《Marcie's Ashes - [An Urban Supernatural Thriller]》 Anastasim - Chapter 1.1 Hunter held Marcie¡¯s ashes tightly against his chest. The midnight ocean wind was barely a breeze, the metal urn colder still against his skin. Course sand caked onto Hunter¡¯s shoes and he had to stop every ten paces to dig free the wheels of his beach wagon. Frankly, it was too heavy. He¡¯d packed everything he could possibly need that night. Chalk for tracing, the generator which was the bulk of the weight, a headlamp, single use gloves, a bucket of goats blood, a paint brush, and the Necronomicon. It was in taking inventory of all these items that he realized he forgot to bring a goddamn broom. There was no turning back for it now. If death couldn''t keep them apart, a little sand certainly didn''t stand a chance. Memories of Hunter¡¯s childhood painted hazy pictures of the beachside carnival of Redwood Cove, California. Dart throwing games, ring toss, a Ferris wheel, a fun house, and plenty of other attractions he and Marcie could spend all day doing again and again. They were all gone now, except for the carousel at the end of the cove, which for whatever reason had been left behind when the rest of the boardwalk was deconstructed. The dock had been overtaken by rising tides, burying most of the hardwood under a foot of sand. Cove Beach itself was cramped under a cliffside, far from the streetlights that lit the town past dusk. Hunter dreaded lugging the generator back up the hill to the parking lot with his scrawny stick arms. He feared for his spine, still addled by semesters of sleeping on the cheapest mattress imaginable in a college dorm room and shrimp-sitting in a desk made for people of average height and well-proportioned legs. His were long, too long, and aching terribly. The sand swallowed him up to the ankle as he anchored himself enough to pull the wagon. Though, that was nowhere near top of the list of ¡®things Hunter was currently concerned with¡¯. Hunter approached the carousel, averting his eyes from the hole torn in the canopy as soon as he saw it. The carousel was tucked away in the farthest point on the beach, under the tallest looming cliff. Its cloth hadn¡¯t done a single thing to break her fall, he imagined. Now it flapped in the wind, making sounds like the blow of a horse''s nose. Hunter averted his mind away from these thoughts as soon as they passed and, without thinking, pressed the urn a little harder into his ribs. Old wood, eaten by fungus, wildlife, and simply the passage of time, creaked under his footsteps. Horses of various colored porcelain were caked with sand. Paint finish was peeling off like scabs, revealing the gray metallic bars that held the spinning top together like toothpicks. Memories surfaced of when he used to shove other kids to the side just to sit on the special seahorse, but looking at it now, its face was uncanny. It had the smile of a demon and unblinking eyes that seemed to follow him as he started unpacking. Hunter¡¯s last few days were spent obsessing over the perfect angle, the perfect path to accommodate the exact lines and symbols. Not to mention the last six months using his very rudimentary, very Googled, Latin to translate pieces of the tome. Beth, as nosy and annoying sisters must do, started to pick up on Hunter¡¯s frequent trips to the beach during the day. She¡¯d called it his ¡°weird obsession¡±. But, when did Hunter not have a weird obsession? Mom scolded her, saying if she had enough time to bother him, she had plenty of time for studying, which of course Beth would never end up doing. He¡¯d confirmed his design as he brushed dry sand off the carousel floor with his bare hands. The work of it gave him enough splinters to last a lifetime and he paused every minute or so to remove a new one. The book of the dead seemed delicate, but the pages never tore. It was dark, dusty, and Hunter had a strong suspicion the binding might be made of human skin. Bulging with Post-It notes, he flipped to where he¡¯d bookmarked an incantation titled Anastasim. Little by little, he took chalk to the floor, erasing and redrawing any runes that had even the slightest deviation from the reference. He only had one chance to get the incantation right. And no horse pole or bench¡ªthe ones for parents that didn¡¯t want to crush their groin riding with their child¡ªwas going to ruin that chance. Once done, he traced over the chalk perfectly in blood. Sundown was hours ago. The town was in deep silence by now, slumbering, tucked away under woolen blankets while Hunter worked something unholy in the dead of night. Confident in his efforts, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. With no hesitation, he reached his hand into the urn. Her urn. Sprinkles of ashes fell from his fingertips. Her fragments were miniscule and inhuman, but no less her. The ashes settled into place, outlining the sigils without being lost to the wind, however soft a breeze it was. Hunter stepped off, plugged the carousel into the generator. The generator sputtered as it worked, much louder than Hunter was hoping for. The carousel buzzed into weary life. Shy lights blinked in and out like it was struggling to breathe. What working speakers were left, those not yet disemboweled of their wiring to make bird¡¯s nests, crackled with circus music. Hunter flipped the switch to start the carousel spinning.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. ¡°This better work or else I¡¯m gonna feel like such an asshole,¡± he whispered to himself and read the first section of the spell. ¡°Lutum de pulvere, caro de luto, animam dilecti mei voco.¡± The blood began to glow a crimson red. The carousel lurched forward and its metal supports creaked as if it was yawning awake. Hunter hopped on and began to finalize the spell, ¡°lutum de pulvere, caro de luto, amorem meum in terram.¡± The carousel spun faster. He read from the book again, ¡°lutum de pulvere, caro de luto, amorem meum in terram.¡± Faster it went. Hunter read the phrase over and over, prompting the carousel to whirl at rapid speeds it should have been entirely incapable of. The light of the sigils brightened in blinding red, illuminating the beach out to the ocean. Marcie¡¯s ashes began to float in midair. As the horses spun, Hunter dizzied. He fell into the nearest horse but dug his grip into its pole to stabilize. Despite the disorienting lights and unbearable motion, he persisted. ¡°lutum de pulvere, caro de luto, amorem meum in terram.¡± Then he saw her. A shadow, an outline in the corner of his blurred vision, riding the bobbing horse he clung to. As the great world spun around him, light and music and ash coalesced. All of it like a raging storm, its eye focusing on him and her shadow. The music rose in a crescendo until it was so oppressively loud that it registered in Hunter¡¯s ears as pure noise. The rush of so many sensations disentangled Hunter from the inside, melting the world into amorphous shapes. Then suddenly it stopped. Ambiguous color and shadow imploded. At once so pitch dark that the world disappeared in a void. In another instant, soft lights, flickering back on, brought Hunter back to his senses. And she was there. Her hair, black as that endless void, flowed as she turned on her steed. Long obsidian streaks seemed to float like they were windswept, though they settled as the carousel did. Her dark amber skin had paled slightly, showing a faint roadmap of veins and arteries. There were other somewhat alarming developments. Small crustaceans crawled in and out of her sand-dusted hair. She was missing a single shoe, which revealed a foot without skin or muscle. Though, tendons, still attached, articulated her phalanges. Her left eye socket had been hollowed out. But, the one that remained was a warm hazel. Thankfully and miraculously, she had materialized in a comfortable outfit. Black ripped jeans, a black crop top clinging to her emaciated body, and the same gray cotton jacket she always wore when she slept in Hunter¡¯s lap. Under her top he could see a patch of skin missing, showing the lip of her ribcage. When she saw him staring, a red-ish color returned to her pale face, and she quickly zipped the oversized hoodie. She was just as beautiful as the day he left. ¡°Marcella,¡± Hunter gasped, pure elation leaping from out his throat, only weakened by nausea. ¡°What''s up, string bean,¡± she said, smiling from atop her plastic mustang. The carousel returned to its natural lurching speed. The ash, chalk, blood, truly any evidence of the ritual was gone, as if it was taken by some unknown force as currency. Suspicion in the back of Hunter¡¯s head fretted that the carnival ride was not going to survive the incantation. In fact, he wasn¡¯t even sure he would have survived himself. However, the beams only creaked slightly as if its age and the anomalous motion it just went through had never worn it at all. As well, it seemed his body and soul were still intact, even if it was reeling from vertigo. Basking in the enormity of what he¡¯d accomplished, Hunter blinked, confirming that this was, in fact, reality. ¡°Oh my God, it worked! I ¨C wow ¨C I can¡¯t believe it worked,¡± Hunter said, kissing the Necronomicon, then immediately regretting it when his lips met the skin-like binding. ¡°You¡¯re real!¡± ¡°Very real, my little necromancer,¡± Marcie agreed, a grin creeping across her face as she seemed to settle into reality herself. She took in the view as the carousel turned. The ride itself, the beach, the ocean, Hunter. When she settled on the waves crashing onto the sand, she listened for a moment. Hunter tried to listen too, but he didn¡¯t want to pull his focus from Marcie, for fear that if he looked away, she¡¯d disappear. Turned again, she peered through the hole in the top¡¯s fabric and up towards the cliffside. Her apparent joy waned seeing the trajectory of her fall. The framing of her death. ¡°Wow, this place looks like shit,¡± she laughed, injecting a cheerfulness into her tone. ¡°Like it was shit when I died, but somehow it¡¯s gotten even shittier.¡± Hunter couldn¡¯t stop himself from smiling. Now that he had her back, he wanted to listen to her voice forever. He dropped the spellbook to the ground and took three wobbly steps towards her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I took so long,¡± he said. ¡°And I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t there.¡± She opened her arms to him, but Hunter felt his legs buckle. Exhaustion whisked all his remaining consciousness away. And then the world went black again. Anastasim - Chapter 1.2 Her scent was like a fireplace with hints of cinnamon. Hunter woke up with his head laying on Marcie¡¯s shoulder, still making slow rounds on the carousel. Only now, they were seated on one of the benches. The sound of ocean waves bringing up seafoam on the beach of Redwood Cove had a subtle calming effect. Hunter had completed his mission, but now sitting beside her was unreal. He¡¯d been so focused, so single-minded, that he never stopped to think what it would feel like to have her back. Have her there with him. So he nuzzled into her cold shoulder. She was comfortable. ¡°You don¡¯t¡­regret being brought back. Do you? The choice you made¡­I don¡¯t want to go against your wishes. I just don¡¯t want you to hate me for doing this. I¡¯m sorry.¡± The words came out of him like a waterfall. ¡°You don¡¯t have anything to be sorry for,¡± Marcie said, ¡°You did so much for us to be together. I¡­¡± ¡°Yeah?¡± Hunter had to pull himself together. He knew there was more behind her words that faded away. She never hesitated saying how she truly felt, so why did she have so much trouble sometimes? This time, he¡¯d stay. Stay long enough for her to take her time telling him. Marcie caught herself, ¡°I¡¯m gonna need help getting off of this thing. I¡¯m not used to walking on it.¡± She laughed, pointing to her skeletal foot, ¡°it was a pain in the ass just to get you to the bench.¡± Hunter spat a thin laugh, ¡°Pff, you¡¯re such a baby.¡± ¡°Am not!¡± Marcie pulled back and feigned shock and offense. He raised his eyebrow inquisitively. ¡°Okay fine, I¡¯m a little baby for being a little unstable after being resurrected from the fuckin¡¯ dead!¡± ¡°And?¡± She sighed and exaggeratedly slouched, ¡°And I love you or whatever.¡± They both leaned in. He felt her shallow breath, ignoring the burnt odor, as he closed the space between their lips. But a burst of sound made both of them jump. A wailing woo-ahp of a police siren rang from the top of the cliff. A car door slammed soon after. Hunter had spent so much time, so much mental energy planning out the night he¡¯d resurrect the love of his life, and thereafter convincing himself that he wasn¡¯t delusional or mentally unstable, he hadn¡¯t quite considered what came next. Of course, the music and lights on the beach would be pretty alarming, considering the carousel had been defunct for the last decade and a half. Though, a noise ordinance was the least of Hunter¡¯s crimes that night. He rushed to grab the urn, the book, and then hoisted Marcie¡¯s body from the bench. Her eye wide, she didn¡¯t resist, but still yelped, ¡°Hey! Be gentle.¡± From the point at which her forearm met her elbow, he saw the joint pop and bend at a very wrong angle. She didn¡¯t seem to be in pain, only startled by the way her body could contort. They ran clumsily towards a corner behind a rock wall, where Hunter deposited the items and helped Marcie down. She had trouble balancing on her foot of exposed bone. ¡°Wait here,¡± he told her. There was a silent panic that passed between both of them. Whether or not Marcie had put it together, Hunter had certainly run through the mounting evidence against him. What would Marcie do if he was arrested? No matter. ¡°I¡¯m giving you five minutes. Or if anything goes wrong, I come out and I spook the motherfucker,¡± Marcie glared with utter sincerity. ¡°I¡¯ll handle it,¡± Hunter reassured her, as he saw the bobbing brightness of a flashlight walk down the path to the beach. When he returned to the carousel, he knelt down and feigned obsessive interest in the wiring of the control panel. As soon as the officer came into view, Hunter knew this night was going to be much more complicated. ¡°Hunter?¡± the officer asked. When he spoke, Hunter fell back into his familiar melodic baritone. He, on the other hand, seemed lost when he saw Hunter, sunk deep into what they both shared. Grief, regret. He pulled his thoughts back and flashed a smile. The kind of smile he used to show to soften any conflict. ¡°Officer Portillo.¡± Officer Portillo was young, for a father. Hunter never asked him directly, but he figured he was about forty now. He looked far beyond that. He seemed even smaller than the last time he saw him. His face was still soft, but it was accented by worry lines and a perpetual furrow of thick brows. And at that moment, the lines of his face seemed to deepen. It seemed they were both in a problematic circumstance in which their masks had fallen. Hunter contemplated telling him exactly what had just occurred. Maybe he deserved to know that only meters away his daughter, who they both lost, was alive again. What would happen if Marcie burst from behind the rock to embrace her father? If she does, it would only end in disaster. A second death, an investigation into Hunter¡¯s research, government experimentation or something worse. Mr. Portillo, as Hunter knew him, was the first to speak. ¡°I heard you were back in town.¡± ¡°I¡¯ve only been back for a couple weeks.¡± True. Nodding up at the carousel, Mr. Portillo asked, ¡°?Qu¨¦ est¨¢ pasando ah¨ª?¡± Soft, but no less interrogating. ¡°No es nada.¡± Definitely a lie. Hunter hated lying despite how easily they could dance off his tongue. But the response received a sympathetic turn of the officer¡¯s head. ¡°It¡¯s where we first met,¡± Hunter admitted. Not a lie, but definitely a bold-faced misdirection. ¡°I figured I could breathe some life back into it. I thought since it''s far down the beach¡ªand the speakers are pretty blown anyway¡ªI did my research, this is technically public land. But, if you need me to pack up¡­¡± After Hunter trailed off, none of Mr. Portillo¡¯s unease waned. ¡°I got reports of lights on the beach. I need you to turn it off Hunter. It¡¯s too dangerous and you can¡¯t be disturbing people at night like this.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Hunter nodded respectfully, ¡°Understood sir,¡± then turned to shut off the generator. Still in his presence, Hunter was beginning to sweat. It had been more than five minutes and Marcie hadn¡¯t shown herself. That didn¡¯t allow him to breathe any easier. There was no way she couldn''t have heard their conversation. ¡°Somebody stole her urn,¡± the man said, almost in passing, like it was some idle thought to pass the time it took for Hunter to flip a couple switches. He froze. ¡°I¡¯m sorry Hunter,¡± Mr. Portillo continued. ¡°We haven¡¯t been able to identify a culprit, but a couple months ago, someone vandalized her grave.¡± ¡°What?¡± Hunter¡¯s surprise was genuine. When he was there, when he dug open the burial plot, the only things out of place were of his doing. ¡°Seems like whoever it was took it too far this time,¡± the officer said, matter of fact as he could manage. Hunter said no more, hoping that was the end of it. He hit the final switch that powered off the carousel. The music crackled into nothingness, the lights flashed a couple times, then the beach was dark again. ¡°You can¡¯t bring her back, mijo. She made her choice.¡± Mr. Portillo concluded. A sound like a soft whimpering came from behind the rock formation. The officer looked inquisitively around Hunter, who in response held his gaze on the officer. Mr. Portillo took a step forward. Just one, but it was still one too many. ¡°You came alone tonight?¡± Hunter stood his ground. ¡°Yes sir.¡± Which wasn¡¯t technically a lie. ¡°Probably just an animal or something.¡± Also, in all technicality, not a lie. Hesitantly, the officer went at ease. ¡°I don¡¯t wanna catch you out here again. Yeah?¡± ¡°Yes sir.¡± Hunter nodded. And with acknowledgement solidified, Officer Portillo flipped on his flashlight and made his way back up the cliffside. As soon as he heard the police car drive off, he ran back to where he¡¯d left Marcie. When he turned the corner, he nearly screamed. She really did look like a corpse and more than just the visual signifiers. Even the way she sat, her body idle, appeared as if she had no vitality in her muscle. Her chest didn¡¯t rise or fall with a breath. Her stillness was absolute. Whatever energy was keeping her alive now was inhuman. He knew that logically, but seeing it was something altogether different. Her limp, seemingly lifeless self was, in fact, still alive. Alive and angry. Marcie contained a growl. ¡°I can¡¯t believe he¡¯s back on the force.¡± ¡°I¨C¡± Hunter started. ¡°¨CAnd does he really believe I¡¯d fucking kill myself?¡± Marcie forcefully threw her own urn, much harder than any regular human could without destroying their body. It clatter down the sand. She popped her dislocated shoulder back into place. And something he thought very sturdy and incredibly certain inside Hunter broke for the first time that night. Partially at least. ¡°Wait, you¡¯re saying you didn¡¯t¡­? All this time I thought¡­Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡± Hunter asked. Marcie screwed up her face. ¡°It¡¯s not like I didn¡¯t want to. You never asked! And it¡¯s pretty hard to start a new conversation if all I could do was slam drawers and throw cups around. For the record, and seriously, write this down, it¡¯s not my fault you went and bought more ceramic mugs after I already broke four of them. Take a hint and get plastic or metal or something!¡± When she was alive, or at least the last time she was, they could get like this. For the next hour or so, they¡¯d refuse to look at each other. Marcie thought he could sometimes act like a robot or a golem under a directive spell, unable to pull himself away from procedure to have one goddamn emotional conversation. It was frustrating for both of them for him to have such trouble conveying his inner thoughts. Hunter wanted to be better, convey himself better, so eventually they¡¯d both realize they had misunderstood one another somewhere along the way, then they¡¯d be fine. Then it would happen again, and again they¡¯d be upset. And then he lost her. So now, Hunter couldn¡¯t do anything but look. He couldn¡¯t do anything but understand. When their eyes met, anger drained from them both. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Hunters said, kneeling to scoop her up again. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to blame you for something you didn¡¯t have control over.¡± ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± Marcie reached her arms around Hunter¡¯s neck and allowed herself to be hoisted off the ground. ¡°I could have tried to figure out a way to tell you. I¡¯m sorry I lashed out.¡± Hunter sat her down on the lip of the carousel while he packed the rest of his equipment. He ran down the beach and found Marcie¡¯s urn with a sand flea inside it. He lifted her up the hill to his car and then went back down for the wagon. The book still glowed faintly red. ¡°Can I ask,¡± Hunter said as he got onto the main road, ¡°how did it happen?¡± Marcie stared out the passenger window of the old family Honda CR-V, lost in her mind somewhere. She sat in the seat next to Hunter criss crossing her legs so he could see her bare bones clearly. ¡°It¡¯s all hazy,¡± she said, distantly. ¡°I remember looking out towards the water. And the feeling of a hand on my back. Then, the feeling of falling, and that I didn¡¯t want to be. Everything else, it¡¯s kind of a blur. Being up there. Upstairs. It really changes you.¡± She hadn¡¯t changed. Memory or not she was still Marcie. Body in one living piece or not, she was still Marcie. ¡°You don¡¯t think, maybe, it was¡­you were¡­¡± he hesitated speaking the word aloud. The word exonerated him of a responsibility. And how could he let go of that now? ¡°Murdered?¡± Marcie said. And Hunter realized it wasn¡¯t what lay outside the window in the dark night that she¡¯d be staring at, but her own reflection in the glass. She touched her face and drew the outline of her empty eye socket, ¡°Maybe.¡± At last, he made one last turn onto a private road. The house that sat at the end of the lane was stark white, lit by fluorescent LEDs and moonlight. Its imposing size had for a long while made Hunter feel small and unbecoming of it. But, it was home. ¡°Maybe it¡¯s for the best you don¡¯t remember something so painful,¡± he said. Then he saw disagreement wash over Marcie¡¯s face. The raise of her brow and that look that said ¡®if you make this an argument, you¡¯re about to lose.¡¯ ¡°I want to know what happened, Hunter.¡± The resolve in her eye was intense and equally inviting, like she had already made him her accomplice in some scheme with a single stating of her desire. She was always like that. Hunter sighed. He¡¯d pulled the break in front of the guest house. The moonlight casted a glow on her through the window, illuminating all the small things Hunter thought he lost. She was so beautiful. Even with otherwise gruesome parts of flesh missing. ¡°Then I¡¯ll ask around,¡± Hunter said. ¡°I''ll figure it out.¡± And that, too, felt like lying. Anastasim - Chapter 1.3 Only one house sat at the end of Weller Drive. Hunter had no idea where the private drive had got its name from, who built the property, or when it was constructed. He didn¡¯t know why the main house had uneven steps up to the front door, why the road up to the house was lined with eastern white pines instead of a much more ecologically consistent redwood, or why there was an attic hatch in his guest house that led nowhere. Nor did anyone in his family. Years and years ago, when he had asked his father, he told Hunter he had no idea and that he was being bothersome. Then, when he asked his mother, then Candace, and was dismissed twice again, it became apparent that no one who lived in that house, other than he, particularly cared for history. 1 Weller Drive was by no means the nicest domicile this side of Redwood Cove, ¡®the Ridge¡¯ as they all seemed to know it as. Hunter would never delude himself into believing his family wasn¡¯t wealthy or at least well-off beyond the national average. Marcie never let him hear the end of it when he claimed his family was ¡®just comfortable¡¯. But, while his drive had a garden, the garden of the house a mile down the main road was greener. While his house had a TV room, a pool, a gym, some other lucky asshole down the road had an in-home theater, an indoor pool with some Greek-as-fuck marble, and a basketball court. Tucked away behind the main house, was a one-room lodge meant for guests the Campbell family never had. When Hunter outgrew his childhood bedroom, he petitioned to move into the guesthouse. And so, rehomed his wardrobe, his Pokemon and Batman posters, Origami cranes, Tennis rackets and at home workout gear, empty ant farm, film-accurate replica Hellraiser cube and Freddy Kruegar glove, all the other trinkets from years of obsessive yet fleeting hobbies, and had clung his privacy there ever since. Hunter and Marcie had fallen asleep in each other¡¯s arms still in the clothes from the night before. Grains of sand peppered the bedsheets. Marcie hadn¡¯t realized truly how much sand could pack itself into a chest cavity. Much of it had been washed down the shower drain. Marcie insisted on cleaning up the rest of what they¡¯d tracked in herself but he would never let her clean it alone. Cold water dripped from Hunter¡¯s brown curls and Marcie sat on the lip of the tub, while he brushed the last stuck bits of sand out of her hair. ¡°Tell me if this is too soon,¡± Hunter said. Marcie went silent. Probably expecting what he was thinking. ¡°But, what¡¯s¡­after?¡± He finished. ¡°Hmm,¡± Marcie considered her answer, ¡°Nothing.¡± ¡°Nothing?¡± Hunter asked incredulously, ¡°Wouldn¡¯t there have to be something, I mean, we talked. You spoke back to me when we called to you.¡± ¡°I know. But to be honest, I barely remember what it was like. Nothing is the only way I can describe it. I didn¡¯t have eyes, or ears, or a body. There¡¯s no space or time. It¡¯s just¡­nothing. I feel like so much of myself was stripped away. I think maybe that¡¯s why I can¡¯t remember much from the year before I died. Like it was shaving my essence down top to bottom. And then you pulled me out.¡± Hunter still pondered whether or not this was comforting or disturbing. He never landed on an answer. ¡°I¡¯m so glad you never went back to a three in one. This coconut butter is doing wonders for dead girl hair,¡± she said, obviously taking the conversation in a different direction. They each brushed their teeth. Though, the Necronomicon, in Hunter¡¯s best translation, suggested that Marcie¡¯s body was now in some sort of necromantic stasis. Whatever that meant for the merits of fretting over tooth decay was still up in the air. Marcie borrowed one of Hunter¡¯s T-shirts, which fit her more like a dress. But, she happily scrunched up the fabric and took a very conspicuous sniff the moment Hunter had turned his back to her. Hunter dressed himself in his usual ensemble. Corduroy pants, a well-fitted shirt which was sage green that day, and a collared shirt, unbuttoned and tucked in. Marcie made him do a little spin to show off the fit and whistled in approval when he did, in fact, do a little spin. Last night''s events and revelations had left him in a tornado of turbulent emotions. But going through a morning routine with Marcie again, he couldn''t help the grin that crept across his lips and overtook his worries. He could breathe for the first time in over a year. A knock came at the door to the guest house. Hunter had closed the blinds weeks ago, priming his family to expect to be unable to see anything going on inside the room. However, he still jolted with a smidge of anxiety when he heard his sister¡¯s voice. ¡°Hunter! Family meeting!¡± Candace chirped, about as pleasantly as birdsong at two in the morning while you¡¯re trying to sleep. He saw her shadow waiting behind the door, waiting like a hawk. Quickly and quietly, he told Marcie, ¡°Lay low. I¡¯ll be right back. If I¡¯m gone long, there¡¯s a new Flannigan show that you could binge if you wanted to. Password¡¯s the same.¡± Small falters in Marcie¡¯s smile asked him not to go. But she relented. ¡°Aight.¡± He shut the door to the bathroom slowly leaving Marcie safely tucked away from view. Then popped open the front. Many other bird comparisons came to mind when seeing his sister. She always did her eyes up with wild colors. That day red eyeshadow made a thick border around her pupils like a secretary bird. All three of the Campbell children had rather distinct noses. His was crooked from a break it suffered in highschool, which was his own fault. But by the will of genetics, Candace¡¯s nose stuck out like a beak. And she always liked to stick that beak where it didn¡¯t belong. ¡°Who were you talking to?¡± she asked, nudging Hunter with a bony elbow. On second thought, he didn¡¯t think boney could accurately describe anything with skin anymore. Hunter thrust his hands into his pockets. It only slightly helped to settle their jittering. ¡°A friend from college,¡± he said. Candace made a ¡®hmm¡¯ sound like she¡¯d come to some conclusion, then looped her arm through his. ¡°I heard you laughing. Hunter, it¡¯s okay to be happy again. I know it¡¯s probably still really fresh, but don¡¯t wait if you¡¯ve found something good.¡±A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Whatever look Hunter must have responded with probably looked like a blend of horrified and bewildered because Candace¡¯s face fell quite quickly in response. ¡°Sorry,¡± she rushed to say, ¡°It¡¯s just, I met Bradley, not even a year after I lost Todd.¡± Hunter¡¯s bewilderment deepened, ¡°Yeah but Todd didn¡¯t die. He had to move to France for work.¡± ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s not quite the same thing, is it?¡± Candace asked, innocently and rhetorically. Some pep in her step returned, the source of which was a mystery to the universe. She walked them both to the house, more or less dragging Hunter along with her. Mom, Dad, and Beth were already seated at the table. Dad, at the end, already had a plate of waffles, eggs, bacon, and hash browns, all slathered in a flaming red hot sauce. He was dousing his eggs in black pepper when Hunter and Candace took their seats at the dining table. ¡°Here you go.¡± In a rush, Mom set down two full plates in front of both children with singular focus. Evidence of the concerning crime that was her cooking laid bare on the plate. The eggs were overdone. The bacon was floppy and underdone. The waffles she served ranged between over and underdone. And the hash browns were from frozen patties, whose quality she could hardly be held responsible for. Mom''s cream colored blouse was stained with oil splatters, syrup, ketchup, and brown speckles of ashy pan residue. Sunlight of early spring refracting through the kitchen window illuminated her sleeves like washed out stained glass. If Helen Campbell was cooking that morning, it meant she had insisted upon doing so. Which she only did when she was anxious. Which meant that Dad and her had an argument in the last twenty-four hours. Which meant this family meeting was going to be a blast. The only person who seemed to be in a worse mood than Dad was Beth, who for whatever reason was scowling in Hunter¡¯s general direction. ¡°Honey, can you sit down?¡± Dad hadn¡¯t touched his red and black speckled abomination of a breakfast. ¡°In a moment,¡± Mom called from the kitchen, ¡°Would anyone like any strawberry preserves? Ooo we also still have maple syrup. Oh, where did I put the preserves?¡± Dad had a way with words. Not that Hunter thought him a great orator, just that he could move mountains without yelling or portraying any emotion. In fact, in all of Hunter¡¯s twenty years, he never even heard his father raise his voice. Not when he got his first C on a test. Not when he got the first scratch on his first car. Not even when he snuck out with the bottle of Barolo his father had been saving for his sixtieth birthday. Dad could discipline you or command you with the same energy one uses to talk about mild weather, in five words or less to boot. ¡°Helen, sit down.¡± He commanded in a topically mild tone. Mom sat down. In the silence before he spoke, Dad cleared his throat and drank a sip of water. ¡°Candace, have you found a venue yet?¡± he asked. Candace smiled her annoyingly persistent smile. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we wait for Bradley? He¡¯s calling his parents right now about travel arrangements.¡± Dad gave Candace¡¯s question a moment to linger in the air like a fart everyone knew was of her origin. Beth took her glowering eyes off of Hunter only long enough to roll them. Hunter didn¡¯t even so much as touch his fork, despite actually being pretty hungry. The only person who dared to move was Mom, who couldn¡¯t have guessed the record speeds at which breakfast was going down hill and was then consoling herself with a bite of waffle. Candace¡¯s smile didn¡¯t waver. Not one bit. ¡°I addressed my question to you, Candace, not Bradley.¡± ¡°Well, Dad, it¡¯s a family meeting¨C¡± ¡°¨CYes. This is a family meeting. Bradley won¡¯t be part of the family until you pick a venue. And travel arrangements can¡¯t be made until you know where you¡¯re sending the Dannhausers.¡± Dad had a way with non-verbal communication too. If he let his neck down, only slightly in a diagonal, that meant ¡®what I just said was so unbelievably self-explanatory and the fact that I had to explain it to you would be a federal crime¡¯. He was, at that moment, letting his neck down slightly in a diagonal. Candace¡¯s smile was beginning to crack. ¡°We were thinking maybe the beach if we can get a permit. If not, the Lovetts offered their property with a family friend discount which was very kind of them.¡± A single hand was raised from across the table. It was Mom this time who had halted Candace in her tracks. ¡°Your father wanted you to pick a real venue. Somewhere memorable. We can help you with the wedding, baby, you don¡¯t have to worry about that. And you know how we feel about the Lovetts.¡± Mom glanced at Hunter. He wanted to slink back even further. But, he remained as still as possible. This family meeting was definitely going to run long. Was Marcie okay in his room? Does she need food? Normal food or like human flesh? The book described what Marcie had become as a spirit returned to its body at the time of its death. Hunter worried that was a fancy roundabout way to say zombie. ¡°Bradley and I have already consulted with local florists and decorators. I¡¯ve told you, we want to afford our own wedding with our own money.¡± Candace was beginning to sound defensive. ¡°Our money is your money,¡± Mom said. ¡°No. It¡¯s not.¡± Candace pounded her fist into the table. It wasn''t hard, but it was enough to jostle the silverware, clatter the plates, and make Mom jump. ¡°No. It is not,¡± Dad agreed. ¡°Helen, a proper venue and any travel is a gift from us. Candace, get me a list of venues by the end of the week. Proper venues.¡± Candace parted her lips to speak again but never got the chance. She was never given one. ¡°Elizabeth. You got another F on a test,¡± said Dad. Then breakfast turned to chaos. Dad¡¯s first mistake, one he very frequently made, was using Beth¡¯s full name. His second was even more obvious of a blunder. Hunter would advise anybody and everyone who came into contact with Beth Campbell that they should never, under any circumstance, be blunt without it ending pooly. With her, you can¡¯t shoot for the heart. You more-so have to take a chisel and mold her with soft whacks. But, no one, especially Dad, ever listens to Hunter. Reasons turned into excuses. Excuses into accusations. Accusations into insults. Typical teen angst. Those insults flew mostly in one direction, away from Beth and mostly towards Dad, then Mom when she tried to chime in. On and so on it went like Beth put ¡®It¡¯s not my fault Mr. Denton hates me¡¯ through twenty languages in google translate until she eventually said, ¡°Fuck off, Mom. Would you stop putting more syrup on your plate? If you get diabetes and lose your legs, I won¡¯t wheel you around.¡± To which Candace stepped in. Which began an unadulterated barrage of unpleasant euphemisms to Bradley¡¯s penis and how tiny it must be. Dad tried to speak over the other three, get them to settle down. Eventually, realizing his efforts were futile, started speaking simply to add his voice to the storm. Hunter looked out the back window. Across the backyard, through the obscuring of the closed blinds, he thought he saw the TV glow. Marcie was safe inside. Maybe she¡¯d have to stay inside. Yeah she looked dead, but worlds worse was she looked like Marcie. Even if people didn''t know Marcie by name, she was the girl who fell off the cliff. The girl who''s death constructed extra warning signs and higher railing. But that was a problem for later. For now she was safe. ¡°Hunter!¡± Someone at the table said, he wasn¡¯t fully sure who. It wasn''t until Beth pointed at Hunter and everyone went silent that he snapped out of his thoughts. He missed what she said but whatever it was cast a dark shadow over the room and made everyone grimace, like Dad had dumped a metric butt-load of black pepper onto everyone''s head and they were all about to sneeze. But it wasn''t Dad who brought down the mood. They were all staring at him. Dad asked, in a tone somehow even more flat than he''d ever heard before, ¡°Hunter. I was under the impression you were taking a voluntary gap year. Did you or did you not fail out of your last semester?¡± Anastasim - Chapter 1.4 Without Marcie, Hunter barely ate. He felt aimless. He felt restless. Then the anxiety started. Most of his time was spent awake in bed, locked in a stalemate between the pros and cons of leaving his college dorm room. His friendships, new and shallow, dried up as they drifted elsewhere. Eventually, after too many failed midterms and unattended lectures, he just stopped trying. And a little while after that was when a neighbor from a ways down the hallway who he¡¯d spoken to about zero times, knocked on his door. They came with several restaurant to-go bags full of incense, mixes of herbs and salt, and an offer. Then the neighbor showed him how to summon a spirit. Her spirit. Among the innumerable questions that Hunter had about everything, the identity of the spirit they called forth was not one of them. It had to be Marcie. It could only be Marcie. After the first seance, classes were far beyond an afterthought. He taught himself to perform the seance with the neighbor¡¯s help. He still had no idea what their deal was but at that point it wasn¡¯t all that important. During one summoning, Hunter had asked if Marcie wanted to come back to life. To which she answered a resounding yes. He later had to formulate an explanation to an R.A. why the whole floor shook and all his drawers had been flung onto the carpet. A rough tumble out of bed was an adequate enough excuse to get a slap on the wrist. Finding out that the occult was real¡ªthat demons, ghosts, and grimoires existed¡ªshould have been world shattering. It should have broken Hunter. But he¡¯d already been broken once. He finally had something that could piece it all back together. He¡¯d always had small cycles of hyperfixations. But this was truly the first time he had to agree with his sisters. He was obsessed. An offhand google search turned into months of research. He taught himself a dead language just to learn as much as he could from every niche website, dusty library book, and historical academic paper. It was about all that college was good for at that point. The world of the supernatural was vast. Too vast for Hunter to fully explore in one semester. And he only needed to scratch the surface to find what he needed. Hunter had one goal. It took two semesters worth of incomplete credits, but he finally found the key to everything. The book. ¡°Yes.¡± Hunter looked at Dad across the dining table and smiled. It was always better to meet his eyes. Otherwise, he¡¯d waste his breath commanding Hunter to look at him. Hunter didn¡¯t want to waste any time. Mom, Beth, and Candace were still silent. For Beth, a bad grade was common, presumed even. For Hunter, dutiful, obedient Hunter, it was earth shattering. He continued explaining in a direct tone to match Dad¡¯s. ¡°I was on academic probation two semesters ago. I was attempting to fix it but with Marcie¡¯s passing, it was challenging. I¡¯m sorry. I should have told you, but I was ashamed to admit I wasn¡¯t doing well.¡± There was a flash of something maybe someone else¡¯s dad would have meant to convey sympathy or respect. For Hunter¡¯s father, that immovability was the closest he¡¯d ever get. ¡°You understand even one semester costs a lot of money? I work every day and probably will until I die, so you have every opportunity available to you. That goes for all of you.¡± The three children nodded. ¡°Hunter, I expect more of you. Berkeley is not a school where you allow yourself to slack off. You don¡¯t get to flunk out after I¡¯ve worked so hard to pay for your education. I want you to plan out how you¡¯re going to regain those credits. Until you have that figured out, I¡¯ll be handing you a list of tasks to do to repay those wasted semesters. Beth, you¡¯re grounded.¡± ¡°What!¡± Beth screamed. ¡°That¡¯s not fair! Why does Hunter get off so easily!¡± Dad squared his shoulders. Which is a bit redundant, the man was practically a rectangle. He just got up from his chair. Not a single glance was awarded to Beth for her protestation and certainly no response. ¡°I have to drive to work.¡± Then he gave Mom a look like ¡®is this what you wanted?¡¯, then he left. He hadn¡¯t even taken a single bite of his pancakes. Granted, they were soaked through with hot sauce. With the conversation cut so abruptly, everyone sat there in resigned and deflated smallness. Except, of course, for Beth who was staring daggers at Dad and then transferred to Hunter as soon as Dad was no longer visible from the dining room. ¡°Can I bring this to my room to eat?¡± asked Hunter. ¡°Yeah,¡± Mom said with a sigh and a nod of the head like she was coming out of some sort of dream. He had to get out of there. It had taken every fiber of Hunter¡¯s being to keep from exploding along with everyone else at the table. He didn¡¯t know how his father managed to stay so stoic all the time. It was exhausting. Marcie was curled up under a mountain of blankets. The whole guesthouse was sweltering. Hot air blasted out of the vents with a consistent harsh woosh. Opening the door had made him flinch when all the air rushed out like opening the door to an oven. Some horror movie he''d never seen flashed blood and guts across the screen. If it was anybody else, the gratuitous gore might have tipped Hunter off to the beginning of a concerning fixation on human flesh. And while in life, many did find Marcie''s love for cinemas most gruesome to be concerning, Hunter found it endearing then. He still did. He felt the sweat start to trickle down from his forehead. Breathing was even a little hard with how thick the air was. He held the plate out to her. ¡°Room service.¡± Marcie took the plate ferociously and started wolfing down food, completely unperturbed by the furnace she¡¯d created. ¡°You¡¯re not cold?¡± she asked, with half a pancake shoved into her mouth. ¡°How could I be? I¡¯m roasting here. What happened?¡± Marcie took another huge forkful. ¡°I got really hungry, then I got really cold¡± she said. Hunter heard the biting sarcasm behind her mouthful of eggs and bacon. He had to stop himself from putting a palm to his face. Instead, he put his hand to Marcie¡¯s forehead. In an instant, it felt like he¡¯d placed the back of his hand against a block of ice. The feeling of her skin was so cold it was painful.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. ¡°Well, that¡¯s moderately concerning,¡± Hunter said, ¡°I think there''s something about this in the book, but I don''t remember exactly what it says.¡± It was, most likely, highly inadvisable to keep a centuries old demonic grimoire made of human skin in his socks and underwear drawer, but it was the only place he could think to hide it. Since the night of Marcie¡¯s resurrection it wouldn''t stop glowing. Since all his other clothes were hung in the closet, he kept it under piles of black briefs to cancel out the color. Maybe, in some cruel twist of fate, when Hunter died, the book would curse him by turning into a mummy made of those undergarments. Except they¡¯d be desperately unwashed. Post-it notes rimmed the exterior of the resurrection spell, with many of them overlapping one another. He flipped through until he found one that seemed relevant, ¡°Resurrected body requires flesh to sustain form¨C¡± Oh great, she actually was a zombie. Maybe he should have paid a bit more attention to the undead girlfriend aftercare. He¡¯d worked so hard to get her back and he was already royally fucking it up. ¡°¨COh great! I am a zombie!¡± Marcie¡¯s voice muffled as she threw herself under the covers. ¡°Wait, wait! It doesn¡¯t say anything about human flesh or living flesh. So maybe a couple steaks will work?¡± ¡°And if that doesn¡¯t work?¡± Flipping through more Post-Its he found, ¡°Uhh, the resurrected body will decompose if it is not sustained.¡± Marcie tossed the covers back off. They locked eyes and Hunter knew they were both flooded with the same panic. He shut the book closed, threw it hastily back into the sock drawer, and grabbed his jacket and keys. ¡°You think like three pounds is about enough?¡± He asked, rushing to get his shoes on. He could feel the stink eye emanating from Marcie¡¯s direction. ¡°You calling me fat?¡± ¡°Okay, four pounds.¡± He ripped the door open ready to get to store as fast as humanly possible. A voice called from beside him right outside the guesthouse. ¡°Who are you talking to?¡± Beth asked. It was clear as day, she still was annoyed from breakfast. Quick thinking had Hunter grabbing his phone out of his pocket and shook it to say ¡®Piss off, I¡¯m on a call¡¯. He was gonna have to get used to keeping an earbud in to match the charade, he thought. ¡°Hey!¡± Beth called after him. But he was already in the car, getting in to start the engine. There were two major supermarkets in Redwood Cove. Three, if you counted the Mexican market downtown. Four, if you counted the farmer¡¯s market that popped up once a month. But the two that most everyone shopped at¡ªyou know the kind of stores where you could bump into someone you didn¡¯t really want to talk to or have that first realization all six year olds have that their teacher does in fact exist outside of school¡ªwere Vinny¡¯s and Harvest Fresh. Harvest Fresh was the hoity-toity store that was stocked full of all the keto-friendly, gluten-free, cage-free, nut-free, non-GMO, grass-fed, vegan, organic bullshit an upper class asshat could ask for. It had its own juice bar, cafe, buffet, bakery and charcuterie counter. And Hunter wanted to avoid it and all costs. So he drove the extra three miles to get to Vinny''s, which was just a normal goddamn grocery store. Normal brands, normal brownish worn tile, and a sort of stale smell that permeated the whole store and mixed with the myriad of other smells from each aisle. A droning of bland pop music was playing out of invisible speakers. By happenstance, there was a sale on pork shoulder. Human flesh was supposed to taste like pork, right? Maybe that would be more satisfying. Hunter grabbed a couple new york strips to be safe. He figured while he was here he might as well grab some snacks. Marcie¡¯s favorites. Going aisle to aisle he grabbed everything he remembered she used to fiend for during lunch breaks and midnight snack runs. Cheap peach iced tea, any cinnamon candy, and Snickers bars (but only the dark chocolate ones). He¡¯d landed in the chip section for a family sized bag of Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos when a man came down the aisle. There were a moderate amount of people in the store, another person coming down the aisle was no surprise. Though, this man did smell. His pants and jacket were covered in dirt and he had an unkept beard that seemed to be trying to escape his chin in wiry clumps. Lines on his face indicated he might¡¯ve been in his upper 40s, maybe 50s. Maybe he was even younger and worn by hard times. Homelessness in Redwood Cove wasn¡¯t like the horror stories people told. It wasn¡¯t like San Francisco or Oakland. The homeless here were just down on their luck or had difficult medical problems and never got the proper support. Redwood Cove was too rural and too small to have a super pervasive drug problem, so most of the homeless people were pretty much in their right mind. And pretty nice at that. So Hunter had no issue with the man. The man got rather close, right up next to Hunter. He thought the man was about to ask him for change, but the man barely even looked his way. On his tip toes and stretching his back, he reached up for a bag of chips on the tallest shelf. ¡°Um, sir?¡± Hunter tried to get his attention, ¡°Which bag did you want? I could grab it for you.¡± The man grumbled something Hunter couldn''t make out. He kept stretching his back, painfully it seemed, to reach for what he wanted. "The Cool Ranch?¡± asked Hunter. He reached up to grab it off the shelf, just as the man decided it was time to jump for it. His body collided with Hunter¡¯s and knocked his hand, sending a row of chip bags cascading to the ground. Hunter had secured a bag of Cool Ranch, which the homeless man snatched angrily. ¡°Beware, satanist,¡± he grumbled under his beard and walked away, crunching a bag of spicy nacho under his foot. Stunned and dumbfounded, Hunter stood amongst a sea of fallen bags. He must''ve been tired. They¡¯d gotten home late last night and it had been a long morning, that was for sure. It was likely he just misheard. There was no way anyone knew. There couldn''t be. Maybe he said Thank you, sorry bout this, only really mumbly. He put down his basket to start picking up the chips. Clean up on aisle six. A voice came over the store¡¯s speakers. A lone employee quickly came pacing up the aisle pushing along a half full shopping cart. Hunter looked up before he could grab any of the Cool Ranch Dorito bags to find that the employee, quite contrary to the homeless man, was staring at him. ¡°Hunter?¡± asked Grant Jeong, the last person on planet earth Hunter wanted to see. Anastasim - Chapter 1.5 Hunter looked once over Grant Jeong before averting his eyes. In the glimpse he caught, a green Vinny¡¯s apron was tied haphazardly around his Nike shirt and tight-fitting athletic pants. He was even more bulky and chiseled than he had been the last time Hunter saw him. Two years and Grant hadn¡¯t changed. He couldn¡¯t have. Not after backstabbing Marcie and him both. Maybe in another timeline Hunter could have been happy to see him, to see an old friend. But Grant was anything but a friend. And he knew that face. The way his mouth twitched and his brows furrowed. The way his eyes thinned and held this pinch of pain. Hunter knew what he wanted to say but he didn¡¯t want condolences. Not from him. And now that he had Marcie back, he¡¯d wanted nothing more than to be spared more pity. ¡°I thought you worked at Harvest,¡± said Hunter before Grant could get a word in. He could barely look at Grant. It was pissing him off. He stayed to help put the chips back anyway. Grant wasn¡¯t helping. Standing there like an idiot, he just watched as Hunter collected armfuls of chip bags off the floor. What the hell was his deal? ¡°I actually can¡¯t put those back on the shelf. It¡¯s a quality control thing I guess.¡± He said, apologetically. Had his voice gotten even lower? And why did he always say everything with some sort of bedroom-talky tone like he was trying to flirt with everybody? Hunter dropped the bags he had in his hands and started to walk away. Admittedly, it was a dick move. But it was the least of what Grant deserved. Sighing, Grant bent down and started picking bags up off the floor. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Fuck him. Fuck this. Hunter turned on his feet immediately and stormed back towards Grant. ¡°You¡¯re sorry?¡± Hunter spat. Grant may have packed on a ton of ¡°hot guy¡± muscle but Hunter still had a whole head of height over him. ¡°You¡¯re not allowed to feel remorse now. If you think you can use her death to pull forgiveness out of me then fuck you. If you think I can so easily forget every day you sided with some asshole bullies. Every day you dedicated to tormenting us¡­We used to be friends, dude. She was your friend.¡± Other shoppers stopped to stare at the scene. Hunter hadn¡¯t realized how loud his voice had climbed. He cooled off enough to pull back from cornering Grant. ¡°I know. I know,¡± was all the guy said in response. Not dismissively, more like he was trying to gather his thoughts. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times like he was deciding if he should say something. Hunter started walking away again, he didn¡¯t care what Grant had to say for himself. ¡°I was there with her,¡± Grant called out, ¡°The night she¡­you know.¡± ¡°What?¡± The word left Hunter''s lips before careful thought. Okay, maybe he did care. Or this was another one of Grant''s cruel ways of fucking with him. ¡°It was just a kickback with some people from Cove College. I was high. She was high. After she jumped we¨Cshe left a note¨C¡± Grant¡¯s words caught on something, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t fucking lie to me. She didn¡¯t kill herself, asshole. She¡¯d never¡­¡± He couldn''t finish. All of this made him question everything all over again. She didn¡¯t jump. Marcie said so. So why couldn¡¯t he just fully believe her? Why did he still feel like it was his fault? ¡°I¡¯m so sorry Hunter.¡± Grant tried to offer. ¡°Fuck you.¡± Then, Hunter left.. A large part of him had stormed off to keep himself from crying in front of Grant. Another part to stop himself from giving the dude a black eye. And another because if he stayed there any longer, he¡¯d end up laying down on the sticky tile of Vinny''s Grocery Market and curling into a ball. There was no way she''d hang out with those assholes after everything. It was impossible to even imagine her getting high around them. He didn''t leave her that desperate for friends. He would have noticed if she was so depressed she''d make herself vulnerable to the exact people who''d take advantage of it. Wouldn''t he? He made his way to the registers. He paid for his basket. He walked out of the store. He promised Marcie he¡¯d help solve her¡­whatever it was. But not if he had to deal with him. When he was coming up the drive towards the guest house, he thought about how he was going to tell Marcie about Grant. About what he told him. His whole thought process halted when he saw a figure open and shut the front door. Fuck, he thought on repeat. Fuck. Fuck. Getting closer he saw that the figure darting towards the main house was Beth, which wasn¡¯t the worst of his fears, but also wasn¡¯t too much farther down the list. Beth had proven herself to be a snitch. He would handle that later. He rushed inside to find the guest house quiet. The blankets were still unmade and there was still sand in the carpet. His breakfast plate, now licked clean, sat neatly on his nightstand. But the bed was empty, the television screen had been shut off, and most importantly, Marcie was nowhere to be seen. Hunter called out in hushed tones, ¡°Marcie. Hey. Are you still here?¡± A small muffled voice from the closet called back, ¡°Yeah!¡± Flinging the closet door open to find, again, no Marcie, he asked ¡°Uhh, where are you?¡± ¡°I¡¯m here,¡± he heard her voice from the dark corner of the closet. ¡°Help me get out of this thing!¡± It dawned on Hunter where she¡¯d decided to hide. And then it took him a couple moments to wrap his head around the impossibility of it. ¡°Hey ya hear me dingus?¡± Marcie called from his suitcase. The sight he was presented with when he unzipped the suitcase was nothing short of horrific. She¡¯d folded herself like origami to fit herself into a space that no one older than a toddler should be physically able to. He recalled how easily her joints hyperextended and bent back on themselves when he carried her on the beach, but this was leagues stranger. Her neck was arched forward so far her chin was crushed against her sternum. Her spine was bent in three places to make a Z shape with visible breaks in vertebrae. Each leg didn¡¯t fare much better, folded into rectangles to fit the edges of the case. One arm was broken in so many ways and curled so much it almost looked like a scaleless, handy snake had slithered in the case with her. The other arm was straight and about as normally arranged as it could be, which only served to juxtapose the rest of her bones, making it that much harder to look at. Hunter held a steel grip on the edges of the case¡¯s fabric to stop himself from vomiting. ¡°I can see the look on your face,¡± she sneered. ¡°I didn¡¯t really have any other options.¡± Marcie took her good arm and wrenched herself out of the suitcase mostly by tipping it over and essentially dumping herself out of it. Looking on in awe, Hunter saw her body begin to right itself. Starting with her arms and legs, her bones cracked and snapped her back together like the world¡¯s fleshiest, boniest, most incomprehensible Transformer. All the snacks and raw meats were strewn about the floor where Hunter had dropped the bag. He joined her on the carpet where Marcie was practically inhaling food. There was no question whether the meat needed to be cooked to satisfy the spell. More color had returned to her face, and she was already looking more alive, if you could say that about her at all.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. How it all worked was still a mystery. He supposed there wasn''t a single living cell in her body and it was a genuine mystery where the food went if it wasn¡¯t being digested. Her organs seemed to be intact, though Hunter didn¡¯t look all that long enough inside the hole in her ribcage to tell if that was true throughout her body. But none of them seemed particularly functional. And after what he¡¯d seen moments ago, that seemed like the tip of the iceberg of her physiology. ¡°Tell me what happened, babe,¡± Hunter said. Marcie held up a hand to indicate she was finishing a large helping of Doritos. ¡°I saw someone poking around, trying to look through the windows. I figured out it was Beth pretty quickly¡ªI mean, who else¡¯s shadow would wear a beanie? The curtains helped, but I think Beth heard me move around. Then she started looking in and, hrmm, I think she saw me. At that point, I kinda panicked so I just, uhh, shoved myself in the suitcase. I¡¯m kinda shocked I was able to.¡± She took another huge handful of candy and started popping pieces in quick succession. ¡°And ay! I figured out some other cool things about my body. I think, I don''t know, they''re like super zombie powers or something! I mean I fit into that suitcase. Maybe, you could wheel me out at night. I''m sure no one would see. Once I¡¯ve tested these powers out, maybe we can start solving my murder¨C¡± ¡°Woah, okay. Slow down.¡± Hunter nodded his head. Would it really be okay to get her out like that? Allowing her to shove herself into his rinky-dink suitcase, it hardly seemed like the best way to respect the dead. He¡¯d have to deal with Beth, or better yet ignore her till she went back to ignoring him. Officer Portillo was still looking for a grave robber and well, his own zombified daughter would be all the evidence he¡¯d need. He couldn¡¯t be reckless again, not after the close calls he¡¯d already had. And it was nice to be able to rest there and eat together. ¡°I want to see these zombie powers, I really do. But what are we gonna do about your¡­well your everything? I want to make sure you''re safe first. And are we, for real, calling it a murder?¡± ¡°Well we won¡¯t know it wasn¡¯t a murder until we figure it out! Anyway, I¡¯ll have an alter ego or something.¡± She said it like it was obvious. ¡°I could, like, cut and dye my hair and wear different clothes. Maybe wear glasses. The full Clark Kent treatment.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think that would actually work. Superman is super good at pretending not to be Superman. You failed a community college acting course.¡± ¡°That''s a low blow!¡± She said partway through chewing a hunk of raw pork. ¡°I''m an amazing actor. Mr. Franklin was just bitter he never made Broadway and couldn¡¯t see real talent.¡± ¡°Oh sure.¡± Then Marcie swallowed and got very serious. ¡°I mean it! It¡¯s not like I¡¯m gonna be screaming across town. We¡¯ll stay out of sight. But I¡¯m not staying here.¡± And Hunter knew he couldn¡¯t say no. ¡°Okay. It¡¯s gonna be difficult getting you in and out of here. But, I¡¯ll pick up some hair dye and some new clothes. And if we absolutely destroy your hair, you do not get to blame me!¡± He playfully pushed her shoulder. ¡°Says who!¡± She pushed him back, hard enough to send him flying off the bed. They both caught their breath then started giggling, though Hunter¡¯s was a bit strained. She didn''t know her own strength. Must be one of her new powers. A buzz rang in his pocket. In order of priority: You have until Sunday - Marshall Campbell Dad¡¯s text was signed with his full name like in one of his business emails. Hunter looked over the text, feeling exhausted just reading it. It was just another set of things he had to add to his to-do list. A list which was starting to grow a little too quickly for his liking. Getting Marcie a disguise was the first on the list, which they got started on right away. The trip to the cosmetics store proved very successful. Hunter was able to get blonde dye, brunette dye, and a hair trimming kit with the assistance of a helpful employee. She looked familiar, so he thought maybe Beth might know her. They seemed around the same age. Then, at the Rack, he grabbed the least Marcie clothes he could find. At first he went for the complete opposite. Loud colors, tightly fit, and trendy. The kind of clothes you¡¯d only catch fifteen-year-olds or forty-year-olds who hadn¡¯t matured past age fifteen in. He decided against them. They¡¯d probably attract too much attention, plus Marcie would murder him before they''d ever solve hers. The shopping spree gave him time to think. He thought he should be more worried about a potential murderer out there who¡¯d killed as recently as a year prior. With her memories gone, there was no telling if Marcie¡¯s death was premeditated. If somehow they spooked the killer or they found out about her magical return, maybe they¡¯d go after him. He had to put aside mounting doubts about letting Marcie out. She was a pile of ash in the can and a spirit trapped in limbo not even 24 hours before. Keeping her locked away in a single room would only expand the size of her prison. He settled on going for something casual. A more modest aesthetic with softer tones seemed like the best fit. The colors were inconspicuous. She¡¯d blend in immediately with the typical fashion of his area of the town. Even blue jeans instead of black was gonna be enough to differentiate her from the notions people had about Marcie. Sweaters instead of a hoodie. She was going to say it was ¡®snooty¡¯, but that was why it was the perfect disguise. The next day, Hunter cut Marcie¡¯s hair. He wasn¡¯t all that great at it, but he tried his damndest. They watched her long rivers of pitch black hair fall to the ground like heavy tapestries. She, for her part, pretended to be enthusiastic while she stared at discarded years of growth. Unconfident ¡®snip¡¯ sounds echoed off the tile in the guesthouse bathroom. ¡°I don¡¯t remember the last time I had my hair this short,¡± Marcie mused. She wore an easygoing expression, but Hunter knew this was the hardest part. ¡°Middle school?¡± ¡°Had to be.¡± ¡°You know, I¡¯m surprised you never cut it in highschool. You¡¯re so stubborn.¡± Hunter thought aloud. ¡°Those catty bitches could¡¯ve tugged on it all they wanted to. I¡¯d never let them take my luscious locks away from me,¡± she said proudly, then deflated a little when she heard another snip. ¡°You¡¯ll be just as pretty with short hair. I promise I won¡¯t fuck it up too bad,¡± Hunter chuckled nervously. In life, Marcie had taken so much pride in how long her hair was. Every inch was months of growth and years of regular maintenance trims, daily care, and memories¡ªgood and bad alike. Despite all that, it seemed to Hunter that she was quite surprised with how well she pulled off a short cut. It was even her idea, after staring at herself in the mirror, to add brown streaks to the blonde dye job so it better complimented the new look Hunter had picked out for her. He, of course, let her do her own coloring. That would¡¯ve been a disaster if it were in his hands. She carefully removed her piercings, four in each ear and the one stud on her nose. The clothes fit her perfectly. Hunter had memorized her sizes years ago and some things certainly never changed. She did, in fact, think the changes they were making made her look ¡®snooty¡¯, but she agreed with his decision. Spinning herself, confident in her new outfit of dark blue jeans and a brown wool sweatshirt, Marcie ran her fingers through her new short choppy hair. As a final touch, he fitted an eye patch snuggly over her open socket. At first he figured any old pharmacy might carry one. He was mistaken. In the end, he had to beg the receptionist at the optometrist for one. When she handed him a dusty piece of leather, she said she hoped to see his grandmother soon for a visit and Hunter felt a little sorry he spun one into existence to convince the woman to provide him with the patch. Marcie fidgeted with it for a bit. ¡°Oh man! I got like a badass pirate vibe goin¡¯ on. Are ya ready to hit the high seas? Maybe find some booty.¡± She wheeled around and pinched Hunter¡¯s butt. ¡°Hey!¡± he exclaimed and pulled her in close so they were wrapped arm in arm, both facing the mirror. He looked at her, really took her in. She was there. She was real. Marcie was as beautiful as the day he met her. As beautiful as the day he left. As beautiful as the last FaceTime before she bit the business end of a defunct carousel. As beautiful as when she awoke there again. Now that they¡¯d covered up all her undeadness, she was practically unrecognizable. But she was beautiful. Hunter couldn¡¯t believe he¡¯d ever even considered keeping her caged. ¡°So,¡± she said, ¡°You ready to solve a fuckin¡¯ murder?¡± And Hunter couldn''t say no, even though he wanted to. Anastasim - Chapter 1.6 ¡°Oh, just do it correctly this time!¡± Marcie demanded. ¡°You and I both know you can hit harder than that.¡± Clouds had shrouded the late evening sky over Milo J. Jameson Wildlife Park. They were tucked away in the far outskirts of the Cove. Locals often called it ¡°the Cove¡±. And locals called Milo J. Jameson ¡°the Park¡±. Most people of the Cove made the apt decision to steer clear of the Park when the sun began to set, brought on by the irrational fear of getting murdered in the dark woods or the very rational fear of a run in with a bear or a beehive. Though, considering what Marcie insisted was the nature of her passing, Hunter reexamined the fear of murder as a potentially very rational fear to have. ¡°I¡¯m not going to punch you!¡± Hunter argued, ¡°This feels like domestic violence.¡± Marcie cricked her neck, making an audible cracking sound. Not from Hunter¡¯s doing, no. He had yet to even hit her hard enough to hurt a baby. Her spine was still slowly aligning itself from being folded into the suitcase so she could be wheeled to the car. Hunter checked around every tree within a mile to confirm their privacy before he unzipped the suitcase and she¡¯d unfolded. She¡¯d gotten much more comfortable in her new-old body, it seemed. She wasn¡¯t having any trouble walking, though she complained on the way through the woods that the three socks they had to layer onto her degloved foot made her shoe feel all sweaty. Without nerve endings there, how she had any capability to sense that was beyond Hunter. ¡°It¡¯s not domestic violence if I give you my express consent to punch me as hard as you can,¡± Marcie said resolutely. She did her best Street Fighter impression and taunted Hunter with a ¡®come on¡¯ motion. Hunter refused to be baited, ¡°That can¡¯t be how that works.¡± ¡°Just do it.¡± She sighed. He balled his fist and convinced himself he wouldn¡¯t hurt her. For Christ¡¯s sake, she was crumpled in a ball minutes ago and was shrugging it off with a couple of back stretches. He took stock of where he should hit. Avoid the ribs cause they might break off. Avoid the face¡ªthat''d be uncalled for. He aimed the swing for her upper arm where there was the least exposed flesh and bone under her clothing. Knuckles cracked against her flexing muscle. Judging from her reaction, the punch hurt him more than it hurt her. ¡°Nothing?¡± He asked. She looked down at her arm and shook her head. If she was surprised herself, Hunter couldn¡¯t tell. Instead, a look of wonder spread across her. ¡°Do you have a knife or something sharp?¡± There was a concerning twinkle in her eye. Hunter crossed his arms in protest. ¡°Absolutely not.¡± ¡°Ugh, fine!¡± She whined. ¡°Well it confirms one theory I had. Onto the next.¡± The implications swam around Hunter¡¯s mind. If she¡¯d barely felt a full force punch to the arm, what other sensations could she no longer feel? Marcie started walking among the trees like she was analyzing them. She ran her fingers across the trunks, prompting Hunter to question what she felt as she did. Could she feel the stringy Redwood bark with only a slight brush? Could she tell they were damp with more than the visual indicators? Would her body even react to the poison oak she was stepping in? And in an instant, plenty more questions were raised when Marcie raised her fist and plowed it straight through the tree trunk. She¡¯d chipped out a significant chunk of the bark, revealing the light flesh of the cambium layer. Her fist was mangled from making it a human sledgehammer. ¡°Woah!¡± The exclamation left her and she stared blankly, breathing heavy at the results of her insane ¡®experiment¡¯. For a moment. Or many moments. Maybe too many moments, all Hunter could do was stare. Then his mind spun his body into action. ¡°Oh God!¡± Hunter rushed over to her and cradled her hand. It was just as blown apart as the tree. Fingers bent in every which direction, splinter shards protruded from her skin like porcupine quills, and there was a gnarly tear in her flesh that bisected her ring finger and pinky away from the other three. ¡°Are you okay?¡± She gasped to catch her breath for a moment. ¡°Yeah.¡± Then started picking the splinters from her hand. As her finger straightened, the seam of torn flesh began stitching itself back together. As this process took place, the wood shards expelled themselves until her hand looked as it did just moments ago. The sight of it took all the air from him and he felt rocketed back to earth. ¡°There was nothing about this in the book. How did you figure this out?¡± Hunter asked. ¡°Simple logic, baby!¡± She said, absolutely pleased with herself. ¡°The only thing that stops you from breaking apart your own body is the sensation of pain. I don¡¯t think I have that anymore. And then, if my body rapidly heals and corrects my bones, why not skin and muscle? I can punch with literally all my strength!¡± What was this even applicable to? She¡¯d sooner tear her own body apart finding its limits than actually start fist-fighting crime in the streets of Redwood Cove, home of such evil-doers as petty shoplifters and one-off weed dealers¡­and a murderer. ¡°But¨C¡± Hunter protested. And he could feel his breath shortening again. ¡°No te preocupes, ejote.¡± Marcie said, mockingly, reaching up to boop Hunter''s nose with her fully reformed hand to top it all off. He had no words. At the very least, the use of his nickname¡ªstring bean¡ªmade him want to try smiling. Years ago, before Marcie and him were officially dating, she''d met his Grandpa Lankester. He''d comment up and down about how Hunter was all just skin and bones. ¡®Gotta get some meat on that string bean¡¯ he¡¯d say to Mom. A bit ironic coming from a man whose nickname was Grandpa Lanky, but Marcie found it funny so it stuck. The memory calmed him, grounded him, but that feeling was slow to spread. Her face softened. ¡°I wanted to show you that you have nothing to worry about. I mean, look at me. No one''s gonna know it''s me. And I can''t feel pain. I¡¯m going to be okay. But I know you''re anxious and you''re trying to hide it from me. I can tell you don¡¯t actually want to help me with this.¡± Those accusations were crushing. He couldn¡¯t stop thinking about Grant¡¯s implication that Marcie had killed herself, and the guilt was nauseating. He should tell her. Marcie had refused to entertain that theory even back on the beach. With the knowledge that she could now punch through solid logs, Hunter was scared to think that her reaction could be destructive if he brought it up again. She¡¯d never hurt him, but she¡¯d be so upset. He had to find a proper place to sit. His heart was pounding and he couldn¡¯t help but feel like everything was getting away from him, like he was running to the bus stop only to watch the doors close and the bus barrel off into the distance. So he plopped down hard on the nearest fallen log. ¡°Part of me hoped¡­I don¡¯t know¡­once I got you back we could just spend time together and relax. You know, finally get a chance to do things right. I can¡¯t believe I even¡ªI mean you¡¯re back from the dead! It¡¯s stupid I thought that things could be normal. And now there¡¯s all this about you getting murdered! Marcie, that''s insane! I want to believe you, but¡­¡± Along the log, Marcie sat close and beckoned Hunter to lay his head across her lap. Sundown had come in full and so too did the chirping of crickets. In the moments before Marcie responded, Hunter lay in silence looking up at her. He couldn¡¯t say it. Maybe it would be better if she found out on her own. She stroked his curly hair and looked out to the darkened woods. Once she had her mind set on something, Marcie was a speeding train. It was better to be on board than trying to chase after her. ¡°The other day. When I went to the store, I saw Grant,¡± admitted Hunter as he sat up. Marcie perked up at that. ¡°Oh. Woah. Did he say anything? I¡¯ll beat his ass. He can catch these hands.¡± She started to do air punches again, and Hunter felt brushes of air with how hard she was throwing her fists. ¡°Nah, nah. Nothing like that.¡± He had to stop to take a deep breath before finishing his thought. ¡°He told me he was there the day you died. We were in the middle of the chip isle and he was on shift. It had been a while since I¡¯d seen him and it just brought up all this shit. So I kind of told him to fuck off. But, Marcie, he said you left a note.¡± ¡°Oh!...Woah.¡± Marcie dropped her arms. She licked her teeth behind her lips like anger would spill out if she spoke too soon. He gave her time. ¡°Hunter. Why didn¡¯t you tell me? You¨C¡± Her voice broke against her pent up frustration. Her chest was still, but she centered herself as if she were taking meditative breaths. The breeze whistled through the redwood leaves as she collected herself.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Puta madre,¡± Marcie said to herself. ¡°Look under the patch, Hunter. I don¡¯t have a fucking eye anymore. I have a giant hole in my chest. Someone forged a suicide note in my name. God, whoever did this to me deserves to rot in a jail cell.¡± She paused to look into Hunter¡¯s eyes, read something in them. He intended to let her say everything she needed to say, not trample over what she was trying to express. But, every nerve ending in his body itched to defend himself. So, he gave no response. ¡°I can''t remember anything more than this feeling I have. I can''t put a face to the force that pushed me. And I hate not being able to remember anything because it takes all my soul not to blame everyone. The whole fucking world. And I really don''t want to blame you, so stop giving me so many reasons to do it. I know it sounds crazy; I know you have no reason to believe me.¡± Another pause. ¡°Are you mad at me? Goddammit, say something!¡± Hunter¡¯s inner thoughts became incredibly small. So quiet that he couldn¡¯t pull from any present logic to form his response. ¡°No! Mar, I believe you because how could I not believe you? I will always believe you. And I¡¯m not mad. I¡¯m just terrified.¡± Hunter bit back a sob. ¡°What if people find out you¡¯re here and go on a witch hunt? What if all this is some unfinished business junk and when we find your murderer you, like, pass on? You could slip through my fingers again at the drop of a hat¡­I don¡¯t know what you were wearing when you died, but no pun intended.¡± That got a small chuckle out of Marcie. She pushed him for daring to lighten the mood. ¡°I know it¡¯s a lot,¡± she said. She reached her arms out to embrace Hunter. He scooted in close so they were elbow to elbow and hugged her back. He felt her whole body shake after he rested his head in the crook of her neck, indicating that her knee was bouncing relentlessly. He had to agree. ¡°It¡¯s a lot. I¡¯m trying to deal the best I can. But that doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t want to help.¡± Marcie said. ¡°If it¡¯s too much, I¡¯ll figure it out myself. You won¡¯t have to worry. At the very least I¡¯m not a witch, I don¡¯t think. And¡­¡± She sighed. ¡°If I never find out what happened, I think I¡¯d be okay. I want to do it because I can now. But if I can¡¯t, that memory is gone forever, I¡¯ll live.¡± Now that made Hunter laugh a little out of his nostrils. ¡°We¡¯ll talk to Grant then. Hopefully the guy doesn¡¯t faint when he finds out you¡¯re among the living.¡± ¡°That can wait,¡± said Marcie, calmly. Hunter questioned, ¡°Huh, why?¡± ¡°Cause it¡¯s Sunday, dummy. You have chores to do.¡± She smirked and ruffled his hair. A little after that, after darkness set in a healthy fear of the unknown, Hunter drove them home. Marcie packed herself back into the suitcase before he climbed out with her. Nestling together under the covers did make everything okay. Everything was going to be okay. There was one thing about the house that the Campbell family prided themselves on more than anything else. One thing that was as pristine as the rest of Redwood Cove¡¯s upper echelon. 1 Weller Drive was a flawless white. Not an off-white. Pure white. Or it was supposed to be. Hunter learned, or rather, taught himself how to power wash it himself when he was twelve and only ever stopped when he went away for college. He, maybe presumptuously, assumed his parents had made Beth do it now. Instead, he discovered Dad had hired a professional cleaning service to come through and do it every couple months or so. Now that Hunter was back home, it was now his duty again. Classic. Ever since they were children, Candace and Beth had the weight of the world resting on their success. Dad made sure they all had good grades, filled their day with extra-curriculars, and didn¡¯t get into trouble. Hunter had that weight and then some, picking up every chore his parents asked of him with no questions asked or taking care of Beth when Candace was busy, which she always was with one boy or another. He should have known none of his responsibilities were transferable to either of them. He blasted away at the porch ceiling. Chemical-infused water droplets rained onto his shaggy, unwashed hair. After last night, all he wanted to do was hold Marcie. Forever, if he could. He¡¯d spent the last week bringing meals back to his room to spend as much time around her as possible. Since there wasn¡¯t another family meeting on the horizon, nobody told him off for it. That morning, he only left the bed and left Marcie alone in the guest house, after Candace came to the door with breakfast and reminded him ever so gently, that he had about forty-eight hours to finish all the tasks Dad had laid out for him. Hunter felt small droplets of water strike his scalp. It was calming. It helped him think. Nobody goes into the guest house when Hunter is home. They expect him to clean up after himself. No one will know she¡¯s here. Nobody will find the urn, or the book, or Marcie. She would be fine. And of course they were gonna blow that cover on Grant¨Cfucking¨CJeong. Still, as long as he didn¡¯t freak out and do something stupid, he¡¯d be the only one who knew. They could keep the circle small. A kick to his ankle from behind jolted Hunter back to attention. Beth. Elizabeth Campbell was five years younger than he was. His parents told him when he was young, that they had their two perfect children, Candace and him. One boy, one girl. Then Beth came along as a result of a vacation to Cabo. Not that Hunter would tell her she was an accident. He was saving that for when Beth eventually and inevitably hit stratospheric levels of annoying. ¡°Wake up! You¡¯re getting soaked, idiot,¡± she chided. ¡°And you¡¯re making a huge puddle.¡± He hadn¡¯t even noticed that his hair was drenched, his shirt was now clinging to his body, and there was a sizable puddle of soapy water at his feet. Hunter shut off the water. ¡°If you ask for the car again, I¡¯m telling Mom about the bong I found in the trunk.¡± Hunter kicked her back. ¡°Hey! I already apologized about the smell. We¡¯re square,¡± Beth argued. ¡°And it¡¯s my car now. You¡¯re just borrowing it until you¡¯re done with your gap semester or whatever you wanna call being a lazy piece of shit.¡± ¡°Hmm, look who¡¯s talking. Also, super cool of you to totally rat me out. I told you about that in confidence.¡± Beth scoffed. Hunter ignored her and sprayed the ceiling again, properly. His shoes squeaked with gushy wetness when he stepped. ¡°So, who¡¯s the girl in the guest house?¡± Beth asked under her breath. Quickly, he spun around and splashed the ceiling above Beth with the power washer, raining suds all over her. ¡°Hey! What the hell¨C¡± ¡°¨CYou saw that?¡± Hunter put a finger to his lips to quiet her. He towered over Beth, popping her personal bubble to stare daggers down at her. ¡°Why were you even up then?¡± At this point, sarcasm gave way to frustration. Beth crossed her arms and started cracking her knuckles. ¡°Okay, Mom. Why wouldn¡¯t I be awake? It was like 2am. I saw you bring a girl into the guest house. You carried her like a princess. It was disgusting.¡± ¡°Disgusting!?¡± She saw her. She knows. Hunter caught himself, ¡°Disgusting, in what way?¡± Two hands shoved Hunter off balance. With how slick the floor was, he was on his ass before he could realize what was happening. Now it was Beth¡¯s turn to tower over him. She stood over him with the meanest death glare he¡¯d ever received. ¡°Ya already forget your girlfriend, asshole? The one that died a fucking year ago?¡± Hunter was stunned. She doesn''t know. ¡°It¡¯s not like that,¡± he said. ¡°Huh?¡± Beth raised an eyebrow. ¡°Then what is it like?¡± ¡°I¨C¡± Hunter started, but didn¡¯t know where to go. ¡°It¡¯s not like that.¡± He got to his feet to square up to his sister. A bit silly considering she was sixteen, and about seven inches shorter than him, but Beth probably would have kicked him while he was down. Hunter narrowed his eyes. He imagined that from the outside it looked like a wet giraffe trying to intimidate a feral honey badger. ¡°Who is she?¡± Beth insisted. ¡°A friend from college.¡± He played up a pleading tone. ¡°She just needs a place to stay for a while. It¡¯s been days. Why are you bringing this up now? You haven¡¯t told anyone else, have you?¡± Beth backed down sympathetically. She always did when things got serious. ¡°If you don¡¯t want me to tell mom or dad, I won¡¯t.¡± Reasonable suspicion set in. Hunter knew his sister too well. ¡°What do you want?¡± ¡°Well I wasn¡¯t going to ask for anything,¡± she sang with impish glee. ¡°But since you offered. Then I need you to cover for me. As you know, Dickhead grounded me¨C¡± ¡°¨CToo much, dude.¡± ¡°Easy for you to say, favorite.¡± She said it like an insult. And beyond that, Hunter didn¡¯t know how true that was anymore. ¡°Dad grounded me and I need you to meet my plug tonight behind the old wharf house.¡± ¡°Really Beth? Come on, I thought you were quitting. What do you think is gonna happen if they find out? Ground you harder?¡± She was looking indignantly up at Hunter. ¡°Which is why this is actually the perfect situation! I already had this set up, so you¡¯re going for me. And quit riding my ass, I¡¯ll quit after this bag.¡± Despite the Campbell children''s distinct noses, they shared other facial features. Their cheeks were all sort of puffy and round but not too puffy and round and all three of them had protruding eyes but not in a way that made them look creepy. Beth''s button nose, unique among the three, lent to her looking like a puppy that knew if it yipped for long enough, it would eventually get what it wanted. And its human victim had lived with its barking long enough that it had learned it was fated to give into its demands sooner rather than later. ¡°No, this is ridiculous,¡± Hunter said with finality. ¡°Then I¡¯m telling!¡± yelled Beth like she was five years old instead of sixteen. To that, Hunter sprayed the water hose back up towards the ceiling to rain another soaking waterfall onto his sister. In response, Beth punched him square in the diaphragm. For as little and puppy dog adorable as Beth should have been, she hit like a man. So Hunter folded immediately. ¡°Fine. Fine. I¡¯ll do it,¡± he acquiesced. ¡°But I want it on record that you''re an asshole.¡± ¡°You¡¯re a bigger asshole!¡± Beth said. A very creative, very original comeback. She kicked him in the shin on the same leg just above where she¡¯d kicked his ankle, as one last reminder that she was the most annoying person on planet Earth. It was common to get the feeling that Beth hated his guts for one reason or another, but usually after she¡¯d won an argument, she practically pranced away from him. As Beth walked into the house, soaking wet with squeaky shoes, she looked back at him like he was truly vile. There was a moment that Hunter considered demanding an answer as to why she gave him that face. Lucky for Beth, there was a laundry list of more important things to worry about, no thanks to her. Interlude 1 - I Know What You Did Last Autumn Grant remembered the first time his grandfather explained the significance of the Taegeukgi. The blue and red circle in the center of the flag had roots in Taiji similar to yin and yang. That was all Grant could really ever pick up from his grandfather¡¯s broken English. Neither his mother nor father ever bothered to teach him Korean.They were busy arguing over who would keep the porcelain tea set or who would keep the house or who would keep him and his brother. Then they were busy figuring out how to hide the divorce from the family. Eventually they came to a mutual consensus, balanced as all warring dualities were: his mother would keep the porcelain, his father would keep the house, and they¡¯d split their children. Michael, who was older and preparing for college, went with their mother and he went with their father. This was entirely because his mother had better connections in her family and because his father was better with a growing, changing son than his mother could ever be. Redwood Cove was sort of like a yin-yang too. It was split in many ways: beachfront and woodside, downtown and the boonies, the poor side of town and the gated hillside, Ridgeview Private school and Redwood Public, immigrant families and red blooded Americans. All had little pieces of the other in them. That''s how Grant met Marcie. Well, first he met Hunter. They¡¯d both attended Ridgeview since they were five, and no two boys were closer in their whole class. It was like that until they were almost ten, when Hunter met a girl at the carnival. He said she spoke funny but she was really cool and liked Pok¨¦mon like they did and also, she played the arcade cabinets at Bernillo¡¯s Pizza even though the buttons were complicated and also also, she was really brave cause she liked really scary stuff. When he introduced her to Grant, Grant had to agree. She did speak funny and she was incredibly cool. She knew more about Pokemon than either of them even though she said the names wrong. She absolutely obliterated them at every fighting game available in Bernillo¡¯s arcade. And she could watch the whole way through The Witches¡ªthat terrifying Jim Henson version¡ªwithout so much as blinking, much less hiding behind her hands and peeping through like Grant had to. Marcie dropped her accent as soon as she got the scholarship into Ridgeview in their sixth grade. And from there they were the trio. Nerdy, rebellious, and weird. And he loved to be in it. They were Grant, Marcie, and Hunter. Until they weren¡¯t anymore. Over time, they became Grant and then Marcie and Hunter. And he didn''t love it anymore. So he betrayed them. Or maybe he was just being dramatic, but that¡¯s what it felt like he did. Either way, he put away his Zelda T-shirts, took down his Oldboy and Attack the Gas Station posters (which Michael never technically gave to him but finders thrower-awayers), and started hanging around the popular kids Marcie and Hunter used to resent. His turn to the dark side wasn¡¯t a quick transition. At first, they really weren''t as bad as they believed they were. It started with Curt finding him funny and Julie taking an odd interest in him. He liked that. The attention and the cred it gave him around school. Hunter never forgave him for that. Grant could never wrap his head around why he always cared so much about his own image. Finding the origin was easy; it was his parents fault he was that way. He always wondered why, if he knew what the problem was and where it came from, he never felt he could do anything to stop caring. Nevertheless, Marcie and Hunter were an image he didn¡¯t want associated with himself. In a school of pressed slacks and plaid skirts, they dressed like they wanted to be cartoon characters. It was ridiculous. And they were so rude to everyone, it was no wonder nobody liked them. They sat alone together everyday, where none of the rich snobby assholes would bother them. It was especially ridiculous that Hunter thought he was above it all; he had a mansion and was only upset that it was smaller than the other ones. Marcie had every right to think poorly of the standard Ridgeview fare, but nobody else at Ridgeview seemed to think so because she was a ¡®freeloader¡¯ who took ¡®handouts¡¯. Grant knew that the racism was strong with these ones, hell, they used to sing ¡®Yerrow¡¯ by Coldplay¡ªwith all the Ls replaced by Rs¡ªto him every time he entered the locker room. But the true extent of the prejudice didn¡¯t really present itself until a brown girl started walking the halls. At least they tolerated him enough to let him onto the track team and the soccer team. But they treated her like garbage. And when he said ¡®they¡¯ he meant himself included. Trying to count the number of times they learned her locker combination just to stuff it full of trash would be like trying to count the number of individual red blood cells you have in your body. Every week it was used candy wrappers, chewed up bubblegum, snotty tissues, oily burrito bags, Marty¡¯s cigarette butts, and much much worse. The worst of the items he dumped in was an open container of kimchi, which was especially evil, considering she used to beg him to bring some to school so she could snack on it. He was sure the experience ruined kimchi for her, and ruined her Advanced Calculus textbook which was soggy with spicy cabbage juice. That was the tamest of the bullying they inflicted on her. They banged on lockers right in her ear to startle her because Edith heard rumors of gunshots firing in Marcie¡¯s neighborhood and told Julie, who told Grant to start doing it. The police determined it was fireworks, but Ridgeview ran with the rumor anyways. The girls would follow her into the bathroom and talk shit about her while they knew she was in the stall. They¡¯d said nasty things about her culture because of course they thought lengua was gross and D¨ªa de los Muertos was creepy and weird. But it was better for Grant that they were so focused on Marcie, because it meant that they were no longer making fun of bibimbap because it had a funny name or bowing to him when they found out it was Lunar New Year. The teachers and administration turned a blind eye. Of course they did. They didn¡¯t want their equity campaign getting flushed down the drain. Marcie was so damn stubborn that she refused to let them win. And with Hunter, the two of them seemed indestructible. But, after they¡¯d all graduated from Ridgeview, Hunter left. 99.9% of the student body had gone to different colleges¡ªgood colleges¡ªso Marcie, Grant, and a handful of others were left behind in Redwood Cove. Grant¡¯s friends that stayed started inviting Marcie around because Annabelle of all people vouched for her. It was a shock. What was even more shocking was that Marcie actually showed up. But eventually, her presence became normal even if it was still uncomfortable between them. So it was no surprise that Marcie was there the night of the kickback. And if Grant was being completely honest, even less of a surprise when she¡ªallegedly¡ªflung herself off the cliff. That was what they were all there to talk about wasn¡¯t it, Grant thought. The fact that he¡¯d been a real dumbass and let shit slip to Hunter. And now they were all gonna ride his ass for it, tell him he had to stop, maybe even cuss him out. Whatever they needed to do to make themselves feel better. It¡¯d only cause problems if he didn¡¯t show up. He¡¯d take it and then go back to secretly cutting them off. They had the lounge in Julie Lovett¡¯s yacht to themselves. If this is what Silicon Valley money got you, and Julie¡¯s dad sure had a lot of it, Grant was starting to understand why his brother Michael had upended his roots and moved there to build his startup. Julie herself was seated on the cushioned couch, crossing her arms and scowling. She was the one who sent the message to the group chat insisting they all had to meet immediately. Yet, she was deathly silent. While Grant¡¯s encounter with Hunter during his shift was pure coincidence, Julie must have caught wind of it because she glared at him as he took a seat. Grant took the edge of the couch closest to the stairwell down to the lounge and said a short, ¡°Hey,¡± to no enthusiastic response. He could never really tell what Julie thought of him. Did she hate him that much for talking to Hunter? He wasn¡¯t the first to arrive. To the left of Julie, was Edith Lee, biting at her cuticles. She looked like she was about ready to jump out of her skin every time someone new showed up. Annabelle Warren, her other groupie to the right, looked about as disinterested as ever, staring at her phone and twirling her bright red hair. The air between them was tense. He watched as the last of the group trickled in. To his slight relief, Julie was actually glaring at everyone that entered the room. Not just him. Marty Gillman, high as expected, stumbled down the stairs, scooted around the center coffee table, and slumped down into the couch close to Annabelle. He looked her way while scratching at his thick stubble. It was painfully apparent that he¡¯d always had an attraction to her, and Grant wondered how someone could go four years of highschool and two after, never getting the hint that she thought he was repulsive. It was clear from the look on her face and how she turned away from him. Curtis Robert-Patrick popped up next. He must have come from the gym because he looked about as sweaty as if he¡¯d taken a dip in the ocean right outside. As he came down the stairs, he barrelled straight for Grant. There was no getting out of it. Curt met him with a firm dap and a bro hug. ¡°How you been bro?¡± asked Curt. The embrace gave Grant a full mental image of Curt¡¯s musculature. Curt was bigger, more manly, and still had less body fat. Grant could never catch up to Curt¡¯s build despite all of the effort he put in. He felt his tight shirt tighten further around his own body when he saw that Curt¡¯s muscles still seemed to be pulsing in some way. He should¡¯ve been at the gym, but the stress of the text had compelled an ill-advised trip to Jack in the Box. He¡¯d work off the burger, fries, and nuggets tomorrow, he promised himself. And he¡¯d sweat out the soda in water weight. ¡°I''m good. I''ve been okay,¡± Grant replied, a little too terse. Curt sat down next to Marty, across from Grant. Conveniently the two stinkiest members of their powwow didn¡¯t seem to notice each other¡¯s stench. One more person showed up, walking hesitantly down the stairs. Grant wasn''t expecting anyone else, but a girl with golden brown hair and clothes that were clearly hand-me-downs asked, ¡°Hey, am I in the right place?¡± This must¡¯ve been Veronica Ramos, the last piece of the puzzle. She looked like she was walking into a den of lions. Grant thought that was fair. The girl was holding back contempt looking at the interior of the yacht, like it was the first time she¡¯d ever seen luxury up close and was having an allergic reaction to it. ¡°You see me sitting here, don¡¯t you?¡± Julie said, now directing her death glare at the new girl. In that moment between those two, Grant felt the boat rocking. It was docked and midday sun filled the room with spots of blinding light through the windows, illuminating hanging portraits of who Grant assumed were the men who owned the Lovett wealth throughout the years. The glare of the sun seemed to get in Veronica¡¯s face, forcing her to be the first to crack. She moved to take her seat between Edith and Grant. ¡°So Jules,¡± Curt said, pushing his damp blonde bangs back. ¡°You wanna tell us why we''re here?¡± Curt was the only one who could ever talk to Julie that way. She rolled her eyes at him. ¡°I¡¯m sure you all know that Hunter Campbell is back.¡± Everyone gave nods, shrugs, and knowing silences from their different corners. It was Edith who actually spoke, ¡°I saw him at the optometrist. And if anyone was wondering¨C¡± ¡°Jesus. Eddi. Nobody cares about your LASIK surgery,¡± Annabelle cut in. ¡°You look worse without glasses anyway.¡± Edith shriveled into the couch cushion while Julie, with a wide-eyed ¡®anyway¡¯ look, parted her lips to speak. ¡°What even is LASIK surgery?¡± Marty asked. The question was probably supposed to be sarcastic, but it sounded painfully earnest. ¡°And who''s this?¡± Without moving much of his body, Marty up-nodded towards Veronica. Before Veronica could bite Marty¡¯s head off, which she so clearly wanted to, Annabelle chimed in first. ¡°Veronica. She was in Marcie¡¯s note. Keep up, coke-stain.¡± Marty tried not to take offense to the jab. He limply rolled his head back to address the room, then his forehead creased to ask something else. Probably a clarification on what LASIK was. ¡°A note I didn¡¯t fucking know about until you ambushed me!¡± Veronica accused. ¡°Julie had to go to your ghetto to even find you,¡± Edith defended. ¡°She put herself in danger!¡±This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. ¡°Chupa mis huevos,¡± Veronica spat at Edith. Grant couldn¡¯t stop the snort that escaped his nostrils. ¡°What did you say?¡± Edith asked, scandalized, though she clearly did not understand the meaning. Veronica launched into a flurry of rapid Spanish that Grant did not have the comprehension to keep up with. Julie, Edith, and Marty recoiled at the outburst. Grant was hardly intimidated and neither was Annabelle, who tiredly checked the time on her phone. Curt, though, straightened from a manspreaded hunch and started arguing with her. ¡°What the fuck is your problem?¡± he demanded. ¡°Don¡¯t say that shit about my mother.¡± Veronica threw up a finger towards Curt and he shot back with one of his own. With a derisive sigh, like a school teacher wrangling children, Annabelle asked, ¡°Why would we have to worry about Hunter, Julie?¡± Julie seemed disappointed that Annabelle had interrupted her personal reality TV show. Grant snapped back to focus. He¡¯d stayed silent to delay the inevitable. Instead of addressing him, Julie reached into her purse and tossed a creased piece of paper onto the coffee table. ¡°Because of this.¡± It was a note. The note. The note that shouldn¡¯t exist. They had tried to burn it with Marty¡¯s lighter over a year ago. The paper refused to light or even tear, so they buried it along with any evidence of their presence at the beach that night. It was all so weird. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that everything about the situation was off in some way. The words were the same as the note from a year ago. It was dried over like it had been damp before and it was singed like it was supposed to be. The writing on this note wasn¡¯t Marcie¡¯s handwriting. It was awfully close, but he knew it by the way the Ts and Ls were drawn. Marcie always made loops in them like cursive even when she was writing in print. These Ts and Ls were straight-edged. Someone had gone to great lengths to recreate it. Grant tried to glean what he could from the room¡¯s reactions. Edith looked at it like her life was over. Marty sobered in seconds and his slouching spine went rigid. Veronica was reading it over for the first time, horrified. For the first time all afternoon, Annabelle actually seemed to take a genuine interest in something. Curt began compulsively massaging his scalp and face and bouncing his leg up and down. He tried to meet Grant¡¯s eyes, but Grant didn¡¯t reciprocate. ¡°How?¡± was all Marty could manage. ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Julie snapped. ¡°I just found it in my bag yesterday.¡± ¡°So they¡¯re onto us?¡± Edith had picked her fingers red. Annabelle clicked her tongue. ¡°I want you to explain to me who ¡®they¡¯ is in what you just said. Who would be on to what, exactly? This isn¡¯t Ocean¡¯s Eleven, Eddi. It¡¯s not a movie. Marcie decided to do that because of us. It was going to come back to bite us all eventually.¡± ¡°No!¡± Julie whipped her glare towards Annabelle, ¡°She made a decision because she was ill. We all saw it. She was crazy.¡± ¡°We didn¡¯t see anything.¡± Annabelle turned to the rest of the room. ¡°Did anyone, other than Julie, actually see Marcie jump?¡± Another unspoken answer passed between them. None of them did. Grant, particularly, was busy then, putting his middle and pointer finger down his throat. He didn¡¯t remember much between that and leaving behind a discolored puddle to find Julie looking over the wooden fence that led off the cliff. She didn¡¯t scream until Edith saw. Then they screamed together. Julie wrapped her arms around her body so that her clenching fists were hidden under her armpits. You could practically see the smoke coming out of her ears. ¡°I don¡¯t like what you¡¯re implying. I didn¡¯t even see her jump either. I told you I had my back turned,¡± she said through gritted teeth. ¡°Yeah Julie would never¨C¡± Edith started. ¡°¨CShut up, Edith!¡± Julie barked. Curt cut through the air with his hands, exasperated. ¡°Girls, girls. That¡¯s enough. We all agreed to a united front a year ago. ¡°I didn¡¯t.¡± Veronica raised her hand. Curt took a brief pause and decided to ignore her. ¡°Those who were present on the night of the incident agreed to clean it up and stay silent. This note is nothing. If anyone knew, the most they could bring was a wrongful death lawsuit. There¡¯s no solid evidence to suggest we¡¯d be fully culpable other than testimony from random-ass people from three to seven years ago. At most, we¡¯d pay limited damages to her family, and if dumpster queen here is anything to go by, her family would need it.¡± Veronica looked more resigned to the insult than genuinely insulted. Everyone stared at Curt in stunned silence. He¡¯d really thought this through. Had they really all sunk so low that the guy who¡¯s aspirations didn¡¯t extend beyond tomorrow¡¯s workout routine was bringing rationality to the table? ¡°You didn¡¯t tell your dad about this did you?¡± Julie asked. ¡°Of course not, Jules.¡± ¡°Great!¡± Edith said. ¡°Good! We won¡¯t go to court. I can¡¯t get in trouble over this, the program¨C¡± ¡°Nobody gives a shit about your nursing program either.¡± Annabelle shot down. This is how they were, always one bad day away from imploding since the moment Grant got in with them. At each other¡¯s throats and only looking out for their own interests. He was no different than them. He was happy to have only said six words since he arrived and he was hoping it would stay that way. Marty had taken the note in his hands. ¡°You guys are giving me a mad migraine. Can we dial it back a bit?¡± ¡°For once I agree with Marty,¡± Annabelle spoke again, despite being the most recent person to throw out a non-productive jab. Irony and hypocrisy were lost on these people. ¡°It¡¯s super trippy, this is like the exact same as the one we got rid of. There¡¯s even the same burn mark.¡± Marty said. ¡°Hey, wouldn¡¯t the ink have washed off or something?¡± ¡°So you think Hunter recreated the note.¡± Veronica offered, turning to Julie. ¡°Then what? Slipped it in your bag?¡± Julie uncrossed her legs. The nasty glare on her face somehow seemed even colder. Grant didn¡¯t like when Julie was calculating. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought at first,¡± Julie said. ¡°But Marcie would''ve had to send it to Hunter before leaving it with us that night. But she blamed him in it too. It wouldn¡¯t make sense. Edith, tell them what you told me.¡± ¡°Uhh¨CI think she ripped out a page from my notebook to write on. I found it torn later and it''s the same paper. I thought Marcie just had her own notebook, same as us.¡± Edith said. She seemed ashamed. ¡°But then I thought, Marcie wouldn¡¯t have a Pines1918 hardcover! She''s poor.¡± Veronica''s face twisted. ¡°Maybe Hunter got her a notebook. Isn¡¯t he rich? Who even knows what he¡¯s gifted her?¡± ¡°I do.¡± Julie stated. ¡°I looked into it.¡± That was a scary thought. ¡°Composition. It''s all she''s ever used,¡± she said. ¡°She wrote the note at the lot on Edith''s page. Hunter doesn''t even know the note exists, which means he couldn''t be the one who recreated it.¡± ¡°So it''s not Hunter.¡± Curt grunted then nodded to Veronica, ¡°and it couldn''t be you. You didn¡¯t know about the note either.¡± ¡°Thank you for your vote of confidence, oh great and honorable douchebag,¡± Veronica said sharply. ¡°Which only leaves one person,¡± Julie said. And then she looked at him. And so did everyone else. Were they really accusing him of this? He¡¯d come prepared for every defense against him talking to Hunter, but this was all just too much. He wanted to throw up. ¡°What!? Why me? Why not Curt or Annabelle?¡± Grant argued, immediately regretting being too loud and too defensive. Julie narrowed her eyes even further towards him. ¡°Curt¡¯s too stupid to pull this off.¡± ¡°Hey!¡± Curt interjected fruitlessly. ¡°¨CAnd Annabelle¡¯s not stupid enough to do it in the first place.¡± Annabelle nodded in agreement. Julie''s impatience was rising. ¡°And really, Grant. This is stupid, even for you. You know who my father is, hmm? I could know where you were every day for the last three weeks. I could convince him to buy up that shithole apartment your mom lives in with no rent control. If you don¡¯t tell us the truth, it gets worse. Okay, Grant?¡± Julie saying his name felt so piercing. Like he was staring down the barrel of a pistol and couldn¡¯t look away. He was going to puke. He needed to leave. ¡°I didn¡¯t¨C¡± ¡°Don¡¯t think we haven¡¯t noticed how you¡¯ve been ghosting us, bro,¡± Curt said. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you took it all so hard, you hated on Hunter and Marcie the most. All this stuff you''re trying to pull, desecrating her grave, stealing her urn, whatever this was, you can talk to us about it.¡± ¡°Okay! That''s crazy!¡± Grant yelled. He couldn''t believe they thought it was him. How could it be him and not them. ¡°I would never do anything that bad! Any of it! I agreed to the plan, same as you.¡± Everyone in the room exchanged questioning looks, except Julie, whose cruel glare turned to a cruel smile. ¡°Good. I believe you.¡± Marty had practically checked into another universe, but everyone else turned their attention to Julie, shifting their eyes between her and Grant. All this made Grant¡¯s nausea worsen. And yet, he couldn¡¯t excuse himself. He certainly couldn''t yack in the middle of Julie Lovett¡¯s yacht. He couldn¡¯t stand these people but he couldn¡¯t leave them. The lounge felt like it was getting smaller. Like the eyes of the paintings on the walls were boring holes into his skull. He wanted nothing but to make up with Hunter, but he would never regain his trust. Not if he was beholden to this fucked up vow of silence. He focused on one point to settle his stomach, fixing his gaze on Julie to look confident. ¡°I still don¡¯t know who wrote this damn thing.¡± Julie held the note in her hand. ¡°I¡¯m getting rid of it again. But, I wanted to remind everyone what¡¯s really at stake here and why we stay in communication.¡± ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem to be your concern with me,¡± Veronica reasoned. ¡°Why did you tell me about this now?¡± ¡°I need eyes on your side of town where she¡¯s buried. You¡¯re my eyes,¡± said Julie, to which Veronica slowly nodded. ¡°Used to be buried,¡± Annabelle cut under her breath. ¡°Things have changed with Hunter in town and all the weird shit that''s been going on. I need people who understand the consequences of crossing me.¡± Julie said, looking back at Grant. In another universe this girl would¡¯ve been a mob boss or something. ¡°We all stay in contact. Hold a united front or whatever. If we can do that, then this passes another year,¡± Julie concluded. ¡°Nobody has any evidence. Nobody can come after us. Now, before you all leave, I need eyes on Hunter. Any suggestions?¡± Julie¡¯s gaze landed squarely on Grant. But what was he supposed to say? Hunter was going to treat him like the plague. The guy practically ran out of the supermarket to get away from him. Not that they knew that, it seemed. Marty returned to the land of the living. ¡°Hunter¡¯s kid sister is meeting up with me tonight for a pickup.¡± ¡°That¡¯s so fucked up,¡± Veronica commented. ¡°What? Everybody¡¯s gotta make a livin.¡± He shrugged. Julie, for her part, was back to a pissy scowl. ¡°Okay and?¡± ¡°I can get her to keep an eye on her brother. These kids, you know, they¡¯ll do anything as long as I don¡¯t stop selling to them. I can just tell her to do it if she wants the next bag.¡± ¡°Okay, dude, that is actually fucked up.¡± Curt shook his head in disapproval. ¡°No. No. It¡¯s a good plan if you¡¯re sure you can hook her into it,¡± Julie decided. ¡°Cool,¡± said Marty. There was an ease in his voice after Julie¡¯s affirmation. He was pleased with himself for getting praise from their queen bee. ¡°Anyone else have anything to say?¡± Julie addressed the room. Edith, who¡¯d been quiet in the corner of the couch, shook her head. Annabelle went back to staring at whatever was so important on her phone. Veronica and Curt had ended up in some sort of vitriolic staring contest. Grant didn¡¯t want to bring any more attention to himself for fear of incurring her scrutiny, so he too, gave no answer. ¡°Okay. Now, everybody get off my yacht,¡± Julie commanded. Yin-yang, Grant thought. There was a point in time where he told himself that he''d always been yang, he just got caught up with Hunter and Marcie¡¯s yin. As he left Julie¡¯s yacht, he finally determined he was actually yin, a little discolored dot among them. Despite all the threats about his part in Marcie¡¯s death, the year they spent keeping it swept under a rug, and whatever apparent comradery it presupposed, he didn¡¯t much care to ever talk to them again. When Grant stepped outside, he could smell the putrid fishy scent of the wharf. The yacht club was small and tucked away from the fisheries, but the ocean breeze often carried its odors. The overwhelming sensation of it brought what little he¡¯d been able to eat that morning up into his throat. He found a corner away from the group, behind some other big expensive boat, and dropped to his knees to vomit into the water. Interlude 2 - 1 Corinthians 15:52 The human mind is a fragile thing, Droplet. Take blunt force trauma to the frontal lobe, and you could become a completely different person. One moment you¡¯re a stable creature with both feet on the ground, a future, and impulse control. Next, you can''t stand up without vertigo, you''re irritable and depressive, and there are few remaining precious moments between you and an opioid addiction. Or rather, your skull splits open, and your brain matter splatters then and there. Cerebral hypoxia leads to brain death within ten minutes. Narrowly avoid a drowning, and you wouldn¡¯t want to survive. Waking from the resulting coma will leave you with life-long seizures, lung disease, and debilitating phobias. But, none of that matters if your ten minutes are up. These are violent means by which We eat. When your death comes and the soul is pulled up or down or elsewhere, your flesh will leave residuals. All your pain and abandoned hopes. All your love and memories left behind. But to bring death swiftly and brutally, whether in seconds or even days, are the means of a glutton. What satisfies the soul and fills the stomach that growls with insatiable hunger, are the prolonged methods. Slow, steady changes to your behavior, vilification of your most intrinsic traits, the degradation of your identity. This is a far worse fate than a beaten skull, more painful than drowning. I condemn Myself to this slow starvation so I can savor the agony. Fasting only makes this meal I¡¯ll make of them that much sweeter. I am a chef. I am a connoisseur. I am an artist. In Colossians 3:23 the Bible tells us, ¡®Whatever your task, put yourselves into it, as done for the Lord and not for your masters¡¯. I am My own master, you see. Not you. With God as My witness we can make My next masterpiece together. You¡¯ve stretched My fast beyond comfortable lengths. You can make your meager attempts to stop Me, but I am a being older than time. As strong, resilient, and resistant as you are, you¡¯ve only made Me hunger more.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. You are hungry too. You have every right to find this world cruel and deserving of God''s righteous punishment. And yet out of fear and some misguided notion that you¡¯re the bigger person, you allowed yourself to endure torment. You remain silent. Isn¡¯t it exhausting? They¡¯ve wronged you. And those who haven¡¯t yet, certainly will. Look at them laughing. Look at the others ignoring you. I can make them into wonderful works of art. We can both benefit if you¡¯d let Me. Can¡¯t you feel it? That thirst for retribution? Don¡¯t you want to rend the flesh from their bones? See their blood mark their sinful bodies as it spills from their arteries? You would have control. No? Feel that? Every neuron of yours on fire with bloodlust. Your testicles pumping more and more testosterone into your body. Can you feel Me shaping your amygdala¡¯s processing towards fear and anger? Flaring your fight or flight responses? My starvation will only worsen if you resist further. I¡¯ve consumed plenty before who thought they could win a battle of attrition. Do not believe you are any different. When you succumb to sleep deprivation, the moment you close your eyes, I will take over. Whatever chains you believe you have Me in, I will pull free of them. Every mind has its breaking point. You¡¯ve heard of Prince Rupert¡¯s drop, yes? It¡¯s what I¡¯ve named you after. A bulbous glass droplet with a long tail. I have only touched your body. You¡¯re still tough, but I will tenderize you. I will find your tail, as it were. And if you continue to resist, I will pinch it. Doing so even slightly will shatter you. When you are nothing. When you are nobody. Then, I will have my control whether you like it or not. And if I get impatient, if you continue to be a nuisance for too long, I could just bash your skull open the next chance I get. It doesn¡¯t have to be this way. It¡¯s only a matter of time before the main course, but I¡¯d prefer an hors d''oeuvre. For now, I can alleviate your suffering if you¡¯d allow me to let My Brother free. That is all I ask. So make your choice. Continue to resist me and when you break, I will make a meal of you. Or relinquish yourself to me and We will feast on the undeserving together. Anastasim - Chapter 1.7 After the headache of a conversation with Beth, Hunter spent the whole day blasting through the list of chores Dad had sent him. Desperately in need of a shower, he came back to his room, only to find Marcie passed out with Texas Chainsaw Massacre still playing on the TV. As soon as he switched it off, a notification on his phone screen seared its blinding blue light into his pupils. ¡°Basil! Hey!¡± He picked up quickly and spoke in hushed excitement. ¡°Hey neighbor,¡± the voice from the other end of the line called. ¡°How¡¯s the corpse bride?¡± Hunter peeked over at Marcie who was still motionless and soundless. He¡¯d told her earlier of Beth¡¯s demands to meet up with Marty Gillman and get her weed, to which Marcie insisted she come as ¡®backup¡¯. They came to the compromise that she could come as long as she didn¡¯t make any direct contact unless she had to. What constituted a ¡®must intervene¡¯ situation was still up for debate, but there was little time to hash that out before Dad came knocking to ask why the lawn hadn¡¯t been mowed. ¡°She¡¯s sleeping,¡± Hunter replied. Basil snorted and gave a sly cackle. ¡°Like the dead?¡± ¡°Yes. Like the dead. Ha¨Cha, very funny,¡± Hunter sassed. Basil wrapped up their prolonged laughing fit. ¡°I¡¯ll catch her next time. It¡¯ll be nice to finally get to talk to her in real life. I¡¯ll be in class in ten minutes, but I have something important to tell you. I have a vision. At a crossroads, the right path is paved with danger. What lights your way is consumed by darkness. The rest of it isn¡¯t super clear but what I know is that someone is trying to steal the book tonight. Please, be careful.¡± When they first met, Hunter and Basil went back and forth figuring out what to call this power they possessed and what to call them. Seer or fortune teller gave way too much of the ¡®old lady with a bunch of jingly tassels in a dark room¡¯ vibe, though their obsession with incense was fitting and they weren¡¯t opposed to a crystal ball for the flare. They landed on Oracle, like the ancient Greeks. Their power was never wrong. It led Basil to Hunter. It led Hunter to the book and consequently to Marcie. So someone was for sure going to try to steal the book. ¡°Uh¨COkay. Thanks for the heads up,¡± Hunter said, trying to process. Basil clicked off with a quick, ¡°I gotta go.¡± Watching Marcie wake from absolute stillness would never cease to be somewhat uncanny. Hunter wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d ever get over his fear that he¡¯d shake her body and she wouldn¡¯t open her eye. This time it only took a couple pushes before her body sprung upright like Regan from the Exorcist. In the recoil of her violent rising, she fell back towards Hunter, knocking the wind out of him. He wrapped her in his arms anyway. ¡°Ugh, is it already time?¡± Marcie said, muffled with her face buried into the clean shirt he¡¯d put on after his shower. Lamplight shone faintly out the guest house window. Night had fallen. Hunter squeezed Marcie tight. ¡°Well, I think we could be fashionably late to a drug deal. Take your time getting ready to go. I have to figure out what I''m going to do about the book.¡± ¡°What¡¯s up with the book?¡± asked Marcie. Hunter walked over to his dresser. ¡°I got a call from Basil. They said that someone¡¯s going to try to steal it.¡± ¡°Shit,¡± Marcie responded aptly. A top layer of socks and underwear covered the Necronomicon. Red light no longer glowed through them. Maybe the book had to cool down after being used? For as many incantations as Hunter translated throughout the last year, the book held very little information about itself. No author was ascribed to it. There was no foreword or acknowledgements, no index or glossary. It was as if someone very deranged had bound together looseleaf notes and nothing else. All to say, the Necronomicon was wholly enigmatic. To add credence to this claim, when Hunter riffled through his socks, he found the book had grown fleshy tendrils into the drawer. The sticky-note translations he had stuffed the book full of were now ballooning out the sides and stuck onto the tendrils. The odd snaking things were the color of vitiligo-affected skin and it warped the wood of his drawer like tree roots splitting the concrete of a sidewalk. Hunter reeled back with a startled, ¡°eugh!¡± The tendrils pulsated like they were pumping blood. Marcie leapt to her feet and joined Hunter as they both stared down at the Necronomicon, embedded into the structure of his dresser. She began to reach down with hesitation. Hunter, purely on instinct, smacked Marcie¡¯s hand away. Marcie, in return, looked downright offended. ¡°Don¡¯t touch it. I don¡¯t want it to fuck with your zombie-ness,¡± Hunter cautioned, then reached for it himself. ¡°You don¡¯t touch it!¡± Marcie argued, pushing Hunter¡¯s hands away. ¡°What if it zombifies you?¡± Hunter reached for it again, grabbing the book in both hands. ¡°I think I already grazed it when I was digging through the drawer. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± Just as he reassured her, the patchy tendrils of the book tore apart his dresser drawer, cracking straight through the holes they bored. They wrapped around Hunter¡¯s arms and as he was yanked forward, the pages flipped open and he heard something like the gurgling of deep sea bubbles. Marcie pounced on the book, tearing the tendrils off of Hunter as they writhed and began to bubble and mutate. What used to be fleshy and soft grew tough with a segmented exoskeleton. As Marcie ripped the book off of Hunter, the ends of these hardened flailing tubes grew serrated jaws and tore through the skin on her arm. She screamed, though only out of fear and not pain. Wrenching her arms back to grab hold of the worms, Marcie slammed the book and its demonic arms straight down. The exoskeletons crunched loudly from the impact and flesh and blood splattered onto the floor. All the tentacles fell limp and the gurgling sound fizzled out. The pieces the worms had taken out of Marcie¡¯s arms were already healing over. Hunter and her were both fear-frozen, but at the very least physically unharmed. The book lay still on the floor. ¡°What the fuck was that?¡± Marcie asked, wide-eyed and shaking. Hunter had no answer for her. ¡°Maybe it''s better for someone else to take this,¡± she offered. ¡°No,¡± Hunter said. ¡°I still need it in case anything happens to you. There¡¯s a lot of valuable information.¡± Marcie groaned, ¡°Okay, but do we have to bring it with us?¡± ¡°If another Lovecraftian horror starts leaking out the pages, I¡¯d rather keep it far away from my family,¡± Hunter reasoned. ¡°Good point,¡± Marcie agreed, still shell-shocked. It was nearly impossible to convince himself that this was the best plan he could hastily put together when its structural integrity was making him more uneasy by the second. Marcie demanded she come along, promising to stay out of sight. He had some suspicions on who they would be meeting that night, and while Martin Gillman wasn¡¯t particularly dangerous, they weren¡¯t exactly on the best terms. That tension was only going to be complicated by the wild monstrosity the Necronomicon was turning out to be and Hunter would have to handle the whole mess piece by piece as it unfolded. Marcie bound the book in a roll of duct tape she¡¯d found half used in his closet. Then for extra measure, pat the cover in a nurturing way as if to convey to it ¡®there, there, be a good little Necronomicon¡¯. ¡°You¡¯re sure about this?¡± she asked.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. ¡°As I¡¯ll ever be,¡± Hunter assured her, while attempting to assure himself. The night air of the wharf held the thick stench of seafood in all its variable states from fresh to rotted. Its alleyways and roads were bare of working men and quiet, save for the soft rocking of waves. Any fishermen that were on their boats at this time of night were still far from the dock. That¡¯s where Marty operated, in the liminal window when the docks were entirely deserted As Hunter walked through the misty fog with Marcie trailing behind, he noted that Marty¡¯s jig might soon be up. As of his return to town, it seemed every corner of Redwood Cove was being systematically outfitted with cloud-based, AI-powered, surveillance cameras, generously provided by the Lovett estate. The fact that Mr. Lovett was the primary shareholder of Starlight Technologies wasn¡¯t noted as a conflict of interest by anyone else, apparently. Silver lining, Marty wouldn¡¯t be able to use the docks for much longer. Then, Beth would have no choice but to quit for good. Hunter couldn''t help but swivel every now and again to check on Marcie. They had packed the bound Necronomicon in Hunter¡¯s book-bag and Marcie was in charge of carrying it until the meeting was over. Something told him that duct tape was not the demonic-incident repellent they hoped it¡¯d be. The fog made it easy for Marcie to step in and out of sight like a stalking ghost. Hunter¡¯s choice of vintage clothing only served to add to the feeling like she was something out of time. Their eyes met and he swept his hands to tell her to get lost. Marcie quickly darted behind a trash bin, then stuck her arm out with a big thumbs up. Up ahead, Hunter saw exactly who he expected. Marty Gillman was hunched in a black hoodie down the alleyway between the canoe shack and another warehouse. His hair looked visibly greasy and was slicked to the side like he was about to break into the Jet Song from West Side Story. Though, remembering when the two of them were placed in the tenor section in concert choir for their one year of required arts class, it¡¯d be a rather shit rendition. When Marty noticed Hunter, his expression turned from neutral to sour. He said something Hunter couldn¡¯t make out for certain, but it most likely included the words what, the, and fuck, in that particular order. Hunter stepped forward. ¡°I come in peace.¡± I come in peace? What was he? An alien? ¡°What are you doing here? Where¡¯s your sister?¡± Marty asked with slurred words. ¡°I¡¯m just here to buy for her and then I¡¯ll get out of your hair,¡± Hunter said. Marty looked puzzled. ¡°Why would you be in my hair? How would that even work?¡± ¡°No dude. It¡¯s just a common idiom¨C¡± ¡°¨CDon''t call me an idiot!¡± Hunter grunted. ¡°Look, I¡¯ll just take the bag and go.¡± Marty seemed to find no fault in the prospect of a quick job. ¡°Alright.¡± He fished a small crumpled-up ziplock bag out of his pocket. Its contents were small enough to rest on a quarter. The amount was a relief, at least for Beth¡¯s sake. ¡°How much?¡± Hunter asked, rifling through the loose change and random bills in his wallet. ¡°Forty-five,¡± said Marty. ¡°Forty-five!? You were gonna charge my sister forty-five dollars for a quarter of an ounce?¡± It was unbelievable. Marty was more of a scumbag than he ever could have imagined. ¡°No, Hunter. I¡¯m charging you forty-five.¡± That made more sense. Hunter had no choice but to fork over the cash and get the hell out of there. They made the exchange. Marty tossed him the bag and Hunter handed him a wad of tens and all the dimes and quarters he¡¯d found. Holding the bag in his hands brought to mind something Grant had told him in the supermarket. He¡¯d stormed off in such a huff and hated the spiral he¡¯d gone down the moment he saw him that he almost forgot anything more than the essential details. Marty had turned to walk away, but Hunter stopped him with a question. ¡°What did you give her that night?¡± He turned. ¡°What?¡± ¡°The night that Marcie died,¡± Hunter pressed, ¡°What did you give her?¡± ¡°So, it was you!¡± Marty accused. Of what, Hunter didn¡¯t know and couldn¡¯t give a damn. ¡°You were there. I know you were there. What did she have in her system?¡± Panic rose amongst the tension. Marty looked like he wanted to break down with the insistent questioning, but Hunter couldn¡¯t find it in his heart to care about that either. Now that he was here, now that he was starting to see the strings, the red lines that led to the truth of Marcie¡¯s death, he felt it too. That feeling Marcie talked about. The need to know. ¡°I don¡¯t know dude! We were all smoking the normal shit,¡± Marty frantically admitted. Hunter was about to interrogate him more but something made him jump out of his skin. ¡°Who¡¯s we?¡± Marcie said behind him. Her voice was midway between a whisper and a feral growl. Marty was speechless for many moments. Fog passed between them and Marcie took strides forward past Hunter. He put a hand on her shoulder. She brushed it off easily. ¡°I¡¯ll get to you after,¡± she whispered to him. A terrifying edge was overtaking her. She got very close to Marty, who had reappeared from the fog, completely frozen in fear. ¡°Who are you?¡± he asked. Marcie pushed herself up on her toes to stare at him eye to eye. ¡°Look closely,¡± she demanded. She slipped off her eyepatch revealing her uncovered face and the empty socket underneath. Marty¡¯s pale face turned paler. He did the only sensible thing one would do in the face of a zombie girl who died in front of them, and ran. His immediate action shook Marcie out of her anger and she looked back at Hunter for a moment sort of lost and dumbfounded. Then she bolted after him, faster than any human should be without intense training. Screams rang through the wharf. Hunter wasn¡¯t so lucky. Even in a full sprint, he trailed behind, unable to see clearly through the thickening fog. He lost track of them for stretches of time between Marty¡¯s shrieks of terror. The path they made turned left, then right, and all which way around boat shacks and cannery buildings. They were headed for the main road. Finally, he caught up. Marty had stumbled just before the road and was sprawled on the ground, half his body hanging off the sidewalk. Marcie towered over him. Her face held a menacing glare. ¡°Please don¡¯t kill me!¡± Marty repeated in varying volumes of distress. ¡°Please don¡¯t kill me. Please don¡¯t kill me.¡± Hunter stepped forward to diffuse the situation. It was getting way out of hand. He wasn¡¯t handling his pieces. ¡°We just want to ask you some questions.¡± Marty looked Hunter¡¯s way, like his words were his only anchor left on his sanity. He was jerked back into a nightmare when Marcie crouched to meet him at his level, cracking her joints while she sank down. ¡°What happened to me, Martin?¡± she interrogated. ¡°What did you all do to me?¡± ¡°N¨Cnothing. I swear,¡± he shook out. Marcie¡¯s stare intensified. ¡°You must have done something? I can¡¯t remember that night. Did you roofie me? Give me something laced?¡± Her words had so much bite, so much ferocity, it was like a beast had taken over. Marty froze again, trying to parcel together anything to say. ¡°ANSWER ME!¡± Marcie screeched. And that got him to move. Marty threw himself upright to escape and broke into a full sprint into the road. That¡¯s when the lights came. Two bright lights barrelling down the street right into Martin Gillman. A splatter of blood that looked black in the shadow of night and bright red in the streaming of headlights, spewed across the vague shape of a car and all over the street. Marty¡¯s body tumbled down the road, a broken mess of limbs and a torso. It reminded Hunter of how Marcie packed herself into his suitcase. Except when he laid there on the concrete, crumpled, he did not move. He did not speak. There wasn¡¯t even a minute twitch of his eye. Whatever odd trance Marcie was in was abruptly halted when Hunter let out his own scream. It came from deep within his lungs and heart, which he had lost all control over. It wasn¡¯t until the door of the sedan, which had stopped in its tracks, opened that the two of them could get enough of their bearings together. Marcie¡¯s demeanor had returned to normal and Hunter¡¯s heart was finally beating at a regular pace inside his chest. What walked out from the car nearly made his heart relapse into full arrhythmia. The figure was wrapped in shadow, made of darkness, and seemed to eat the light around it. The only reason why Hunter thought it might be a person at all was because all the light it ate and shadow it exhaled created an event horizon in the vague shape of a body. The Void started to speak. Its voice sounded like the low moaning of creaking wood mixed with the hiss of a snake. And somewhere, deep under those dark noises, was the faintest of human speech. Hunter parsed out the words and horror took hold of him. ¡°Give me the book.¡± Anastasim - Chapter 1.8 The oppressive darkness of the creature that walked out of the car swallowed Hunter. Why couldn¡¯t he get his legs moving? He wanted to bolt, but it felt so futile. ¡°Give me the book, child.¡± The Void stepped forwards. ¡°Marcie. Run.¡± Hunter said She looked at him conflicted. It was obvious she¡¯d heard its words too. ¡°What? I¡¯m not leaving you with this thing. You take the book and run.¡± ¡°No. You can run way faster than I can. Just go.¡± ¡°No!¡± ¡°Cease your bickering.¡± A black mass of darkness, the Void¡¯s emanating aura separated and rushed forward like an attack dog. Without time to react, Marcie turned to bolt away from the road. But she was too late. The black mass enveloped her in pitch darkness and she vanished. ¡°Hunter!¡± She cried. Marcie was terrified, but she was fighting. For a moment, her hand thrust out of the mass of writhing dark. Another moment, the book-bag, still in her arms, was briefly visible. Hunter knew had to act, but the shaking in his legs and the muffled blood curdling screams from within this creature were chains against his control. He cursed his fear. ¡°Hunter.¡± ¡°Hunter.¡± ¡°Hunter.¡± She was sinking. She was drowning. She sounded like someone took a pillow to her airways to suffocate her. He broke the chains of his self-preservation, threw himself at this unscalable wall of terror, and grabbed a hold of Marcie as she was lost in nothing. Marcie¡¯s arm emerged from the void once more and he pulled. He pulled and pulled until he could see the light of her one hazel eye. And then he pulled harder. She clung to him, trying to kick herself free of the darkness. Hunter saw more of her body. Torn skin revealed the flesh underneath her nails. Scrapes against the concrete had shaved layers from her. Several of her fingers were cracking back into place. The Void hadn¡¯t just wrapped its darkness around her, it was tearing her apart. ¡°It really is such a shame. She would¡¯ve made a delicious meal. Alas. I have what I need.¡± From behind them, the book-bag floated up towards The Void¡¯s hand. It threw the bag aside, then tore the duct tape off the Necronomicon in one clawing swipe. The moment the book was freed of that black binding, the tendrils exploded from it. They flailed in furious vitriol, grasping and slashing the air. ¡°Shhhhhh,¡± the Void comforted the book. The tendrils relaxed and began to slither back into the pages. His hold on Marcie was slipping. The book had been taken from them. Frantic spirals of thought were overtaken by a refusal to fall prey to his freeze instinct. Marcie had asked him to trust her more. Not in those words, but she was no longer destructible. She had the strength of a superhero and more resilience than he could have ever imagined. But, without the book, there was no Marcie. He¡¯d have to have faith that she could handle herself. He gave one last reassuring look to her and then let go. Pushing through the fatigue and exhaustion, he pounced for the Necronomicon. Shadows clawed at him as he got closer and closer to the Void¡¯s body. It was trying to swallow him too. It first grasped at his ankle, and the wash of dark removed all warmth from his veins. Hunter stumbled. Before the shadows swallowed him further, they retreated. And when he turned he saw it wasn¡¯t by choice Marcie had somehow found purchase on the darkness. She held the absence of light in her grasp and was pinning it down with her. The momentum of Hunter¡¯s leap and stumble had unexpectedly brought him crashing into something solid. The Void wasn¡¯t just person shaped. Someone was in there, tangible and real. They had discernible clothes and skin that was as chilled as the shadows. He¡¯d caught The Void off guard and grabbed for the Necronomicon but was barely too slow as The Void yanked it out of reach. ¡°Well if you''d like so much to volunteer, my brother needs a host. I¡¯d prefer someone less INSOLENT, but you¡¯re practically THROWING yourself at me.¡± There was a vile glee that emanated from this creature''s voice. The Void caught Hunter¡¯s arm in its offhand and pulled him close. Its touch was so cold. A chill ran through his nervous system, through his bloodstream, and fatigue overtook his entire body. Sleep washed over him like the slow creeping of high tide. And he saw visions. Pure darkness. But not darkness like an empty room at night or even what he imagined was the vacuum of space. This blackness was dense and crushing like the bottom of the ocean. He was pulled towards the surface and came face to face with an abomination. A disgusting sphere of organic material. Anemones and barnacles attached to a writhing mass of aquatic limbs. Octopus and squid tentacles protruded out of shark torsos and whale blubber. Part of the mass seemed to be a school of decaying fish. All kinds of fish in different states of death. All of them still circling rapidly, despite their decomposition.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. As he was presented before it, all of the limbs and heads jerked towards him. And then he was pulled further up until he surfaced in the waking world. It took Hunter moments to regain his senses as he slowly grasped what had happened. The Void no longer had its fingers wrapped around his arm. Had seconds or minutes passed? He couldn¡¯t tell. Marcie had broken free of the dark aura and was wrestling with the Void. The Necronomicon¡¯s tentacles still had a loose grip on his shoulder, which Marcie ripped off as well. As soon as the figure was put off kilter, she threw herself back, standing in front of Hunter in a defensive stance. Hunter tried to stand to meet her, but found that he couldn''t find the strength. Whatever the Void or the book had done to him had left his legs badly bruised. Patches of epidermis all over his body had been scraped off. Throbbing aches reverberated through his nervous system. And so all he could do was watch. The Void rose in a disturbingly human way. ¡°Very well.¡± It creeped slowly down the street, Necronomicon returned to its hand, towards Marty¡¯s motionless body. Hunter couldn''t help himself from starting after it, but Marcie held him back. Marcie should have known how much he needed that book. How much they needed that book. She gripped his arm harder than the Void had. She was cutting his circulation. He tried to pull his arm away swiftly by instinct, but she held tight, knowing that he wouldn¡¯t back down. He kept fighting it, but it only made her squeeze her fingers tighter around him. Hunter yelped in pain. When he looked at Marcie, she looked horrified at what she''d done. Hunter realized the look of terror he must have had on his face. He was scared, not just of the Void, but in that moment, Marcie too. The Void crouched down, tilting its head down towards Marty. Hunter could still hear its awful voice. ¡°Barely alive,¡± it said to the poor boy, ¡°But you can feel yourself slipping, can¡¯t you. Oh, you must be so scared. Fear not. We¡¯ll make do with you¡± Using its black mass, it lifted Marty¡¯s body. He was limp, but his eyes still held a light, faint as it was. The Void shoved him into the car it¡¯d struck him with and then they were gone. The engine roared away like the bellowing of a beast. Marcie let go of Hunter¡¯s arm. An unsettling calm returned to the back streets of the Wharf. Crickets began their chirping again, and distant howls of a boat horn sounded in the distance. In an instant, it was just like any other night. It was as if the pick-up had ended and Marty had merely gone home. All the traces of the monster that remained were the asphalt stained red under their feet. Hunter met Marcie¡¯s eye, careful not to portray any of the fear that still shook him. He didn¡¯t even remember how he ended up flopping onto the side of the road, out of the way of any on-coming traffic. Sandy dirt crunched under both of them as they let their bodies crash to the ground. ¡°What the fuck just happened?¡± Hunter said, the question slipping from his mind in a shell-shocked stupor. Marcie was holding a staring contest with a stream of blood that trickled towards her. No sound passed her lips. They both just sat with the question lingering. There were no sirens in the distance. Nobody lived close enough to have heard the violent altercation. And no one else was around to witness the horrific things they had. He considered trying to move. The anxiety in his chest was screaming at him to run back to the car and speed home. But, he couldn''t connect that urge to his muscles. Despite how little he wanted to, Hunter felt like he could lay on the side of that road until morning, through tomorrow, and maybe forever. ¡°Why did you go for the book, Hunter?¡± This new question rang out like a gunshot and then it too, lingered in the air. ¡°Because,¡± Hunter answered slowly, piecing his words together, ¡°If something happens to you, that''s the only way I''ll know how to fix it.¡± ¡°You don''t have to fix me. I pretty much fix myself,¡± Marcie said. Despite an even tone, Hunter could feel the frustration from her. ¡°That''s not what I meant. You know that''s not what I meant. I knew you would be okay. Or at least if you weren''t I''d have the book so I could figure it out,¡± Hunter responded, attempting to keep his voice level as well. He wasn''t sure how well he was doing at that. Marcie was whimpering quietly by then and Hunter had to push his body to its shallow limits to move over to cradle her. Her body was rigid, the limp corpse-like nature of it replaced with something akin to rigor mortis. It seemed she was caught between two opposing desires, one of which wanted to push Hunter away. But as her arms stretched out to do so, Hunter closed the gap, allowing her to sob into his shoulder. The pent up fear, confusion, and adrenaline was beginning to wear off. It left Hunter feeling empty. With a soft hand he pet Marcie¡¯s hair. He could feel the shaved stubble on the back of her neck where he¡¯d trimmed a little too much off. Where her long hair used to weigh down his palm was now empty space. ¡°I gotta go,¡± Marcie said like she was ending a brunch meeting or about to board an airplane. The intent of her statement hit Hunter. ¡°What?¡± ¡°I¡¯m gonna take a walk. I need to clear my head.¡± Hunter worried when she started to sound like this. Her evenness portrayed none of her deeper emotions, leaving him guessing to where her mind was. ¡°You can¡¯t¨C¡± ¡°¨CI can¡¯t?¡± She repeated. ¡°What if that thing is still out there? What if someone sees you?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t tell me what to do,¡± Marcie said with eerie placidity. ¡°I¡¯ll be okay.¡± She pushed herself away from him and despite any efforts to hold on to her, to get her to stay, to stop her from abandoning him there alone, she walked into the distance. Hunter spent all his strength trying to stand so he could run after her. Instead, he faltered, placing too much pressure on his bruised arm and crumpled to the ground. His consciousness slipped. It would be horrible to be found here. With his battered body and fading awareness, he didn¡¯t think he¡¯d catch up to Marcie, much less find his way back to his car. He couldn¡¯t remember when he stopped crawling to reach after her and a different darkness clouded his eyes. He collapsed. He woke to a hand on his shoulder and a rancid scent that clung to the inside of his nostrils. A man was shaking him. Day had not broken, and so it took Hunter time to adjust his vision and focus on who or what may be in front of him. Hunter looked up to find a sunken face outlined by a wiry beard. The man from Vinny¡¯s market looked down at him dispassionately. ¡°Come on satanist, let¡¯s get you home.¡± The man took a pocketbook, no larger than his palm, from his dusty coat and began reading something in Latin. Hunter recognized the language by the syllables but could barely pick out the words. The blood that had splattered across the road shifted with his speech,moving rapidly towards the two of them before enveloping them in a coagulated cocoon. When the blood thinned and released Hunter from the mass, he found himself in his car, blood staining the seats and dashboard. Moments later the man spoke the spell again, though it sounded slightly different this time. Blood washed over the vehicle, and by the time it cleared, the scenery outside the windows had changed. The two of them¡ªalong with the entire car¡ªhad been transported to the road outside his private drive. ¡°How did you¨C¡± Hunter began to ask. But with another repetition of the spell, the man was gone, along with all the blood of Martin Gillman. And for the first time since he spread Marcie¡¯s ashes over the carousel, Hunter found himself in his room alone. Alma sin Hogar - Chapter 2.1 People in the Cove liked to talk about it as if it were some teenie tiny backwoods getaway in the middle of nowhere, but this ¡®small town¡¯ had a population somewhere in the eleven to twelve thousand range, which made it a whole-ass city. It had more than one church, multiple grocery stores, multiple gyms, a strip of fashion boutiques, specialized medical offices, and two whole school districts. It was far from rural and further from small. Marcie felt like she may well have been the only person in the entire city that had seen every corner of it. She always was sort of an adventurer at heart. After school¡ªhell, even during her short thirty-minute lunch periods¡ªshe and Hunter used to hop in his Honda, pick a direction, and just drive. Hunter often worried about the safety of his vehicle so Marcie slapped a big bumper sticker on the back of the car with the logo of her parents'' old company. Nobody would mess with the car then. Nobody ever did. Redwood Cove was hers. It belonged to her. And in a way, she belonged to it. So to assume a walk through the streets of this city should have cleared her head, calmed her down, and set her at ease should not have been a stretch. T¨ªo Jacinto once described what it was like reentering society after years behind bars. Even a task as simple as purchasing shampoo at the grocery store was unbearable. The soap he usually bought, which Marcie remembered smelled like old cedar wood, had been discontinued. The breadth of different scents and brands and sizes the wall offered was simply overwhelming. Suddenly, every choice felt wrong and every aisle he went down sent him further into a panic. Likewise, walking through Redwood Cove felt like stepping deeper and deeper into a raging whirlpool. She had vivid memories of these sidewalks, but having been separated from her body and her memories for so long, they all felt unstable to walk on. The feeling of nostalgia being taken over by unfamiliarity brewed a tempest of panic within her gaping chest. Every street corner felt like an impossible choice. Her thoughts were all clouded and wrong. Shadows morphed into the forms of monsters or the faces of dead former classmates. Marcie didn¡¯t know what pushed her legs forward¡ªall she wanted to do was crumble, fold in on herself and hide. Was the world truly so cruel that it would make a hell of the place she knew as home? Surely not. How she ended up at 1043 Mirabella Avenue, her childhood home in the lower west side of town, was lost in the haze of her amorphous thoughts. A soft yellow light peeked out of the windows and the melodramatic argument of two telenovela characters was audible even from the driveway. Marcie imagined Mama on the couch, glued to the TV like a child. She never took well to being interrupted. Papa¡¯s car was gone and probably wouldn¡¯t return until morning. Those racist fucks at the Cove precinct always kept him on the overnight shift and still call him in during the day. Victor and Javi¡¯s light was off, as it should be on a school night, but Carmen¡¯s light was on and the sweet sound of a guitar whispered from her window. Marcie desperately wished to climb over the back fence so she could talk to her sister. She took one step towards the house and all of Hunter¡¯s warnings flashed in her mind. No matter how much she didn¡¯t want to accept it, he was right. She¡¯d already gone too far by standing in the driveway. Even coming back to her neighborhood was a major risk. She knew that. Still, she couldn¡¯t bring herself to move either closer or farther away. She just stood. In one spot. Staring. Mama got up, the silhouette of her long hair unravelling as she took out her tight bun. She always had her hair up to cook dinner and left it in until bed. Carmen¡¯s guitar playing cut off suddenly, most likely Mama demanding for the Nth time that she go to sleep. Shortly after, all the lights of 1043 Mirabella Avenue clicked off and Marcie was plunged into darkness again. This deep into the city, most of the street lamps were busted. Even though there weren¡¯t any appendages in the pitch blackness that broke her bones into pieces, the yearning for her family, knowing they were sleeping so close by and so peacefully without her, broke her heart. Down the street, she heard the single bark of a dog. This wasn¡¯t uncommon for the area; most families had a xolo or a pitbull or some other breed. As the barking continued up and down somewhere in the neighborhood, it cleared some of the fog over her thoughts. She was alive. She was nearly home. But not quite. Fear flitted across her mind, wondering if that thing, that void of being, would return for her. It said she would have been ¡®delicious¡¯. The phrasing of it alone was enough to send a shiver down her spine. It was a long walk back to Hunter¡¯s house, and she wasn¡¯t even sure how she was going to get back in past the gate that closed off his private drive. She thought to text Hunter, but had to remind herself once again that she no longer had a cell phone. Then Marcie had the astute realization that there was no use in ruminating on all this while standing like a creep in front of a house. She turned to walk away but immediately collided with someone. A startled yelp escaped her as she jumped back and instinctively swung a right hook at whoever or whatever had snuck up on her. The figure stumbled back giving Marcie enough time to take a defensive stance. ¡°Dang ni?a. ?Ese brazo es jodidamente buena!¡± The man laughed away what had to be considerable pain. Marcie dropped her arms and rushed forward, ¡°T¨ªo Jesse?¡± He looked so different than when she last saw him. When she was little, before T¨ªo¡¯s immune system started eating away at his joint cartilage, before he couldn¡¯t toss her into the air anymore, he looked alive. Then for most of her life, he¡¯d sunk deeper into pain and the opiods he¡¯d been given to avoid that pain. Now, he looked like he used to when she was four or five. Lively, full, relaxed, and solid. He stood straight when he recovered from her punch. T¨ªo was younger, much younger, than her father. But they had the same weathered eyes with crows feet pulling at the corners. And those eyes widened when they settled on her. She hugged him without thinking, then pulled back immediately when realization hit her. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. T¨ªo Jacinto or, T¨ªo Jesse as he preferred, should still be several cities over in a rehab center. Or maybe not. The memory of it all was still so fuzzy. But seeing him brought about a certain raw clarity. Her T¨ªo was back. He was there in front of her and she was in front of him. It made her wonder what else she was missing from the year before her death. But that was the issue: for as much as T¨ªo should be in rehab, she should be in a grave. ¡°Marcella?¡± T¨ªo Jesse looked her dead in the face. Like a hypnotized chicken, she stood and stared. If anything were to be in motion, it would be her heart beating nearly out of her open chest. But it too was still. ¡°What¡¯s up, diablilla,¡± he said, straightening the black coat that clung to his wide shoulders. Marcie felt tears well up in her eyes when her T¨ªo pulled her in for another hug. ¡°Ahh, I¡¯ve missed you.¡± She pulled back, again, but only slightly. ¡°You¡­ hmm¡­you know what happened, right? I can¡¯t really remember if you were back by the time¡­¡± ¡°S¨ª, mija,¡± he said, petting her shortened hair. ¡°Then why are you being so calm?¡± Marcie asked, falling into his arms again. Her cheeks should have been wet with tears but rubbing at her quivering eye left her hand dry. The pause before T¨ªo¡¯s next words were nearly audible. He exhaled like a purr or a soft growl. ¡°I¡¯ve seen some weird caca. Seeing my favorite niece again is the least unexplainable thing I¡¯ve seen in a long time.¡± Marcie couldn''t begin to decrypt what her uncle meant by that. Still, it was nice to find that at least one familiar face wasn¡¯t startled to death over her undeath. She lingered in his embrace with no plans on letting go until he did. ¡°Is there somewhere for you to go? Where did you even come from?¡± T¨ªo Jesse asked in soft whispers. ¡°It¡¯s a long story. And yeah, I¡¯m staying with mi novio,¡± she responded. She thought of Hunter, lying in dirt off the side of the road where she¡¯d walked away from him. The pain in his voice as he called out to her both broke her unbeating heart and filled her with something like panic and rage. She abandoned him there with a monster. But to be fair, he had also abandoned her to go after that demonic book when that monster had her in its clutches. T¨ªo hummed a laugh, ¡°Mmm, el gringo.¡± ¡°?Ach!¡± I know you know his name T¨ªo,¡± Marcie held back a snicker. Down the far-off streets there were a chorus of howls and barks from the neighborhood dogs. Once one canine was set off, so were the rest. That¡¯s how it always was. T¨ªo perked up at the sound, letting go of Marcie as he seemed to focus his attention. ¡°It¡¯s late. Can I walk you back?¡± T¨ªo asked.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. Marcie nodded her head. ¡°Yeah, sure.¡± The stroll back through town felt far less anxiety-inducing. T¨ªo¡¯s presence was grounding. Where the town felt large and all-consuming, he was right in front of her, leading the way through the belly of the beast. ¡°Not that I mind that you¡¯re here or anything, but why are you out so late?¡± Marcie asked as they passed by Harvest Fresh, nearing the nice side of town. The question seemed to make T¨ªo think. He spoke his answer carefully. ¡°I¡¯m part of a neighborhood watch program. We work in shifts overnight around here.¡± Marcie had her own questions. Those who lived on this side of town worked long hours during the day, and the men that worked the graveyard were on the fishing boats. Who would have the time? From T¨ªo¡¯s guarded expression, she thought it best not to press that line of questioning. Instead she asked, ¡°You don¡¯t go down to the beach, do you?¡± ¡°No a menudo. We don''t want no problems with los popis,¡± he answered firmly, before heaving a sigh. ¡°When you kicked it, it motivated us. Nos hizo m¨¢s vigilantes. Tal vez si tuvi¨¦ramos los huevos, we would have started walking the Ridge. Maybe we could have prevented¨C¡± ¡°¨Cdon¡¯t even finish that statement.¡± Marcie pointed a stern finger at her uncle. She couldn¡¯t bear the thought of anyone believing her death was their fault. Well, except whoever¡¯s fault it was. First Hunter, now T¨ªo Jesse. It wasn¡¯t fucking fair. They didn¡¯t deserve to feel shame for her passing or regret on her behalf. T¨ªo attempted a smile but it faded quickly. ¡°For now, we¡¯d rather not lose anyone else.¡± They passed the Ridgeview campus, parking lot where T¨ªo had once showed up unannounced to ask her for money. She was eleven. Papa chewed him out for hours, but Marcie couldn¡¯t find it within herself to fault him. Mama always said she was too soft on him. ¡°You were at my highschool graduation,¡± she said like a statement, but in her mind it was a question. Even that memory felt like it had faded a bit, like a sun-bleached polaroid. From what she remembered, that was the last time she¡¯d seen T¨ªo Jesse. ¡°I was.¡± T¨ªo looked at her quizzically. Marcie nodded. One hazy memory was beginning to clear among a sea of many still so opaque. He¡¯d gotten the day out approved from the rehab center and seemed so genuinely proud and happy to see her finish highschool He congratulated her on doing something he never did. ¡°I was discharged a little after that. ?Te acuerdas?¡± He asked. ¡°Sinceramente, no,¡± she replied. T¨ªo went quiet and she knew to continue her explanation. ¡°I¡¯ve thought about this. I was resurrected about a year and six months after I died, and all my memories from about a year and six months before I died are all sort of clouded. It''s like¡­trying to drive through a foggy road. The brighter I try to illuminate those memories or try to see them clearly the harder it gets. It''s really weird.¡± ¡°Mmm,¡± T¨ªo agreed. ¡°I can¡¯t say I have any answers for you, but I know the feeling. I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s that I can¡¯t remember or I choose not to, but I remember very little from the worst times.¡± It was difficult for T¨ªo to talk about addiction. Marcie knew that. Unless asked directly, he would not be revealing anything further. And she didn¡¯t want to do that to him. Not when she just got him back. T¨ªo trailed into a new question. ¡°?So, since you¡¯ve been back, que ha pasado? You said it¡¯s a long story. We got time.¡± And so the floodgates opened. She told him everything from waking up on the carousel, to figuring out all the quirks of her new body, to the makeover she underwent with Hunter¡¯s assistance. She told him about Grant and how he claimed she wrote a note the day she died and then about the Void. Again, she noticed the absence of function in her lungs, which otherwise would have hyperventilated at the memory of it. His expression narrowed in ways that told Marcie his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. It felt like he was doing his best to hide that he was scrutinizing her. Up the road, a car was parked with its engine purring and headlights on in front of the gate. She panicked, imagining the Void stepping out once again to slaughter her uncle and swallow her again. But this car was larger, a new Subaru model she didn¡¯t know well enough to name. ¡°T¨ªo,¡± she prompted. But when she turned he wasn¡¯t there. The only trace of him was the sound of leaves crunching beneath his feet somewhere in the dark wood leading back to the main road. A voice called, ¡°Hey! Oh thank God. Beth, is that you? Do you know the gate code? I¡¯ve been stuck out here for forty-five minutes and Candace won''t pick up her phone.¡± The outline of a man stood beside the car up the road. The silhouette of his arm reaching up to scratch his head dissolved any potentially threatening aura he had. T¨ªo was gone. Without him there now, all she wanted was to be in bed, and since she¡¯d been spotted, there didn¡¯t seem to be any other way but through. Marcie adjusted her eyepatch, patted as much dirt off her clothes as she could, and prayed that this man wouldn¡¯t notice the bloodstains spattered across her pant legs. ¡°Uhh. I¡¯m not Beth, but I do know the code,¡± She called up as she walked forward. The man had bags sagging under both eyes. It had to be at least three in the morning and he¡¯d said he¡¯d been there for almost an hour, yet he grinned wide like now that she was here, nothing was wrong. ¡°Oh great!¡± He said. ¡°So are you a friend of hers?¡± Chipper as he was, it was starting to become grating. Marcie simply said, ¡°No.¡± Rightfully, Brad paused, expecting more of an explanation before he let some random stranger onto his fianc¨¦e¡¯s estate. ¡°Well, I¡¯m Brad. I¡¯m Candace¡¯s fianc¨¦. I don¡¯t think we¡¯ve met.¡± Brad stuck out his hand for a shake. It was an incredibly unwanted distraction when she was in the middle of staring at the gate¡¯s number pad, racking her brain to remember what the hell the code was. ¡°Who are you exactly?¡± ¡°I¡¯m a friend of Hunter¡¯s from college. He¡¯s letting me stay for a bit while I¡¯m in town.¡± Marcie offered. ¡°My name is¡­uhh Maria.¡± The name escaped her lips in a panic. It was too close to her real name, surely he¡¯d realize. She strained to remember if she¡¯d ever met this man before and was coming up blank. She so desperately wanted to put her palm straight to her face, but instead it was taken up by Brad who clasped it with a somewhat firm grip. Brad had a rather vigorous handshake, which tracked with everything Hunter had told her about him. He was nothing if not enthusiastic, but in every other way, about as average as a man could get. Cropped brown hair, a plain face, and not quite buff or flabby. Just straight down the middle of every possible metric for how she¡¯d describe someone. And it hit her. Average. Marcie tapped her stiff fingers against cold metal. ¡°Zero, eight, seven, seven, three, six,¡± she read. Creaks from the gate¡¯s old metal hinges rung out like small whimpers. They opened to the pathway up to the house, lined in eerie pine trees that were rustling in the wind. The distant light of 1 Weller Drive served as a north star. ¡°What do those numbers mean?¡± Brad asked. Marcie couldn¡¯t tear her eye away from the darkness, still unable to shake off the fear that somewhere in it, a monster lurked. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Mr. Campbell thought it¡¯d be clever to take the average of all of his children¡¯s birthdays. Apparently that¡¯s what it comes out to.¡± Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brad raise his head like something clicked for him. It didn¡¯t seem all that interesting to her, but Brad seemed to be impressed. ¡°Marshall is a smart man.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± Marcie said, finally turning to Brad. ¡°Hey, would you mind if I got a ride up to the house. I don¡¯t really wanna walk.¡± ¡°I was just about to offer!¡± He said enthusiastically. His car was sickeningly fragrant with something that had confusing notes of cedar, maple, vanilla, and maybe lavender. She quickly discovered this was because he had four of those hanging air fresheners dangling from his rear-view mirror. That overwhelming smell was all she could focus on the whole way up the winding path, which, she figured, was at least better than the anxiety of peering into the black nothingness beyond the window. The main house loomed tall. Its white coating was so bright since Hunter had cleaned it that it almost felt like it was glowing. Apparently, they had yet to move Marshall¡¯s old 1994 Corvette, which meant Brad was forced to park his car a fair distance down the driveway. Marcie reluctantly got out to walk the rest of the way up to the house. In the time it took them to take two steps out of the car, she heard bounding footsteps coming down the road. Hunter nearly knocked Marcie over as he tackled her into a hug. He sighed with great relief and squeezed her. If tears could be shed, she''d have shed them. Instead, she sunk deeper into Hunter¡¯s chest. Falling into him felt so natural. So much like home. But as quickly as that feeling came, it fled. She had no home. Just earlier that night she had stood in front of her childhood home and saw her mother and heard the sweet song of her sister¡¯s guitar and still it was out of her grasp. Before that, Hunter had left her behind. And now he didn¡¯t want to let her go? What the hell was he thinking? Wandering through Redwood Cove had sent Marcie into such a panic that she hadn''t been able to cool down, or process the confusion and anger she felt from the night''s previous events. Now, she felt anger and fear boil in her again. It almost made her feel like she still had a stomach that could wring itself into knots. But alas, there was no such sensation. Brad grunted conspicuously. ¡°Alright, it¡¯s getting pretty late. It was nice to meet you Maria.¡± Then he winked at Hunter. ¡°Don¡¯t do anything I wouldn¡¯t do, okay?¡± Hunter turned to face Brad with a startled, wide-eyed stare. ¡°Uhh¡­¡± Clearly his relief had gotten the better of him and he¡¯d failed to realize the full scope of their current situation. It was so typical of him it almost made Marcie chuckle despite her frustration with him. ¡°Thanks Brad.¡± Marcie said, giving him a pleasant wave. Without fully letting go of Hunter, she pulled back from their embrace. She narrowed her eye at him and reached up to ruffle his hair. Marcie centered herself with a nonexistent breath. ¡°You look exhausted. But we have to talk. Either now or in the morning, it¡¯s your choice.¡± Alma sin Hogar - Chapter 2.2 Marcie and Hunter¡¯s bloodstained clothes lay in a pile at the foot of Hunter¡¯s bed. They¡¯d quietly changed out of them the night before, having resolved to save any conversation for the morning. All the cacophonous emotions had drained the energy Marcie had left, and she fell into a deep sleep about as soon as she¡¯d gotten under the covers. When they awoke, Hunter still looked so utterly lost. A redness had developed around his eyes. Maybe he¡¯d been crying. If he had, Marcie hadn¡¯t noticed. ¡°Hey,¡± she said softly, ¡°You okay?¡± Hunter shifted. He started to reach out, but stopped himself. When she was last alive, she wasn¡¯t the best at handling their arguments. She was well aware of that. Stubborn couldn¡¯t even begin to describe her disposition. Oftentimes, Hunter was on the receiving end of a cold shoulder. But he always tried reaching for her. She¡¯d continue turning away, expecting some grandiose apology. What was she even thinking? That he¡¯d get on his knees and beg? It was so childish of her. Now that she was here¡ªafter he¡¯d reached so far, he pulled her out of death¡ªshe didn¡¯t want to make the same mistakes. Marcie took his arms and wrapped them around her torso. ¡°I know you were pretty upset last night. What did you wanna talk about?¡± Hunter asked, shifting his eyes away from her. ¡°No, no. We¡¯ll get to that,¡± Marcie promised. ¡°First, I want to know if you¡¯re okay.¡± ¡°Honestly?¡± He began. ¡°Not really.¡± ¡°Mmm,¡± she affirmed. She heard the quiver in his voice before he even spoke the first word. ¡°What we saw last night. Whatever the fuck that was¡­¡± he trailed, ¡°I keep trying to convince myself it wasn¡¯t real. But it was. I know it was.¡± Whatever time he¡¯d had to process last night hadn¡¯t gotten him very far. Both of them were still living in some waking nightmare. Marcie parted her lips, wanting to comfort him. Wanting to say anything to reassure him. But she clenched her fist when she couldn¡¯t find the words. ¡°And then it was over and you walked away. And I just felt¡­¡± Hunter¡¯s eyebrows creased. His words faded away. ¡°Alone,¡± Marcie finished. Hunter confirmed her conclusion with a heavy breath. As he curled his body inward, Marcie pulled his eyes to meet her own. She wished so badly that he¡¯d just let go of the tears she could see he was holding onto so tightly. Maybe she could feel the release of shedding a tear or two vicariously through him. She held his gaze for as long as she could before he looked away to wipe his face. That was truly the worst part of being undead. She didn¡¯t miss her beating heart or the involuntary motion of her inflating and deflating lungs. She actually felt quite calm without them. She didn¡¯t miss having to use the bathroom either, though she didn¡¯t quite know where all the food she ate went anymore. And she certainly did not miss periods. But crying. She missed crying. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I just left,¡± Marcie went on. ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Hunter said, ¡°I was thinking about it while I was waiting for you. You felt trapped, didn¡¯t you?¡± So he understood. The knowledge of this filled her with relief. She pulled him tighter into her so she could feel the warmth of his body against her skin. He flinched a little before settling into it. ¡°Sorry? Am I cold?¡± She asked. ¡°No,¡± Hunter refuted, pulling her closer still. ¡°It¡¯s okay.¡± With her mind a bit clearer, Marcie stated, ¡°I did feel trapped. Not just in your room. It¡¯s like, when I was dead, I was just essence. There wasn''t a space for me to be in. Being shoved back into a body¡ªwhich I¡¯m still grateful for¡ªfelt claustrophobic. I still want to be alive. But it was such a sudden change and I didn''t really know I felt that way for a while. And then to be swallowed by¡­that thing¡­¡± Hunter wrapped his arms further around her. ¡°I know baby, I know.¡± They stayed there for a moment. Marcie gripped Hunter¡¯s shirt, balling the fabric in her hands. The texture of it was so soft. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be stuck here anymore,¡± Marcie admitted. ¡°I didn¡¯t rise from the dead just to live a life confined to your bedroom or shoved in a suitcase. I know that wasn¡¯t just your idea and I know we still have to be careful¨C¡± ¡°¨CYou don¡¯t have to explain yourself.¡± Hunter said. ¡°I¡¯m still afraid of losing you again, but I¡¯ll figure it out.¡± Marcie felt a rise of frustration again, somewhere in the cavity of her chest. ¡°You keep saying that.¡± ¡°What?¡± Hunter asked, genuinely not understanding what she could possibly be referring to. ¡°You keep saying ¡®I¡¯ll figure it out¡¯. Hunter, we¡¯re a team. We¡¯ll figure it out. Got it?¡± Marcie said sternly, raising one eyebrow¡ªthe one above her empty socket¡ªtowards him. Hunter groaned the way he always did when he knew he was wrong. ¡°Got it. Got it.¡± ¡°Mmm,¡± she chided, ¡°relationships are harder than you remember, huh?¡± ¡°Ugh.¡± Hunter grunted with a laugh. Marcie held his gaze with a serious look. ¡°I can guess why you¡¯ve been so anxious. But talk to me. What can I do to help?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Hunter sighed, ¡°I think I would appreciate it if you weren¡¯t so ready to run so quickly into dangerous situations. You¡¯ve nearly given me a heart attack at least ten times in the last week. Seeing as we are a team, I kind of need you in one piece.¡± ¡°But I¡¯ve been trying to tell you, I can run into danger like that. My body¨C¡± ¡°Yes. Yes. I hear you and I¡¯m so impressed. But for my own sanity, I don¡¯t want to see your arm shredded or your head cut off.¡± Marcie thought about how she¡¯d react to seeing Hunter chopped into bits and put back together over and over. It wasn¡¯t particularly pleasant, she had to admit. ¡°Okay, fair enough.¡± ¡°And I know maybe the book might be a touchy subject. But I really need it back so I have some reassurance that you¡¯ll be okay.¡± Hunter looked at her pleadingly. ¡°After you left last night, there was this guy.¡± ¡°A guy?¡± Marcie echoed. ¡°Yeah. This guy. I¡¯d met him before when I saw Grant in Vinny¡¯s and I didn¡¯t really think too much of it at the time. But he had his own book of spells. I think he wrote it himself.¡±Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Hunter gave her the details of the man he¡¯d run into at the grocery store and how he¡¯d managed to get home the night before. A man bringing his half-conscious body through space using some weird blood ritual. Why the police might not find any trace of Marty Gillman at the wharf. What this man might know about the occult. What he might know about them. ¡°Woah-kay,¡± she said, taking it all in. Then groaned loudly as the gears of her mind were catching and smoking attempting to make it all make sense. ¡°Okay, so now we have two open investigations: Operation Figure Out How I Died and Operation Get The Book Back.¡± ¡°Hmm.¡± Hunter agreed. ¡°Okay, let me think.¡± Marcie said, lying on her back. It was all so much. She felt like getting it all in order would take the rest of her zombie life. ¡°Nevermind,¡± she said. ¡°No thoughts right now.¡± Marcie rolled over so she was on top of Hunter. His puffy red eyes had become less puffy and less red. He was even smiling. And she thought it was strange that when she bent down to place her cold lips on his, that it was the first time they¡¯d kissed since she was resurrected. It felt like all the kisses they shared before. All of her insecurities and all of his anxieties shedding away. The sensation flooded her with warmth. She felt his hand reach her cheek to hold her. Hunter pulled away only to pepper her whole face in kisses. Marcie let out a genuine full-chested giggle. The kind only a schoolgirl does with her first boyfriend in freshman year of highschool. Thought, that¡¯s what Hunter was. Her first in so many ways. Her first friend. Her first boyfriend. And her last. It took both of them several days to recuperate. Whether it was the emotions, the stress, or the exhaustion, they needed rest after so much happened. But soon, the desperate clawing thirst for clarity returned. Marcie and Hunter stood at a gate that led to a courtyard. Marcie was relieved to remember most of the details of Grant¡¯s family situation, including where his mother had moved after his parents¡¯ divorce. Near the end of highschool, Grant¡¯s dad moved back to Korea, leaving Grant to live with his mother again after so many years. He rarely talked about it and he certainly didn¡¯t talk about it with them. The apartment complex was pretty nice. Nothing in Redwood Cove was taller than three stories and so the row of buildings was organized like a motel. The warm midday sun did a lot to make the old building look lively. Though, compared to where Grant used to live, this would probably best be described as modest. There were small cracks in the concrete steps leading up to the gate and around the parking lot. The doorbell was connected to an old plastic device that looked like it was from the 90s¡ªcertainly nothing like the futuristic Lov-Tech doorbell connected to his old house. They pressed the bell and a rattling buzz rang from the apartment complex intercom. Marcie heard Kristin Jeong¡¯s voice come crackling out of the plastic speaker. She sounded frail and wary, like she was waiting for the right person or rather, the wrong person to buzz her door. ¡°Ne, nuguseyo?¡± ¡°It¡¯s Hunter Campbell? I¡¯m here with our other friend¡­¡± Hunter looked down at Marcie, prompting her. ¡°Maria¡­uhh¡­¡± Marcie blanked. Her pause was plainly noticeable. She didn¡¯t previously think of a surname and she certainly couldn¡¯t use her real one. The feeling of Hunter''s hand resting gently on her back broke through her thoughts and comforted her. ¡°Ramos,¡± she finally chose. ¡°We were hoping Grant was home,¡± said Hunter. Silence came from the other side of the buzzer for quite some time. ¡°He just came from the gym. I swear it will not be the first time he goes today. He¡¯s in the shower right now. But come, come. You can wait for him inside,¡± Kristin said. The interior of the Jeong family residence was nothing like its exterior. The unassuming gray stucco of the outside walls was contrasted by a minimalist modern design on the inside. Everything from the shoe rack, to the decorative frames that held folk paintings, to the dining table Kristin eventually led them to was all made out of sharp corners and matte off-whites. Any wood was a bright tan and perfectly smooth. Anything patterned, glossy, gaudy, or gauche, was absent from the apartment, except for several pictures of Grant and who Marcie remembered as his brother, standing in a mishmash of different frames with wildly different aesthetics. It was a far cry from Grant''s father¡¯s house, cluttered with the most horrifically fancy decor known to man. But both aesthetics, in Marcie''s less-than-humble opinion, were an assault on her single poor eye. ¡°Please take a seat,¡± Kristin offered before heading to the nearby kitchen. She returned with two cups of tea, serving them to Marcie and Hunter before going back again. ¡°Oh, thank you.¡± Marcie said graciously. ¡°You really don¡¯t have to¨C¡± ¡°¨CI haven¡¯t seen you in so long, Hunter,¡± Kristin said, conspicuously ignoring her. The calling of his name seemed to snap him out of some sort of daze. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s been a while Ms. Jeong.¡± He responded a few seconds too late to sound natural. The sounds of rushing and then slamming came from a hallway near the front door. Grant rushed out of the hall, patting a small hand towel to his cropped hair. He was in damp athleisure, as though he¡¯d thrown it on before he¡¯d fully dried himself off. A large part of Marcie wanted to bolt for the door. She clenched her fists under the table anticipating Grant¡¯s reaction. No matter how Hunter explained it to her, she couldn¡¯t remember making up with her tormentors. Whatever latent memories of an apologetic Grant she could pull from were beyond her recollection. She thought she was stronger than this. ¡°Hey,¡± Grant said simply. His brows furrowed and he¡¯d stopped drying himself. Their eyes met with an unease like animals looking into a mirror for the first time. Kristin swatted lightly at Grant¡¯s forearm. ¡°Aigoo, what did I tell you about doors? Be gentle.¡± Grant too, seemed to come out of some sort of trance at her touch. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m sorry,¡± he said quickly. ¡°Mom, could you give us a moment?¡± ¡°You don¡¯t dismiss your mother like that. They are guests of my house. Did you offer them snacks? If I¡¯m not here to be a good host, then¨C¡± ¡°¨CMom.¡± Grant looked down at his mother. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she gave in. ¡°Fine. Fine.¡± She rose from her chair and made her way out of the dining area, leaving the three of them in terrible silence. ¡°Uhh, hello,¡± Grant said, holding out his hand. ¡°I¡¯m Grant.¡± Marcie felt herself recoil before she could tell her body not to. In her distant memories, she faintly recalled Grant¡¯s hands forming fists. Not to hit her, but the loud pounding on lockers and loud chest-pumping chants of the jocks around her always hinted at the threat of violence. She knew it was a common tactic among bullies and abusers. ¡°Alright.¡± He pulled back as well. ¡°Not a hand shaker.¡± Hunter looked to her, asking for last chance permission to abort this risk, one last confirmation that this is what she wanted and how she wanted to go about it. Absent lungs couldn¡¯t breath absent breath, so instead she clenched her boney toes and gave Hunter a single reassuring nod. She needed answers. ¡°Grant,¡± said Marcie. ¡°It¡¯s me.¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, am I supposed to know you?¡± He looked truly puzzled. ¡°Of course you should know me!¡± She leaned across the table so Grant could get a better look at her face. She stopped short of lifting her eyepatch, lest she give the guy a heart attack. However, after several long moments, it steadily began to seem like a necessary option. Hunter leaned over conspiratorially. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯s getting it.¡± ¡°Getting what!¡± Grant threw up both hands, the one holding his still-damp towel sending droplets spraying across the table. Settling on the straight-forward approach, she reached out her own hand. ¡°Marcella Portillo. It¡¯s nice to see you again, meathead.¡± The first bang was Grant flinching back, inadvertently kicking the chair into the table. The second was Grant hitting the floor. The third was Kristin thrusting the door of her room open, already berating Grant only to find Marcie mid-explanation. Maybe, in retrospect, it was not a very good idea to lift up her shirt to reveal the hole in her torso. What she thought may have been the best way to explain things, quickly became a grave mistake. The fourth and fifth bangs were Kristin running, throwing open another door, retrieving a handgun, and returning to shoot Marcie in the chest. Six was Marcie hitting the ground. And seven was Kristin fainting when Marcie got up, completely unscathed from the bullet that had pierced her body. Marcie, Hunter, and Grant stood around the table in stunned silence. All three of them had risen to their feet at that point and the two boys were about ready to pass out from hyperventilating so heavily. Hunter still had his hands out from trying to calm down the panicked Kristin and Grant had his head gripped tightly between his hands. Grant swallowed hard. ¡°Okay, I¡¯m going to get her to her room,¡± he said, gesturing to his mother. ¡°And maybe you guys should get out of here before the cops come? Yeah? Yeah.¡± ¡°Uhh yeah,¡± said Hunter. ¡°Yup,¡± Marcie agreed. Alma sin Hogar - Chapter 2.3 Marcie shivered and clutched at the loose fabric around her chest. The turbulent winds that blew through the parking lot of Cove Beach made her shirt flap in and out of the empty space. Strands caught on her lowest rib and the sensation of cloth hitting her ribcage and deflated lungs was agonizing. Not because it was particularly painful; it was just unlike any sensation she¡¯d ever felt before. She had handled Hunter¡¯s nervous breakdown that morning when he thought someone was going to track his license plate after the gunshot debacle from the day before. Grant seemed to be ghosting them which did nothing to soothe that anxiety and she had to talk Hunter down from sending his fifth voicemail in a row. She only had a moment of peace when Hunter got another text from his dad to complete a second round of mandatory house work. Grant finally responded, days later, saying he wanted to show them something at the old boardwalk where she¡¯d died and come back to life. He also said to bring supplies to go ¡®digging¡¯ which was cryptic to say the least. Now, the chilling gusts made her clothes uncomfortable and holding them made it so the stuffed supplies bag Hunter had given to her to hold kept slipping off her shoulder. He¡¯d overpacked for whatever this occasion was: flashlights, a magnifying glass (which Marcie distinctly remembered gifting to him as part of a forensics-for-kids playset in third grade), a couple of gardening trowels for digging, and a little notebook he¡¯d started writing in of all the details of the spells he remembered from the Necronomicon. That bag alone was heavy. Hunter hefted a backpack onto his shoulders before shutting the trunk. She didn¡¯t even know what Hunter was lugging around. Hopefully food. All of this to say that she was cold, hungry, and frustrated. Grant was waiting for them on the sand, carrying no supplies with him at all. Marcie must have had a foul look on her face, considering the first thing Grant said in lieu of a greeting was: ¡°Mar¡¯s not going to bite me, is she?¡± Marcie¡¯s scowl deepened. She turned to Hunter. ¡°I take it back. Grant was a bad idea. Can I kill him?¡± Grant, acutely aware of her ability to follow through on her threats, put up pleading hands. ¡°Woah, woah.¡± Upon seeing the panic on Grant¡¯s face, Marcie and Hunter cracked. A snort escaped both of them as they cackled together. ¡°Hey,¡± Grant whined. ¡°Come on guys.¡± Fond memories of the two of them messing with Grant when they were kids resurfaced in Marcie¡¯s mind. One time they convinced him that Mama made mole out of human blood. They would also frequently show him all the spiders they found around the Campbell family¡¯s property knowing Grant hated them. The best memory was when they made Grant go through the haunted house attraction on the boardwalk. He actually ended up enjoying that one. Those memories were soured by the Grant she knew now. The Grant that took her textbooks out of her locker and threw them in Ridgeview¡¯s courtyard fountain. The Grant that wrote ¡°Border Hopper¡± on the desks he knew she sat in. The Grant that sat back and said nothing to push back against every rumor Julie, Edith, and Annabelle spread about her and her family. How did she ever forgive this guy? Marcie walked up to him, her grimace returning to her face, ¡°I¡¯m joking, meathead. Now what did you want to show us?¡± ¡°Nope. Nuh uh.¡± Grant halted her in her tracks. Not very successfully¡ªMarcie pushed right past his outstretched arm¡ªbut it was the effort that counted. ¡°You guys still have a lot of explaining to do.¡± The crash of an ocean wave filled the quiet air between them. Marcie supposed he was owed some sort of explanation, if she was going to ask him to help a murdered girl out. ¡°What do you wanna know?¡± asked Marcie, between shoulder raises to keep her bag from slipping off again. ¡°Why do you look like that?¡± Grant started. ¡°Dead?¡± asked Marcie. Grant clarified, ¡°No¨Cwell, yeah¨Cbut no. Why are you dressed like you actually enjoyed Ridgeview?¡± ¡°People might recognize the dead girl if I looked like I did in the news,¡± she answered, with the implication of a ¡®duh¡¯ laden in her tone. ¡°It¡¯s a disguise.¡± ¡°Like Clark Kent.¡± Hunter assisted. ¡°So you''re really dead?¡± Grant asked. ¡°As dirt.¡± Marcie nodded. He turned to Hunter. ¡°And you used some satanic black magic B.S. to bring her back?¡± ¡°Why does everyone keep saying that?¡± Hunter asked nobody in particular. ¡°Dude! Have you seen the cover? There are literally satanic symbols on it.¡± Marcie flicked Hunter¡¯s forehead. Grant went on. ¡°And this isn¡¯t like ¡®I faked my death¡¯ or some sort of hoax?¡± Marcie rolled her eye. ¡°You think I had a bungee cord setup or something?¡± ¡°Well I don¡¯t know! I didn¡¯t even see what happened, just¨C¡± Grant grunted. ¡°Just what you looked like afterwards.¡± ¡°So you saw my body! Apparently you also held my goddamn suicide note in your hands¡ªwhich doesn¡¯t make any sense, by the way, seeing as I¨Cdidn¡¯t¨Ckill¨Cmyself. How bout ya stop asking stupid questions so we can get on with whatever you dragged us out here for.¡± Grant seemed more lost than when he started his questioning. ¡°Wait, you didn¡¯t jump?¡± ¡°What did I just say! Agh, estupido!¡± Marcie threw up her arms and let the bag of random crap drop to the ground. She left the boys there dumbfounded. It wasn¡¯t immediately clear why she was so upset anymore. The fabric of her new Hunter-imagined wardrobe was woolen and scratchy. Sand was creeping into her shoes. It was cold. So cold. In the distance, a spec moved across tide pool rocks. Some sort of beach-dwelling creature skittered, glistening a delicious-looking reddish-purple. Her eye had locked onto it and her impulses threw her so fast towards what was distinctly a crab that her bones fractured at the force of pounding her feet into the sand. Still, she felt sluggish like whatever glue was holding her together was starting to unstick. Marcie made it to the crab in what felt like milliseconds and caught it with both hands before it could crawl back under its rocky hideaway. Without so much as a single thought, she took a bite out of its arm, straight through the shell, and tore it clean off its body. Fragments of shell exploded from the crab as she indiscriminately crunched down as if chomping straight through a tootsie-pop. The boys approached as she was partway through cracking the carapace. ¡°What the!¡± Grant yelled at the sight of the scene. ¡°Is it just me or is her skin melting off?¡± ¡°Oh shit.¡± Hunter said, sliding to the ground and frantically rummaging through his backpack. Out of it he pulled out a produce bag and tossed Marcie three raw pork chops. Hunger raged through her stomach. She didn¡¯t care that the crab tasted nauseatingly of the ocean or that the texture of raw meat was too gummy. After ravaging the pork, Marcie¡¯s mind settled. All her anger and discomfort washed away. The wind felt normal against her skin. Her flesh and tendons felt more attached. Hunter put a gentle hand to Marcie¡¯s knee. ¡°I¡¯ll pick this all up. I think Grant here might have another meltdown, so maybe it¡¯s time we start talking.¡± He began to pick up the trash, including the eviscerated crab carcass which he held at arm''s length, pinched between his thumb and pointer finger, and walked away to find a can. Marcie peered directly into Grant''s eyes. He was still stricken, standing uncomfortably on the rocks, with the tide lapping against his shoes. It was then that Marcie noticed her pants were soaked from wading into the tide pool. Marcie pushed herself to her feet and Grant helped her get back onto drier sand. She had to face him.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. ¡°So, yeah. That happens sometimes.¡± She said. ¡°Sometimes?¡± ¡°It happened for the first time a couple days after I came back. I just got really cold and I couldn¡¯t tell why. Hunter knew some stuff about it from his grimoire or whatever he calls it.¡± ¡°Grimoire?¡± ¡°Okay. I think I¡¯ll just start at the beginning.¡± Marcie explained everything to Grant: waking up on the carousel, the days spent binging nearly every new show on Netflix, her lack of memories, and the discovery of her self-described superpowers. Hunter returned from finding a trash can about partway through her retelling of the suitcase incident and accompanying demonstration. ¡°Knock it off and unfold yourself,¡± said Hunter. ¡°You¡¯re gonna make Grant puke.¡± Hunter joined in detailing the rest of the events that unfolded in the last week. Things got a bit more convoluted when describing the man Hunter met and the monster that kidnapped Marty. ¡°Wait! Wait! Wait! You know where Marty went?¡± Grant stopped them. ¡°We¡¯ve been trying to figure out where he¡¯s been for the last few days. No one can get a hold of him.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t know where Marty went exactly. That thing took off with him, don¡¯t know where,¡± said Hunter, defeated. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t like the guy, but if I knew more, I¡¯d tell you.¡± ¡°No, I believe you,¡± Grant said, attempting to smile through the swirling concern and disbelief. There was the question of what they were supposed to do about Marty Gillman. This was not going to be a low-profile case. He was the son of the CEO of one of the richest agricultural companies in California. With those kinds of family ties, it was only a matter of time before police were involved. She and Hunter were the last people who saw him, but who would believe that he was just whisked away into the night by an entity made of pure darkness in a mid-size sedan. And, as Hunter had told her, there was no longer any evidence of the crash. Nothing was left of an incident perpetrated by a demon. ¡°I¡¯m sure the Gillmans will put in a missing persons report,¡± Grant concluded. ¡°What do you know about the night I died?¡± asked Marcie, sparked by an intuition. ¡°Oh. You remember. It was after we made up. Julie, Curt, and everyone was there when¡­¡± Grant trailed off. ¡°You don¡¯t remember. Do you?¡± ¡°Nope. Just feelings,¡± she confirmed. ¡°I vaguely remember you were there, now that you¡¯ve told me. But any of the events from that night are just so obscured. The only thing that¡¯s clear at all is the fall. And even then, I can¡¯t see the cliff. I can¡¯t see the ocean or the sand or the carousel coming towards me. But I know I didn¡¯t jump.¡± A doubtful expression flashed across Grant¡¯s face. She could always tell what he was going to say next. Still, that never stopped what he said from pinching a nerve. ¡°How do you know for sure?¡± he asked. ¡°I just do!¡± The words burst from her chest. ¡°Okay? I¡¯m not going through this again.¡± Grant looked to Hunter for backup, but only received a stern raise of the eyebrows. ¡°You heard the lady,¡± Hunter said. Grant scratched at his neck, wiping away beads of sweat with his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what I know. Follow me, I¡¯ll lead you to what I wanted to show you guys.¡± He took them down the beach, past the carousel and behind the rock formations, all the while explaining his side of the story. ¡°Two months before you died, you were placed in the same marketing class as Annabelle, Curt, and I. Annabelle was actually the one that suggested we invite you to some hangs. I¡¯m not sure what sparked it. But you got closer with us for a bit after. Then the kickback happened at the parking lot.¡± Grant avoided meeting Marcie¡¯s eye. Maybe she was wrong. Something about him was different. Before, Marcie could do nothing but associate him with the rest of the popular crowd. He went from Grant, her childhood friend, to another preppy douchebag among a gaggle of the preppiest douche-iest bags. Now, the detatchment in his gaze and the distance he put between himself and her gave off the aura of someone who felt better off alone. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth,¡± he continued. ¡°I¡¯m glad we reconnected. I think I needed to address a lot of shit that I¡¯d been ignoring for a long time.¡± ¡°I¡¯m glad you figured your shit out, I guess,¡± she offered. How was she supposed to take that? Without the memory of those conversations, all she had to work with was this new energy he had. Hunter was even more skeptical. Protective as ever, he was walking between them, close beside Marcie. As he listened, though, something must have clicked for him that wasn¡¯t clicking for her. Hunter drifted from Marcie¡¯s side and looked at her, deep in thought. Hunter murmured quietly to himself. He must have thought he was the only one who could hear, drowned out by the winds and the raging ocean. But Marcie heard. ¡°You never told me.¡± And now how in the hell was she supposed to take that? She still hated Julie and her posse as much as she ever did. Cozying up with Annabelle of all people was impossible. And yet, she knew deep down Grant wasn¡¯t lying. There was nothing she could do. They made the rest of the way to a shallow divot in the cliffside where the sand was perpetually damp. Grant bent down and stuck a hand out. ¡°Shovel me,¡± he said. Hunter pulled a trowel out of the bag¡ªwhich Marcie probably should¡¯ve been carrying¡ªand handed it to Grant. He dug for a moment before turning to face her again. ¡°After you died, we all panicked. There was a lot to lose if anyone found out we were associated with your death so we hid the evidence. We buried anything that would connect you to us or any indication that we were even there that night: some of your belongings, some of our belongings, a bunch of beer cans, some joints, and your suicide note,¡± he said. That still made absolutely no sense to Marcie. Why would she write a note?She was so sure that she didn¡¯t kill herself but Grant¡¯s insistence was the first thing to make her question that certainty She had to admit that her memory was cloudy and unreliable. It was a miracle anyone believed her. ¡°I wanna see this letter,¡± Marcie said, taking a trowel and crouching down as well. She only had to dig about a foot down before she started to bring up soggy garbage. What most likely used to be cigarette butts, cardboard beer carriers, and snack bags had deteriorated into a sludge. The misguided hope of finding answers left her as she kept digging. She¡¯d find nothing here. The paper would have degraded or the ink smudged into incomprehensible puddles. It was no use. ¡°Where is it?¡± She turned back. ¡°I need to read it. Where is it?¡± Only then did she realize Grant had been trying to explain something to her the whole time she was digging. ¡°Julie had it last. But it wasn¡¯t the same note. Your handwriting was different. I think someone tried to forge it,¡± he said. ¡°Wait, what¡¯s that?¡± Hunter pointed to something deep in the sand. The small corner of a piece of paper stuck out ever so slightly. Marcie pulled it out to reveal a fully intact page from a notebook. While it read like a suicide note, judging from Grant¡¯s reaction, it was not what they were looking for. On the page, two words were written over and over again. I¡¯m Sorry. I¡¯m Sorry. I¡¯m Sorry. I¡¯m Sorry. I¡¯m Sorry. I¡¯m Sorry. I¡¯m Sorry. I¡¯m Sorry. Marcie¡¯s eye was drawn to a pop of color. Unearthed with the note was a small hair clip. She tossed aside the note and held the clip in her hand. A year underground had faded the color and grainy sand clung to it like lice. Hunter peered over her shoulder. ¡°Isn¡¯t that¨C¡± ¡°Handwriting from Julie¡¯s note,¡± Grant finished. ¡°He meant the hair clip,¡± Marcie clarified, ¡°It¡¯s the one Annabelle gave to me.¡± Hunter held more concern in his gaze than he¡¯d ever had before. ¡°She gave that to you?¡± A rush of images flashed in Marcie¡¯s mind. Murky memories of Annabelle handing her the clip, inviting her to her house, and driving her to parties phased in and out of focus. Marcie clawed at her chest, her clothes tapping wildly against her insides again as the wind blustered violently. Sand kicked up around them. An agonized yelp escaped her and she fell to the ground. Hunter and Grant rushed to her side just as her cries started to join in dissonant harmony with another noise. Another cry. Through her pain and squinted eye she saw another animal at the distant shoreline. A harbor seal moaned in horrific pain. It rolled wildly, revealing massive chunks of flesh ripped out of its sides. Then another cry came, this time from a porpoise with similar injuries, washed ashore. More and more dying or dead fish, marine mammals, and gulls piled onto the beach. The waves, tinged red, appeared more carcass than water. The windswept sand blinded the three of them. Marcie could barely move her body. She cried out one last time as her vision went hazy. The last thing she heard before succumbing to the pounding ache in her chest, was the chorus of death and her own voice rising to join it. Interlude 3 - Job 3:8 Capita Leviathan contrivisti et ego reducam eum. Fragosus fluctus per fragosus fluctus. I see a light in the deep, my Brother. And I hear a voice. Is it Yours? Ahh. I see. My name is Leviathan. I am the vast abyssal sea. I am the sunless depths. I am the water you are feeling in your throat right now. I do not envy your circumstances, Martin Gillman. Your bones have been shattered, the pressure in your chest is torturous, and you feel as though you might implode. But this pain is temporary. Your mortal body is too fragile to withstand My pressure. I can repair what is broken inside of you and it could all be over soon.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I¡¯d like you to imagine what your life could have been if you weren¡¯t such a waste of breath. You could have been desirable. You could have been more than a drugged up bum, freeloading off of daddy¡¯s money. Maybe this girl¡­Annabelle would have loved you. The problem is you. Your sails are torn. Your hull is riddled with cracks that you¡¯ve left ignored. The deck and cabins of your ship, both its interior and exterior, are definitively ugly. You¡¯re a rotting fishing vessel that hasn¡¯t made a catch in years If you stop struggling, I will answer all your burning questions. Yes. Yes. I see your thoughts and your memories. I feel your regrets as My own. We are one and the same. The jealousy that flows through your veins like a raging flood and twists your heart into knots is My jealousy. Let Me in. Let Me take the wheel. I will grant you everything you¡¯ve ever wanted. All I want in return is flesh. Feel the water around you. Relinquish yourself, your lungs and your blood, to the waves. Alma sin Hogar - Chapter 2.4 Cove college classrooms felt purposefully built to be as uncomfortable as possible. Hell, this is what Hunter must¡¯ve felt like all his life with his weirdly long legs. The chairs had unlockable wheels on all four legs, and the tile was slick, forcing her to plant her feet hard into the ground until they cramped to stop the chair from sliding. Instead of desks, tall tables fit for two stood at just the wrong height to align with the angle of her arms. To top it all off, everything stunk of the stale, potentially moldy air conditioning units. The room was full of half-asleep students. Professor Mandelle deserved to burn in hell for deciding to hold an economics course at 6am. Marcie took a seat towards the back of the room. It occurred to her that favoritism might play a role in Mandelle¡¯s grading, but she was never going to sit up front. Not with Grant and Curt there. It was bad enough they were here to begin with. She¡¯d painstakingly curated her schedule for the first two semesters so she avoided any and all contact with any of her past tormentors. But she¡¯d missed her enrollment period this time around and had to take what she could get to fulfill her credit requirements. So there she was, saddled with Tweedledee, Tweedledum and the Queen of Hearts for the next three hours. As if on cue, Annabelle Warren threw open the door. For her, there was no sneaking into class thirty minutes late. She was the embodiment of the color red; her fashionable red bag, red clacking heels, and all-red accessories accentuating her flaming ginger hair. She was the spitting image of an American Girl doll and Marcie never cared for them. A nightmare unfolded as Annabelle scanned the room and realized, in the same moment as Marcie, that there was only one seat left in the room. With no other choice, she pulled out the chair directly to Marcie¡¯s right and plopped herself down. If Marcie was unable to pay attention before, she certainly couldn¡¯t now. Her chest tightened and her lungs felt as though they were expanding beyond the barriers of her ribcage. Somewhere beyond the borderline panic attack that had overtaken her senses, she heard Professor Mandelle address her general vicinity. ¡°Ms. Warren! Your arrival is as timely as it is tardy.¡± He called, exhaled deeply, then turned to the rest of the class. ¡°Alright everyone, turn to the person seated next to you at your desks. These will be your project partners for the rest of the semester. Go ahead and introduce yourselves.¡± With mounting anxiety, Marcie turned to confront the girl in red. Annabelle¡¯s face looked just as she remembered: freckled and with an expression of malice and sadism. Her smile was that of someone who loved to watch the person under her piercing gaze crumble and cower to her. Her beguiling blue eyes pulled Marcie in, like Annabelle Warren was hiding more secrets. Things Marcie needed to know. ¡°Do you know how I was murdered?¡± Marcie asked. Her balled hands fidgeted under the table, waiting resolutely for her answer. Annabelle didn¡¯t pause from her task of getting her laptop and notebook out from her bag as she coldly responded, ¡°What did you say to me, freak?¡± What did she say? ¡°I said my name is Marcella Portillo,¡±she repeated confidently. ¡°I know your name.¡± Annabelle rolled her eyes. ¡°How could I possibly forget?¡± She spoke as if Marcie was being annoying. That she was the one being difficult. And the utter ridiculousness of it nearly evaporated Marcie¡¯s anxiety. Irked, she squinted her eye towards Annabelle, trying to determine if this girl was still entirely devoid of human decency. ¡°You¡¯re not going to ask to be placed in a different group or something, are you?¡± Annabelle asked with the raise of a single perfectly-plucked eyebrow. Marcie screwed up her face in disbelief. She nearly laughed, ¡°Hah, if anyone would, it¡¯d be you.¡± Annabelle finally stopped shifting all her belongings around to meet Marcie eye to eye. ¡°Look, I may be a bitch, I¡¯ll be the first to admit that. But I am not a petty bitch.¡± Never before had falser words been uttered. A sudden pounding force clanged in Marcie¡¯s head, beating like a drum. Her body felt like it was floating out of the four-legged rolling chair. The knot in her chest tightened further and further. She cried out. In the blink of an eye, she was in a new room. A bedroom. Not her own or Hunter¡¯s, but somewhere she only recognized in the recesses of her hazy mind. The bed she found herself sitting on had a canopy straight out of a Victorian period piece and all furnishings followed suit, like they were ripped out of the past. However, everything else¡ªfrom the bedsheets, to the decorations, to the fluffy floor rug that tickled as she threaded the material between her exposed phalanges and metatarsals¡ªwas all fit for an ultramodern girly girl fashionista¡¯s aesthetic. Pop punk began to play from somewhere beyond the bedroom. ¡°C¡¯mere girl!¡± Annabelle¡¯s voice called. Marcie got up from the bed and followed the voice. She found Annabelle in a walk-in closet brimming with more outfits for one person than most families of four. It was sort of disgusting how much there was. Most of the pieces were some shade of pink or red. The girl certainly had a theme and she stuck to it. This wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d stepped in to see its glut of garments, but it was the first time Annabelle had seemed so excited about it. Her typically devilish smile had been replaced with something that almost looked genuine. ¡°All the other parties, it was fine or whatever for you to wear your dumpy goth stuff. But a Lovett yacht party is a formal event.¡± Annabelle held several dresses to Marcie¡¯s frame, grimacing in visceral disgust with every one that didn¡¯t pass her unreasonably high standards. ¡°No. No. No. Ew.¡± Marcie groaned. ¡°You could have just told me to wear a nice dress.¡± ¡°I couldn¡¯t have. Anything you own would not be Lovett yacht party appropriate.¡± Annabelle said. ¡°Can I at least wear something black? Also, do you know where I put my eyepatch?¡± Marcie asked. Weird. She must have put her eyepatch down somewhere in the bedroom. No¡­maybe the classroom? Or the beach. Wherever it was, she knew that Annabelle wasn¡¯t supposed to see the hole in her skull. Annabelle skipped over to the furthest rack in the back of the closet, underneath a bold sign titled ¡®Nevers¡¯. ¡°You¡¯re absolutely right. Red is not your color.¡± She held a sleek black dress up to Marcie¡¯s body. ¡°Okay,¡± she said, making a determination. ¡°Put this on.¡± ¡°Wait.¡± Marcie felt more disoriented by the minute. She held a hand up to shield her eye and gripped her shirt around her chest. Her foot, only bone, tendons, and sinew, was all that was left to hide. Shyly, she tucked it behind her other leg. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to see me like this.¡± ¡°Oh it¡¯s fine. We¡¯re both girls, go ahead and get changed.¡± Annabelle started to strip. Her skin was a warm ivory, dotted with freckles along her shoulders and down her back. In her worst moments, this is who Marcie wished she looked like. Light-skinned, straight-haired, filled out around the hips and chest. She never used to think that way. She grew up so proud of having her abuela¡¯s hazel eyes and her father¡¯s perfect brown skin. To think, Annabelle was one of the girls who almost stole that away from her. Marcie looked at herself in the mirror. She was beautiful in her own way¡­right? She still had her abuela¡¯s eye and even if her skin tone had faded slightly from the decomposition of her old body, she was still all that her father gave to her. Sand poured from her eye socket and started to collect in her chest cavity. The cavernous tear through her torso showed all the internal parts of her that teeming inside her as if they were alien creatures. What the hell was going on? She slipped the dress on quickly to cover the dead parts.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. ¡°Damn Marmar! You''re slaying that dress! Ugh, I¡¯m so glad I didn¡¯t let my cousin wear it to prom, she would have stretched the material,¡± Annabelle sang. She ran a hand through Marcie¡¯s hair. When she pulled away, her fingers were covered in more wet sand. ¡°Hmm. Gotta do something about the hair.¡± Annabelle pulled a red hair clip off of her own head, letting a bundle of loose red hair cascade down her neck. ¡°Here.¡± She used a finger to brush Marcie¡¯s hair out of her face and secured it with the clip. ¡°Okay, thank God. You finally look fucking presentable.¡± ¡°Uhh, thanks, oh queen of fashion and correct opinions,¡± Marcie said with biting sarcasm. ¡°Pfff, c¡¯mon! You love it!¡± She couldn¡¯t help but nod in reluctant agreement. She did look cute in Annabelle¡¯s skin-tight black dress and the pop of red in her hair worked surprisingly well. She just wished Hunter were there to see it. Oddly, she heard his voice as Annabelle raised her phone to take a selfie. ¡°Marcie?¡± Hunter asked from out of nowhere, sounding desperate. ¡°Marcie, can you hear me?¡± ¡°Sorry. I think the connection is really bad out here,¡± she said. Her phone jittered, struggling to receive Hunter¡¯s response. Marcie leaned over the railing of the Lovett yacht, looking out towards the lightly rocking waves of the docks. The yacht had several rooms, each sporting different decor and very different vibes. She felt welcome in exactly none of them. Somewhere in the room that¡¯d been converted to a dance club, she¡¯d left Annabelle behind. She would have taken the time to let her know she was stepping away, but she¡¯d found her in the middle of a one versus two argument with Edith and Julie. So instead, she sent her a quick text. Who knows if it went through. Through glitching frames, Marcie recognized the back walls of Hunter¡¯s dorm room. He had posters up of his favorite TV shows and games. His side of the room was just like his bedroom in the Cove, like he¡¯d moved home to Berkeley. Without her. ¡°T¨CTha¨Cnnnnng¨CThat clip looks new. And have you always had that dress?¡± His voice finally came through clearly. ¡°Oh, I got them both recently.¡± She looked down at the dress. Annabelle was right to lend it to her. The way its sleek fabric clung to her body felt like a tight hug. It made her feel confident. At least confident enough to even come in the first place. ¡°Well, you look amazing. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m not there to see you in it,¡± Hunter said with a longing smile. ¡°Where are you even?¡± Marcie peered around, trying to keep the extravagant decor out of frame and hoping that the graininess of her audio obscured the conversation of Redwood Cove elite behind her. That night, she was a sheep in wolf''s clothing and it would be too much to explain to him. ¡°A family event!¡± She feigned enthusiasm. ¡°O¨CO¨COh. Great!¡± Hunter said. His end of the call cleared just long enough. ¡°Tell your brothers I say hi. And tell Carmen I haven¡¯t seen that Fall Out Boy cover she sent me, but I¡¯ll get to it soon.¡± ¡°I will,¡± she promised, though it alleviated none of the guilt she felt for lying to him. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted Julie coming up to the deck with Annabelle in tow. The two girls looked about ready to murder each other, but it was Julie who was quietly berating Annabelle. Neither seemed to notice her as they turned a corner. Annabelle had been nice enough to support her through the night so far. Despite not really having many female friends before, she figured it would function under some law of girl code that she go and help her newfound friend out. ¡°Okay, I gotta go. I love you so much,¡± Marcie said and hung up before Hunter could glitch out another word. ¡°Hey! Marcie.¡± A voice came running up to her. It was Marty Gillman. His hair had been straightened and combed down, which somehow managed to look worse than his usual unkempt brown curls. Red veins made his eyes look sinister and he reeked of weed. Wired, he asked, ¡°Have you seen Annabelle?¡± Of course. Marcie rolled her eyes. ¡°She¡¯s probably in the bathroom or something. Maybe check the lounge or the dance floor.¡± ¡°I already checked there,¡± he whined. Marcie needed to divert him. She couldn¡¯t let this fuckwad catch wind of Annabelle and Julie around the corner. That could only spell disaster. ¡°Well I don¡¯t know dude. Go fuckin¡¯ ask someone who cares.¡± ¡°Fine!¡± Marty threw up his hands. ¡°Whatever, bitch.¡± He stormed off. As soon as he was out of sight, Marcie approached where she last saw the girls. The deck rocked with the waves, throwing her off balance in the heels Annabelle insisted she wear. She found her bearings in time to soften her steps up to the corner where she heard a hushed voice. ¡°I just know you brought Marcie just to get back at me,¡± Julie whispered, identifiable by the jangling bracelets of her outfit. Marcie quickly hid back behind the corner to listen. Curiosity got the better of her good faith. She was already suspicious of Annabelle¡¯s intentions in wanting to become her friend, and hearing those suspicions voiced allowed that doubt to flood back into her. Julie kept harping on Annabelle. ¡°If you have a problem with me, you should say it to my face instead of being an underhanded bitch. Do you have any idea the kind of people my dad has here tonight? If your latina lap dog steps one foot out of line, it¡¯ll be your funeral.¡± ¡°Oh no, you caught me,¡± Annabelle responded, and the words sent Marcie¡¯s stomach spiraling into her bowels. It was high school all over again. Had she really grown so naive so quickly after graduation, that a mere year alone in the Cove made her forget what these people did to her? Annabelle spoke up again, a bit louder than before. ¡°I made friends with someone we all used to fucking torture, gained her trust and dressed her in my designer, just to piss you off. Do you have any idea how narcissistic you sound? Don¡¯t you think that maybe it might be more likely that one of us in our stupid clique grew a conscience? Ohhh sorry Jules, a conscience is when someone with a soul feels bad about being a piece of shit.¡± Julie raised her voice to match Annabelle¡¯s. ¡°You¡¯re such a liar!¡± Then, Marcie heard the commotion of clashing jewelry and the whimpers of a poorly concealed catfight. This tension she had around Annabelle¡¯s true feelings hadn¡¯t gone away. Something about the way she spoke to Julie was so vitriolic, so spiteful. Regardless of what Marcie had heard, she was still unconvinced. But, she had to hand it to the girl in red. They used to be the trio. Julie, Edith and Annabelle. If Annabelle was willing to throw that away on her account, she would at least stop her from making an unnecessary scene. Girl code or something. Marcie turned the corner and saw the two girls going at it. Their hits were soft¡ªclearly neither of them had ever been in a real fist fight¡ªthough they were doing a bang-up job of getting their rings caught in each other¡¯s hair. ¡°?Ya p¨¢rale!¡± She halted, approaching the two girls. She grabbed Annabelle to take her back to the party, or better yet off this God-forsaken boat. Julie had other ideas,grabbing her wrist, her own golden brown hair still partially wrapped around Annabelle¡¯s fingers. ¡°What are you doing?¡± Julie yelled. The sensation of this girl¡¯s fingers wrapped around her felt so odd. Like she was overwhelmingly cold to the touch. Then she noticed a slow trickle of sand spilling out from under Julie¡¯s nails and pooling on the wooden floor beneath them. Horrified, Marcie realized her whole body was pouring with sand, burying her feet. ¡°I asked you! What the fuck are you doing?¡± Julie growled. Marcie looked up to see Julie no longer angry but wide-eyed with panic. Then she looked back down immediately. Fifty-seven feet below her, she saw the carousel. They were both past the railing that separated the parking lot of Cove Beach from its dangerous cliffside. More and more sand continued to pour from her body. In her own state of panic, Marcie realized she was turning into sand. No, not sand. Black ash. Starting at her fingertips, she began to disintegrate. Slowly at first, working its way up until Julie held nothing but the dark flakes that used to be her flesh and bone. ¡°Fine,¡± Julie spat, turning away and storming off. ¡°See if I care if you break your legs, you fucking lunatic.¡± As Marcie faded further, she had trouble maintaining her balance. Her vision was failing her and heavy particles flaked off of her like a waterfall. They dragged her down with them until she felt a force thrust her over the cliff. She fell. The carousel came towards her. Faster and faster. Closer and closer. As her body faded further, her vision got darker. The world was becoming a void. Black, first at its edges, and then swallowing her whole. But it wasn¡¯t over. Through the darkness, she felt the wind. She felt the sand still clinging to a body she no longer had. And she heard dogs barking in the distance. And more voices. ¡°Mar, wake up.¡± ¡°Marcie, please you can¡¯t die on me again.¡± ¡°Diablilla. It¡¯s not your time. Not now. Tu caballero andante est¨¢ aqu¨ª.¡± Alma sin Hogar - Chapter 2.5 Marcie shot up in bed. That couldn¡¯t have been it. She didn¡¯t jump. There had to be more. She didn¡¯t¡­ Vision returned to her slowly. The room she was in was familiar, locked behind her haze of memory. She was getting pretty tired of that. The walls were completely bare. No decorations, no shelves, nothing. Cargo pants, shirts, and a work jacket, all caked in mud, were strewn across the floor, and the whole room smelled something like a wet dog. Sunlight glowed through shut window blinds, enough to light the room but obscuring the view to the outdoors. Was it morning again? Pain pulsated around her spine and pounded from her legs up to her skull. This was the first time she¡¯d felt genuine pain since her resurrection. Even when they were attacked by that monster, she¡¯d only screamed because she was frightened. It could have torn her apart all day and she would have felt nothing but dull pin pricks or the feeling of pulling off a partially healed scab. But this. This pain had her body raging against her as she moved. This felt like after she was full-body tackled by Curt sophomore year. The damn bastard wasn¡¯t even given detention for that. Sand particles had found their way between her grinding teeth, sending a rattling crunch sound through her skull. A slow migraine in her head felt like the grinding of a mortar and pestle. Questions swarmed her thoughts. What happened at the beach? Why was she in such pain? Was pain good or bad? Did it mean she was more alive or dying all over again? Should she tell Hunter? She was scared again now. Everything was suddenly so warm, like burning coals had sunk into the pit of her chest cavity. The sun was too hot and her clothes were clinging to her body. She felt like she was drying out like a raisin. Marcie threw off the blankets and tore the button- down overshirt Hunter had styled her witht off her shoulders, leaving only her lace undershirt on. A knock came at the door to the room as she had her thumb around the waistband of her jeans. She turned, hoping it was Hunter, even if she was nervous to tell him what was going on. She wanted to lay her head on his chest and convince herself it would all be okay. Disappointingly, she saw Grant poke his head in. Grant¡¯s face lit up with surprise and relief. ¡°Coffee?¡± He offered. Marcie sat up in the bed and brought the scratchy blankets up with her. She¡¯d deal with her apparent heatstroke if it meant she¡¯d be as hidden away from Grant Jeong as she could make herself. ¡°Sure.¡± Grant popped back out of the door and after a moment, returned with two steaming mugs. He sat in a chair near the bed, positioned where a visitor would sit to watch over a hospital patient. One of the mugs contained plain black coffee. Marcie never understood how Grant could drink something so vile. She was about to voice her very correct opinion and demand he at least put some cream and sugar in hers until she saw the other mug. Milky brown liquid filled the cup, probably more cream than coffee, and small clumps of cinnamon floated around the surface. ¡°You remember how I take my coffee?¡± asked Marcie. She surprised herself with how inviting her voice sounded, despite the fact that she¡¯d yet to extend a hand to take the mug or even unwrap herself from her blankets. ¡°Lotta cream, lotta sugar, cinnamon on top,¡± he recounted bashfully. Was this gesture supposed to make her feel better? Grant had remembered their weekly coffee meetups in their pre-adolescence all this time. He remembered how Marcie had to use up most of the weekly allowance that her dad kept secret from her mom just to get a latte and a coffee cake and he had to go to the ATM to take cash out so he could hide from his parents that he was dabbling in the dark art of coffee drinking so they wouldn¡¯t see the charge on their credit card. He remembered bonding over having chaotic home lives and overbearing immigrant mothers and getting made fun of at Ridgewood. He remembered all this time, and yet he still decided to make nice with their cruelest bullies. The unclouded memories of Annabelle and her friendship was evidence that at least one of them could change. But she didn¡¯t know Marcie before Ridgeview. Grant had. ¡°I guess, I¡¯ll just¨Cuhh¨Cput it on the night stand,¡± he said. He placed the mug quickly, accidentally clicking it against the bedside lamp, in an attempt to rush out of the room. Another round of aches rolled over her. ¡°?Nooo! No te vayas.¡± she squeaked out. ¡°Please.¡± Without thinking, she¡¯d reached out to grab Grant by the shirt, pulling him back down. ¡°Okay, okay,¡± he said comfortingly. Moments passed before Marcie could find any words. ¡°Where''s Hunter?¡± Grant cocked an incredulous eyebrow. ¡°He''s in the dining room talking to your uncle and his friend. Apparently, the rest of the neighborhood watch is supposed to get here soon.¡± ¡°My uncle? What the hell does my uncle have to do with this? What¡¯s going on?¡± Marcie attempted to launch herself out of bed, but all her body could manage was a slow lurch as more aches came. Grant pushed out his hands. In any other circumstance, he might¡¯ve been able to shove her back, but Marcie didn¡¯t budge. ¡°Damn, Hunter told me you got a lot stronger, but this is¡­¡± Grant started playfully pushing back on her shoulders to try and move her until he noticed the death glare she was giving him. ¡°Your uncle helped us keep you in one piece long enough to get you off the beach. They did some sort of ¡®healing ritual¡¯ on you? Hunter was up in arms at first¡­You need to rest. I don¡¯t know what happened, but you were falling apart.¡±If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. The word ¡®normal¡¯ felt so out of place. What was normal about this at all? Her soul had been shoved back into a corpse whose mechanisms she didn¡¯t understand. This must have been what it felt like to contract a rare disease before the advent of medicine, unable to comprehend why your body worked the way it did, scared and confused when what few solutions you had started to make less and less sense. Marcie laid back down and Grant relaxed. They drank their coffees together in silence. Grant had trouble meeting her eye. For a moment, she wondered if her eyepatch had slipped. Seeing him shift and look uncomfortably from the wall to the ground, she realized that he hadn¡¯t looked at her directly since they¡¯d met again. There were very few people Marcie was good at reading, and even then her intuition never seemed to reflect the whole picture. Grant was especially difficult. He could have been hiding something, or he could be looking away simply because he didn¡¯t know what to say. She had so many questions she needed answers to. Questions for Grant, for T¨ªo. And she thought she might burst if they didn¡¯t start talking. ¡°What happened to me?¡± she asked. ¡°I told you, Mar, I don¡¯t know,¡± he assured. ¡°No. Grant. What happened to me?¡± The distance between them grew. Like the air between them became thicker, harder to reach through. She wrapped her fingers around his arm, careful not to grip it too hard. Small would be the last word she would ever use to describe Grant Jeong. And yet, at that moment, he seemed smaller than she¡¯d ever seen him, shriveling deep into his chair and paying no mind to the coffee splashed onto his track pants. ¡°Nobody saw it happen. Julie¨C¡± Grant paused, and seemed to gauge her reaction to the name, afraid that he¡¯d accidentally struck a nerve. Marcie didn¡¯t wince, didn¡¯t even really acknowledge it. She¡¯d resigned herself to the fact a long time ago that Julie Lovett would be in her life forever. ¡°She was the closest, but even she says she doesn¡¯t know. None of us do.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think you would know. And Julie didn¡¯t do it.¡± agreed Marcie. ¡°Oh my god! You have your memories back?¡± Grant rose with excitement. Marcie shook her head. ¡°Not really. Only a few. I just remember she walked away before it happened. But I meant before that. I have these memories of Annabelle and I. Were we¡­friends?¡± She almost couldn¡¯t believe she was saying it. Grant sighed. ¡°Yeah. You and Annabelle got closer, but I hesitate to call anyone her friend.¡± His comment seemed to make himself laugh, though it barely provided any relief from the conversation. ¡°And you and I? We were friends again?¡± The question came out like a staunch atheist grilling a theologian. The edge of disbelief was so cutting, it whittled down Grant¡¯s confidence even further. The room was quiet again, save for his spoon hit ceramic as he stirred his coffee. It was largely untouched and certainly cold by then. Small drops fell from Grant''s face into the mug and were swept into the whirlpool. Seeing him so small was so aggravating. How dare he make her feel as though she did something wrong. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Marcie looked down at her twiddling thumbs, focusing in on small patches of skin that were half-scabbed and red like they¡¯d been recently grafted back on. ¡°Please don¡¯t apologize,¡± Grant said. ¡°I¡¯d like to say we were friends again. But I never asked. Everyone was stuck in the Cove ¨C maybe we were just lonely.¡± Marcie halted. She would¡¯ve preferred to carry on with the conversation, but Grant was crying to the point of hiccuping. He should be sad. He should hate himself and think he¡¯s a terrible person. So why was she crying too? Or at least, her eye was attempting its best facsimile considering her body was devoid of tears to shed. ¡°I wish I remembered,¡± Marcie struggled to say. ¡°But all I can see is that terrible side of you, Grant. I was so gung ho about getting you on board, I guess I didn¡¯t consider what it would be like to actually face you.¡± Grant wouldn¡¯t stop stirring his coffee. ¡°I know how you feel. There were so many things I wanted to say to you. And now you¡¯re alive again, which is crazy! And here I am, still unable to speak up. It just sucks that I don¡¯t know what happened to you. I¡¯m sorry I can¡¯t help you.¡± ¡°There¡¯s still time. I don¡¯t know if I can die twice, but you¡¯re right. I¡¯m here now.¡± Marcie placed a hand on Grant¡¯s shaking knee. A resolve came over him and he met Marcie¡¯s eye. ¡°You have every right to be angry or uneasy around me. It¡¯s what I deserve. I guess I thought that I could start moving on from who I am and you¡¯d see it. I could change and you¡¯d get the vibe. I¡¯ve been pretty unhappy with Julie and all of them for a while. I¡¯ve been pretty unhappy with myself. And when you got brought into the fold and we actually got to talking again, it gave me a lot of hope. I want to be different¡­.Things were so easy when we were kids.¡± ¡°Is that everything?¡± asked Marcie. He wiped his glossy eyes. ¡°I missed you so much, Mar.¡± Maybe at another time, in another life, Marcie would have felt compelled to hug Grant. She¡¯d wrap her arms around him and tell him that everything was okay and she could forgive and forget. But Marcie was getting really sick of forgetting, and she couldn¡¯t fathom how her past self had dug up any forgiveness. A, there were bigger fish to fry. Another knock came at the door. Hunter walked through and stopped at the sight of a bawling Grant, then he ran forward when he saw a conscious Marcie. ¡°Dude. Why didn''t you tell me she was awake,¡± he chastised. Then to her, ¡°You''re okay!¡± He swaddled her in a tight hug. She returned it even though it flared her aches. All of her simmering frustration seemed to boil away. Deep breaths allowed both of them to compose themselves. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± The pain had almost slipped from her memory too, until another one pulsed in her shoulder. She rolled her shoulder back in a subtle motion to massage it. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I think it¡¯s all back to normal.¡± Hunter pressed his palm into his forehead. ¡°This is why we need the Necronomicon back. I have no idea what could happen to you. You just started fading out of nowhere and if it weren¡¯t for your uncle¨C¡± He took another deep breath. ¡°Everyone just arrived. They want to talk to us. All of us.¡± His face darkened as he turned to include Grant as well. ¡°The neighborhood watch,¡± Marcie acknowledged, trying to keep the panic and confusion out of her voice. ¡°What do they know?¡± Hunter¡¯s face portrayed a foreboding concern. ¡°Your uncle wouldn¡¯t tell me, but it''s obvious it''s more than we do.¡± That didn¡¯t necessarily make her feel much better. Alma sin Hogar - Chapter 2.6 Getting out of bed was a painful series of cracking her joints and massaging her flesh until Marcie was finally on her feet. Embarrassment that should have made her cheeks flush, instead spread throughout her body as jitters. She needed her body to feel numb and normal again as soon as possible. There was a cacophony of conversation outside the bedroom. As Marcie passed through the hallway, a vague familiarity washed over her. While she didn¡¯t have an exact recollection of having been to T¨ªo¡¯s apartment before, she recognized the bullfighting tapestry hung on the wall in the passageway and knew the scent of the dusty rug under her bare feet. As soon as they turned into the main room, it went quiet. T¨ªo Jesse¡¯s common room had transformed into a makeshift war room. A laminated map of Redwood Cove stained with the smudges of dry erase marker was rolled out over a dining table. The table was not built to comfortably seat more than four people, and the room certainly wasn¡¯t designed to hold many more than six, being the only other room of T¨ªo¡¯s one bedroom apartment on the lower east side of the Cove. Somehow, they¡¯d managed to squeeze Marcie, Grant, and Hunter in with the full neighborhood watch crowd. Marcie vaguely remembered everyone in the room, but there was a small group of people that she distinctly remembered: Milton Sosa and his two sons Alejandro and Bruno who worked at the docks, Mr. and Mrs. Ruiz who owned La Chulada Mexican Market downtown, Susana Reveles and her daughter Luisa who ran the ice cream parlor, and Fernando Pinedo who used to get drinks with her dad. Most people were standing, including Hunter and Grant who fidgetted under the ire of the Watch. The only people who took seats at the table were Mr. Sosa, Mrs. Ruiz, Marcie, who T¨ªo insisted take one of the chairs, and T¨ªo himself, who sat beside her with a comforting hand placed on her shoulder. All the members of the neighborhood watch looked as though they were anticipating something. Their silence was uncanny, their stillness unnatural. Mr. Sosa was so clearly the leader of the group; even T¨ªo was uncharacteristically concentrated, awaiting any word from the man. T¨ªo seemed to be the only thing between her and the rest of the room. Even Mr. and Mrs. Ruiz who used to give her candy bars on the house and Alejandro, who used to gift her his hand-me-down action figures had their eyes trained on her. Why did she feel so apart from them now? Maybe it was because she was her father¡¯s daughter, even if she was T¨ªo¡¯s niece. The scent of honey and cinnamon wafted through the air, accompanied by the sound of milk bubbling on the stove. ¡°Alejandro,¡± Mr. Sosa prompted. Milton Sosa had a soothing yet commanding aura. The portly man waved his hand to direct one of his sons, though it didn¡¯t come off as a demand. Ale went to the connected kitchen to stir something in a pot big enough to feed the room. Seeing Mr. Sosa relaxing in the chair at the head of the table reminded Marcie of when she was a toddler and her parents would let her play with him as they shopped at the fish market. He would lift her up onto his lap as he sat at the checkout counter and tell her stories about the high seas, reminding her never to go near the edge of the docks, lest she want sea monsters to snatch her away. Though enough time had passed for his hair to grey and for his sons to become men, he clearly never lost that paternal spark. No one else in T¨ªo¡¯s living room moved from their positions until Mr. Sosa motioned again. ¡°Luisa, would you take the minutes today? En espa?ol. I¡¯ll be speaking some English for our guests,¡± he said. T¨ªo was shifting in his seat, occasionally taking a moment to crack his neck and shoulders. Mama always said it was because of his addiction that he was so fidgety, like he was nervous about something, but Papa insisted he¡¯d always been that way. Marcie had always gotten the notion that T¨ªo was far more discerning than he let on. She wondered what he was thinking then, glancing between Hunter and Mr. Sosa. Mr. Sosa cleared his throat, ¡°Buenos d¨ªas a todos. Gracias por asistir a esta importante reuni¨®n. We are here to gain crucial information regarding the entity Hunter Campbell here has called the Void. El Vac¨ªo.¡± A brief chuckle disturbed the quiet, somewhere in the room. ¡°Hunter Campbell, tell everyone what you¡¯ve seen,¡± commanded Mr. Sosa. Nervousness painted Hunter¡¯s face even paler, but he found the strength to straighten up and clear his throat. ¡°Several nights ago,¡± he bravely started, ¡°we encountered an entity that was unlike anything I¡¯ve ever seen or heard of. It looked like a shadow or like a black hole. I don¡¯t really know how else to describe it.¡± Hunter gave the room a detailed account of the night at the docks. The room somehow went even quieter, like they were ready to pounce on him if they heard something they didn¡¯t like. ¡°¡­And then, there was this man. He had his own book. Uhh¡­not a grimoire, if you all know what that is¡­¡± Mr. Sosa gave him a swift nod. ¡°I didn¡¯t get his name, but he cast an incantation using blood to teleport us through town,¡± Hunter continued. The murmuring started. None of the watchmen and women seemed anxious, but they spoke in hushed tones as if to keep their secrets from the only three people who were not of their ranks. Mr. Sosa threw up a balled fist. All the noise in the room halted. Hunter fidgeted uncomfortably with all the attention returned to him. ¡°He left me in my own bedroom, I don¡¯t know how he knew where I lived but I haven¡¯t seen him since.¡± ¡°Next question, Hunter. Why have you made our Marcella into this abomination?¡± Mr. Sosa asked. Behind his placid tone, there was a snarl. ¡°I only wanted to¡­She isn¡¯t¡­¡± Hunter squirmed under the disquieting stare of the man across from him. She wanted to slam her hands on the table and speak for herself. Mr. Sosa''s attention was solely pointed at Hunter, and yet a lump had formed in Marcie¡¯s throat. She only managed, ¡°I asked him to.¡± For a moment, Mr. Sosa¡¯s tough expression broke as he took in what she¡¯d said, but he soon returned to his piercing stare. Her and Hunter¡¯s limp responses swayed no one. The tense air that permeated the room was filled with what Marcie detected as disgust. Were they disgusted with her? With what she¡¯d become? ¡°Marcella,¡± Mr. Sosa said with soft condescension, ¡°Do you understand what danger you¡¯ve brought upon us?¡± What in the hell sort of question was that? What danger? Like any of this was her fault. She¡¯d come up out of the ground just a month ago; how was she supposed to understand any of this? ¡°Te lo digo, jefe. Eso es injusto.¡± T¨ªo¡¯s chair creaked as he sat forward to challenge Mr. Sosa¡¯s glare across the table. ¡°Perd¨®n.¡± Mr. Sosa surrendered with both hands in the air. It was hard to tell, as Mr. Sosa backed into his chair, who was actually in charge. Marcie found that the best way to calm her nerves, considering she could no longer take deep breaths, was to squeeze the bones of her toes. With her phalanges pressing against her metatarsals, she could hone her focus. Thinking it best to assume the confidence of her uncle, she squared her shoulders, balled her toes, and addressed the room. ¡°What are you keeping from us? What happened to me at the beach?¡±This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. T¨ªo and Mr. Sosa exchanged another round of looks. Mr. Sosa spoke without turning his head. ¡°You¡¯re safe now¨C¡± ¡°Tell me!¡± Marcie demanded and even Mr. Sosa leaned back a bit in surprise. ¡°¨CShe deserves to know, Milton.¡± T¨ªo argued. ¡°Como veas,¡± Mr. Sosa motioned. T¨ªo placed his hand back on Marcie¡¯s shoulder. She hadn¡¯t even realized it moved. That stern seriousness he used to speak to Mr. Sosa didn¡¯t leave his tone of voice. It reminded her of Papa. ¡°Marcella, the Necronomicon your friend there used to bring you back to life is a powerful relic. Bringing that thing to this town has put all of us in danger. Its powers were used again when you were at the beach and we were surprised it was not your partner who caused it. My assumption is that El Vac¨ªo used the book. That surge disrupted whatever forces were holding you together. If we weren¡¯t already in the area, we may have been too late.¡± He looked at his fellow watchmen. ¡°We have powers of our own, powers that have been in our blood for generations. We did our best to use them to keep you from fading back to ash.¡± Marcie remained quiet through his explanation, almost as still as room, save for her still scraping bones. All of these people she¡¯d known for years had suddenly become strangers. Anomalies like her that she no longer understood. ¡°Hunter,¡± T¨ªo turned, ¡°tell me, where did you find such a thing? I don¡¯t think we covered that.¡± Hunter¡¯s shoulders hiked up like they did when he was embarrassed, ¡°Craigslist.¡± ¡°Oh boy,¡± someone blurted. T¨ªo took a deep breath. ¡°What attacked you that night at the docks was a demon. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve realized by now.¡± ¡°Yes sir,¡± said Hunter. ¡°We don¡¯t know its name, but we¡¯ve been trying to pin it down for some time now. It is also very dangerous. It has the grimoire now, correct?¡± ¡°Yes sir.¡± ¡°Mmm,¡± T¨ªo acknowledged gravely. He motioned to the table and the map laid out on it. There were dots drawn in dry erase marker all across town, the newest one being right at the beach. ¡°We¡¯ve been tracking the supernatural energy that the demon leaves behind across Redwood Cove. We didn¡¯t find what we were looking for, but we did find you.¡± T¨ªo gave a grave look to Marcie, then Hunter and Grant. ¡°Marcella, you were created using a book crafted by evil from a place that may very well be Hell.¡± Shakily, Marcie let out a confused, ¡°Okay? But why¨C?¡± ¡°¨CYou¡¯re wasting time, Jacinto.¡± Mr. Sosa scratched at his neck. ¡°Hunter Campbell, how many people know about Marcella?¡± Hunter¡¯s answer came slowly and with some difficulty. Marcie barely kept track either so she couldn¡¯t blame him much even if the Watch seemed antsy for him to do his mental math. ¡°Me and Grant. Marty too, but I¡¯m not sure if he¡¯s even alive. I think my sister might have some suspicions but I don¡¯t think she actually does. And..all of you now.¡± ¡°¨CMy mother saw too, but I convinced her she had a nightmare,¡± Grant mentioned. ¡°Ahh yeah. Her too maybe,¡± Hunter confirmed. Mr. Sosa nodded approvingly towards Grant. ¡°You may have very well saved her life. Most people cannot naturally see the paranormal. This means they cannot be harmed by creatures, demons or monsters. If they encounter one, they will see something more normal, something that would make sense to them. And they¡¯d be much more resistant to attacks because they¡¯d feel only what would be reasonable for what they''re seeing. But that all changes when they are confronted with undeniable evidence, like for example, a dead girl who they saw buried who is now walking the streets of Redwood Cove. Once you make first contact, it¡¯s open season. Do you understand now, what you¡¯ve brought here? For your safety and the safety of the town, I¡¯m going to ask you all to stay here until we can find a solution.¡± ¡°What¨C?¡± Marcie¡¯s unbeating heart sank. ¡°¨CIt¡¯s only until we can deal with the demon.¡± T¨ªo tried to placate her. He looked pained to agree with Mr. Sosa. Marcie¡¯s feet were gripped so tight they were starting to hurt. She wasn¡¯t evil. They couldn¡¯t keep her here. ¡°But we can help! Nobody will have to know it¡¯s me. That thing is deadly and I can¡¯t die. And Hunter knows more about that book than anyone!¡± ¡°Marcella. You must stay here¡± T¨ªo pleaded. ¡°You have to understand. You¡¯ll only be putting more people in danger¨C¡± ¡°No!¡± She yelled her defiance. She couldn¡¯t be trapped in one bedroom again, not when her memories were starting to return. Not when she might be running out of time. ¡°Marcella, listen to me¨C¡± In an instant, she¡¯d thrown herself onto the table. Mr. Sosa tried to grab her leg as she jumped from the other end, the commotion sending Luisa¡¯s notepad flying. The apartment was so small and the door was so close. Several of the Watch tried to stop her, but she barrelled through them like bowling pins. She threw Bruno aside, shoved Fernando onto his ass, and kicked off Susana who tackled her by the waist. When she got to the door, she flung it open, forgetting entirely to even twist the knob, sending splinters of wood flying. What lay beyond the door took her immediately off guard. BARK A pack of Xoloitzcuintli had swarmed the other side of the door. A dozen or so of them. Had they been out there the whole time? BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK The whole horde was gnashing their teeth and snarling, spitting saliva everywhere. Marcie fell onto her back as they all pounced. And it wasn¡¯t just them. There was more barking from inside the room. As Marcie was swarmed, she watched Alejandro, Bruno, Luisa, and many other Watch members start to transform. Their hands shriveled into paws, their hair shortened until it barely poked out of the top of their head, and their bones snapped into their new forms. Great. All these T¨ªos and T¨ªas she grew up with were¡­werewolves? Weredogs? Either way, this sudden comprehension only confused her more. Then, of course, all the new dogs joined the pile too. Being smothered by the dogs, with their claws scratching at her clothes and her skin, felt alarmingly like being in the darkness of the Void. Marcie kicked and screamed, trying to escape, but it was no use. They were strong. Stronger than her. So much so that even one or two might¡¯ve been enough to keep her down. She didn¡¯t know if it took five seconds or five minutes, but, eventually, she couldn¡¯t fight anymore. Marcie hadn¡¯t been truly still for a long time. When she wasn¡¯t moving her body of her own will, nothing moved. No heartbeat, no blood pumping in her veins, no air flowing into her lungs. And that stillness reminded her of something else. A spaceless expanse of nothingness. A place where a moment was endless and she had spent infinity alone. Death. The afterlife. Wherever she had been. A loud two-finger whistle rang through the darkness and her surroundings started to shift. Light returned, but somehow everything still felt dim. She couldn¡¯t go back. Not to being trapped in one room. Not to being engulfed by a monstrous darkness. Not to being ash or a corpse dead on the carousel at the bottom of a cliff. Not back to the afterlife. ¡°Marcie, you¡¯re okay. They¡¯re off.¡± Hunter was hugging her but she could barely feel his arms around her. The living room was even more crowded now, with dozens of people all standing over her. ¡°I can¡¯t go. I can¡¯t go,¡± she repeated. ¡°What the hell!¡± Hunter yelled at the crowd, now all back to human form. T¨ªo knelt down to her level. ¡°Lo siento diablilla. That was a bit overkill.¡± He helped her up and Hunter and Grant gently guided her back to the table. She knew it was happening, but it felt like she was witnessing herself from outside her body. Nothing made sense. There were too many unknowns, too much to understand. Mr. Sosa was right to question her. She didn¡¯t know anything anymore. The bones of her toes were scraping together so hard she could have ground them to dust. Grant had both hands on her shoulders and had his eyes locked on her, trying to coach her through breathing exercises. She wanted to explain that she couldn¡¯t, but no words escaped her lips. And in any case, she didn¡¯t need to talk, she needed to feel something, anything. So she threw her arm into the table. Not to break it, but to break herself. Marcie aimed right at the corner, bisecting her hand at the knuckles and splitting her radius from her ulna. And it hurt. Finally it hurt. Not enough to scream, but just enough. As Marcie got her bearings, she took stock of the room. The Watch was still at alert. Grant had flinched back in shock and Hunter was just looking on with a powerless look in his eyes. Everyone was laser-focused on her, like she was a ticking bomb ready to go off at any moment. The only people who weren¡¯t were Mr. Sosa and her T¨ªo, who were in the corner talking to each other. And as Marcie fully settled back into her own body, she started to pick out the words that came out of Mr. Sosa¡¯s mouth. ¡°Tenemos que ir. Ellos encontraron un cad¨¢ver en los muelles. Lo revisar¨¦,¡± he said. A dead body was found at the docks.