"I hate him," Mari announces, glaring at Paul's back. "He's not good enough for Shannon."
Caitlin laughs. "Since when do you care about Shannon's well-being?"
"I'm serious. I hate that guy. Have you been keeping up to date with the journals or what? I only write in it seventeen times a day."
"I don't have the time to keep up," Caitlin reminds her friend. "I never did before, either. I've got homework."
"But you don't do your homework...whatever. God, I can't stand that guy. Everyone loves him just 'cause he's from Turkey or something."
"Dude, just...whatever, dude. See you at lunch." They begin to go their separate ways, but Caitlin turns quickly. "Mars."
"Yeah?"
"You busy tonight?"
"No...oh, wait, yeah. My sister's having a party, I'm being forced to attend."
"That sucks. I'm having a sleepover. See you."
By now, they're hopelessly late to class. Typical junior behavior.
* * *
They laugh quietly, their voices echoing across the still waters of the pond. The moon shimmers in the water, reflected large and perfect. The night is young, they are unsupervised, and they are happily clueless. But not for long.
They wade across the stream. Mary trips, gives a small shriek, and clutches at Shannon. They both fall in a heap with a loud splash. The others giggle and feign abandonment. Shannon reaches up and drags Caitlin into the stream. A fierce splash-fight ensues, the chuckles muffled. If they're caught out past curfew...well, they won't be. That's all there is to it. They will never be caught - not them. They are too free and wild.
"Can we go back now?" Amy whispers, rubbing her arms to get the blood flowing. "I'm freezing."
"It's April, it's not that cold," Caitlin says through chattering teeth as they move on. The tall grass whips their legs, leaving stinging streaks on their shins.
"I'm serious, this isn't cool. We'll get in trouble."
"We're juniors. Juniors never get in trouble."
There is silence as they enter the woods. Shannon sighs. "I miss Paul."
The others look exasperated. Paul isn't even his real name. He is the exchange student from Asia, his real name unpronounceable, so everyone calls him Paul. He has been dating Shannon for nearly all of their junior year - the second-longest relationship she's ever had, next to Dan, which lasted part of her freshman year and all of sophomore before his graduation.
They hear a snapping twig somewhere ahead - local kids breaking curfew, perhaps. Silence falls over the group as they slip towards the sound.
They arrive at the edge of the clearing in time to see a heavy branch smash into the head of a tall young man. It happens so quickly, they cannot think, cannot scream, can only register the slim, small build and flyaway hair of the person wielding the branch. Then the person is gone, and the victim lies on the ground, unmoving.
"Flashlight," Kristen finally says, urgently.
"We didn't bring one," Hannah cries.
Shannon bursts into the clearing and kneels by the victim, her hand stroking the hair and coming away streaked with blood. She shudders but has the sense not to scream as she checks for a pulse.
"Dead," she proclaims.
There are strangled gasps from the group, and Kristen pushes her way forward to check, coming to the same conclusion.
"But who is it?" Mary asks, voice choked with sobs.
Hannah comes up with a penlight and flicks it on, pointing it at the victim. Now Shannon does scream, then degenerates into sobs. The foreign features are obvious even in death.
"Paul," she wails.
"Come on, let's get out of here," Caitlin urges. "They'll think we did it. Come on."
"We can't just leave him," Kristen says. "They wouldn't blame us."
Caitlin sighs. "You're so fu...um, I mean, you're very naive. We're teenagers, we're out past curfew. They'll bust us. They always do."
Shannon looks up, eyes burning with a wild fire. "I swear I'll fucking kill whoever that was," she announces, without the regard for language that Caitlin is struggling to display. "I'll ruin their fucking life."
"No," Caitlin snaps. "You idiot! We can't tell anyone. We'll get blamed. And we don't deserve that."
"Paul didn't deserve this!"
"We can't tell. We can't. Swear it, Shannon. All of you swear it. Cross your heart, hope to die, stick a needle in your eye, all that shit. Do it!"
Reluctantly, they repeat it. "Cross my heart, hope to die..."
* * *
A week passes. The body is discovered, the school mourns. Mari's journal disappears, and she hyperventilates. Maybe the popular kids stole it, the bastards. The others have to work hard to keep her disrespect for the dead boy away from their classmates, who don't need more reasons to ignore her.
Then the news comes out. The police have a suspect, and it's the last person the friends would have expected. "No!" Caitlin screams at the TV. She smacks it, ignoring the stinging in her hands. "No! You fucking bastard! That's not true!"
The problem is that it could be true. And she is the only one who truly doesn't believe it.
Mari is not in school. She's being held in a juvenile detention center. Detention, at their age. So unreal. So real.
"It could've been her..."
"They do have the journal as evidence..."
"Are you really sure?"
Caitlin will not even listen, and the friendship disintegrates. Mari is acquitted, but life will never be the same.
* * *
"We can't tell them, are you insane?" Mari asked. "I don't want to bring that up again. And you all crossed your hearts, hoped to die. In this place, that may well happen."
"Get real," Hannah said. "Look, all that was ten years ago. No one cares anymore. Can't we all just be friends?"
Amy took a sip of her wine, eyes on the swaying chandelier above them. "Hardly matters anyway. Not now."
"It's always mattered," Shannon said. "Look at us - we're not where we thought we'd be. I'm a lawyer. Hannah's a forensic pathologist. Kit has seven-year-old twins."
"And no books published," Mari added.
"Right."
"And I teach high schoolers."
"Ri - you what?"
"I mean it."
"Anyway, my point is that none of us would've expected this ten years ago. That murder ruined our lives. I mean, I should be the one that's married. Not Kit."
"She's also divorced," Hannah noted.
"Yes, but...hey, are you implying something?"
"Who, me? Would I do that?"
* * *
Jenna had to bend almost double to see the footprints with her tiny penlight. Even worse, its glow had diminished to a dull amber; it would soon go out.
"Emory!" she called. "Alicia! This is so not funny!"
She slipped and fell, the light jolted from her hand. She squealed as the darkness closed in, fumbled for the light, but this time couldn't find it. Her breath came in rapid puffs, and she stood, feeling for the walls. How did you get out of a maze? Just keep turning left. So she'd touch a wall and walk along it until she hit the stairs. Not hard.
Within minutes she was hopelessly lost, and then she finally saw a light - harsh, fluorescent. She staggered toward it, her hand sliding from the wall. Her knee was bleeding, the liquid looking black in this light.
Were the lights working? She stopped dead. She'd heard her sister earlier, and then something about duct tape, and then the lights had come on. But the bills weren't paid. What? She gave up all hope of logic and entered the brightly lit room.
There was a metal table standing in the middle, gleaming in the light. The room was oddly devoid of cobwebs. Jenna ran a finger along a shelf - no dust.
The door slammed shut.
She screamed, whirled, and began to beat on it with one fist, rattling the door handle with the other. "No! No! I have to find them! Let me out! Let me out!"
The lights flickered, and she ceased her frantic pounding, staring apprehensively. If they went out...she couldn't handle that...
The room tilted. The table rumbled toward her as she was thrown against the door. She screamed again and jumped up, grabbing a pipe. She held herself up and watched the table slam into the door, sending up sparks but not doing anything to budge it. Thank God for adrenaline.
The pipe broke, and a stream of water issued from it, splashing onto the table. Jenna let go and fell onto the table, landing awkwardly and hearing the snap her ankle gave. Her vision darkened from the intense pain, and her last coherent thought was, I hope they have insurance...
* * *
Kelly shrieked and practically leapt into Nick's arms when they heard something banging down one of the corridors. Mike rolled his eyes. These kids were impossible.
The closet was locked, but Mike still had Alan's keys, one of which was a skeleton key that worked for the whole mansion. He unlocked the closet.
A teenage boy tumbled out, a scratch on his cheek, his long, black hair tangled and matted with blood. He got up quickly, eyes wild. "Why'd you open the door?" he moaned. "Now she can get me..."
"She who?" Nick asked. Kelly clung to his arm, her eyes worried. The other kid - the short one - stood back, eyes on...well, it had to be Emory, didn't it. Mike sighed and peered into the closet, which held a mop, an overturned bucket, and a great deal of dust.
"Em, are you all right?"
Emory's eyes sought out Kelly's face, haunted and deep. "He wouldn't let me smoke," the boy moaned. He fumbled in his pocket and came up with a lighter and cigarette. "I can now. She'll get me no matter what, now."
"God, Em, you're useless," Nick moaned. "Have you seen Jenna?"
"Mm, no." The teen puffed on his cigarette.
"You kids take him upstairs," Mike instructed. "I'll keep looking."
Nick and Kelly were only too happy to do so, but the short kid stayed, hands stuffed in his pockets. "S'not safe," he muttered. "S'how people keep going missing - being alone."
"Thanks." Just when you think the youth of today are hopeless, they surprise you. Mike grinned. "All right. Let's just...keep going."
* * *
Liza kicked her car, an uncharacteristic action for the usually mild-mannered woman to take. Great. It had broken down out here in the middle of nowhere, her cell phone was dead, and no one even knew where she was, because she hadn't expected to take the detour, and she hadn't expected to miss the turn, and she had expected to be in Iowa by now! At least she could take some consolation in the fact that no one desperately needed her out West.
She saw lights just over the hill, pretty far to walk, but at least they'd have a phone. She'd get a tow truck and call her sister. Yeah. She'd borrow the car, drive to Iowa, spend the rest of the night in a motel, and make up time by skipping breakfast. No problem.
High heels certainly weren't going to get her very far. She slipped them off and took her tennis shoes out of the trunk. Lacing them up was something she hadn't done in years, but she hadn't forgotten how. It was like riding a bike, which she also hadn't done in years.
She began to hike, feet slipping on the damp grass. Well, now she believed what she'd been told in Biology; high heels were very, very bad for your muscles. Two steps in normal shoes and she was already in pain. This night was not going well at all.
The road was dirt, which was slightly easier to walk in when she finally reached it. The rusted iron gate stood shut, and the struggle to push it open left dark stains on her skirt and a run in her pantyhose. She winced at the sight of the barbed wire strung across the top of the wall that seemed to run around the property. The wince moved into a full shudder when her eyes fell on the house. Gigantic and imposing, much of it stood dark, but for the lights flooding the ground floor and a single light glowing in the attic.
A piercing scream shattered the night and she saw a shadow pass near the window in the attic. She seriously considered running, but her legs hurt badly enough already, and...she did need help.
She continued to walk slowly toward the door, eyes on the attic, where the light had gone suddenly out.
* * *
Several minutes before, just as Liza had begun her trek from her broken-down car, Kit had awoken to darkness.
She sat up with a soft groan, rubbing her head. She remembered walking into a room in the basement, then falling, and now...
"Houston, we have a problem," she muttered.
She stood in a hallway, dust caking the floor, swirling in the air, illuminated by moonlight that streamed through a window. She staggered over to said window and stared down at the courtyard below. Second floor, maybe third. She couldn't be sure. She was dizzy from standing up too quickly, and had to sit down.
There was a portrait on the wall, depicting a young girl. The child's pale skin and angular eyes spoke of foreign origin. She was not smiling. Not unhappy, not angry, just...not smiling. An unseen wind drew strands of black hair in front of the girl's face.
Kit stared at the painting until her nausea subsided, then stood as the grandfather clock chimed 10:30. As she watched, the hands spun forward to point to 12:26 and the clock slid silently to one side, revealing the first few steps in a series of stairs cloaked in darkness.
The sense of mystery was too great, and Kit barely even thought about it as she walked toward the stairs. By the time she reached them and actually realized just how deep of a darkness shrouded them, she couldn't stop walking.
The stairs seemed to extend forever before her outstretched hands touched a door. She fumbled for the knob and nearly fell into the attic. When she got her footing, a chain brushed against her cheek. She pulled it.
Light flooded the room, throwing weird shadows onto the wall. Kit's eyes fell on the strangely enlarged shape of a rope, dangling from the ceiling, and the small something dangling from it.
Almost without her brain's approval, her head turned and she looked upon the second dead body she'd ever seen.
Admittedly, it wasn't really a body after over a hundred years, just a skeleton, but the noose still entwined around the shattered neck brought the terrible reality home.
"They shot the wife and hung the girl..."
Kit screamed as her imagination produced the unsmiling little girl's picture, superimposing it on the noose, bringing the fading afternoon light of the early twentieth century forward in time. Her scream died as she stumbled backwards and slipped. She flung her arms out and hit the sides of the stairwell, but found nothing to hang onto.
The little girl's image, product of a mind destroyed already by memory, seemed to smile as Kit plunged into the darkness.
* * *
Hayley and Anna had no interest in sleeping quite yet. Luckily, the adults paid them no attention after sticking them in a bedroom. Unluckily, the argument was so loud they couldn't hear the TV.
In fact, the argument was so loud that the adults didn't even hear the timid knock on the door, nor did the older kids in the living room. After a hasty consultation, Anna manged to shove her sister out of the room and a few feet closer to the door.
Hayley opened it apprehensively and found herself staring at a tall, pretty lady with short hair and warm eyes. The lady's skirt was smudged and her tennis shoes dirty, but Hayley suspected that this woman had what her mother called class.
"Hi," the lady said. "My name is Liza Makowski, and I was wondering if I could use your phone. Is your mother home?"
Hayley blinked. "That depends. Do you mean is she in the house or is she available?"
"Either. Or both."
"Well, Mom's in the basement, lost, and my aunt went looking for her, as did my future stepfather's brother and my aunt's friends, but Mom's friends and my future stepfather are in the kitchen, and my aunt's other friends are in the living room, and my sister is in the bedroom."
Liza blinked. "Er...just get me whoever's closest."
By now, Alan had noticed the woman at the door and hurried over. "Hello."
Liza's face lit up in relief. "Hi. I'm Liza, my car broke down. May I use your phone?"
"I'm sorry, but our phones are dead, and we're lucky to have any electricity at all. You're welcome to come in, though, and wait until someone can give you a lift into town."
Liza stepped over the threshold just as the other adults, drawn by the slight commotion, entered the hall. "And now our number is complete," Mari muttered.
Alan frowned at Hayley. "Didn't I put you and Anna to bed?"
Hayley dashed into the bedroom but neglected to fully close the door, preferring instead to join Anna in peeping out to watch.
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Liza said politely.
Kristen rolled her eyes. "Come on, Mary. Ten years can't have changed us that much."
"You...oh, my God. You've got to be kidding me! What a coincidence! Hi!"
"There are no coincidences," Mari said darkly.