars still pulled from the parking lot and just ahead she could see the lit brake lights of her parent’s sedan. Rain fell fast and cold, and Cassie flipped up her hood, almost deafened by the pattering on her coat.

The lines of people moving down the sidewalk started to thin as Cassie moved forward. Just ahead, still and unmoving, unlike the rest, Cassie saw her face, a pale oval through the rain. Her eyes caught and locked with Cassie’s. She looked the same, not like the body lying still in the coffin, but glowing and alive. Her irises darkened when she saw her friend, her lips part.

Cassie stared blankly ahead, the rain catching in her eyelashes.

Laney moved right up to her, staring up into her face. “Cass,” she whispered. Cassie looked down.

“Sorry,” Cassie said. Her gut clenched. The words were almost lost in the rain. “Do I know you?”

Shock and hurt cut across Laney’s features. She took a small step back. Out of nowhere, Corey materialized, his arms coming around Laney. Cassie kept her face carefully blank.

“You’re lying,” Laney hissed. Cassie shook her head, raindrops flying from her hood.

“I think the line starts around the side of the building,” Cassie said, pointing to the funeral home. “It’s pretty much over, though. The funeral is at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

Headlights washed over them. Laney looked stricken.

“We told you, love,” Corey whispered low in her ear. Cassie was sure she wasn’t meant to have heard. “It would be this way. She can’t see you, not really.”

Cassie moved past them, walking briskly as though she hadn’t heard. Something small in her snapped, and her eyes started to burn. She made it almost to the curb when she looked up and saw him. Across the road, standing stock still among the crowds hurrying for their cars, stood Aidan. Without a hood up, the rain plastering his hair to his head, he stared.

A shiver moved through her as a swirl of heat coursed up her body. It brought words that echoed inside her skull.

“You know,” he whispered, smirking at her. “See you soon.”

The doors to the funeral home opened, the lights beyond going dark. Soft crying could be heard from the entrance way. It mingled with the crying Cassie could hear from the street, only steps away from her. Laney and her parents, both mourning her leaving this world.

But she had left, willingly.

Cassie opened the car door, slid into the seat, water dripping from her jacket and leaving dull spots on the upholstery.

“Okay, honey?” her father asked. The heater was on, blowing dry, hot air over Cassie’s face. She stared straight ahead.

“Take me home,” she whispered. She lay her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes.