Bright sunlight blazed through the giant windows that I had forgotten to cover the night before. I added that to things I now knew: I could eat, sleep, compel people, and try to control my thirst for blood instead of eating everyone in sight.
I also knew something else. I wanted to go to school. Not because I felt I was missing out on my education, but because I felt like Drake was someone I wanted to get to know better. And not just because he was hot, which did help, but because he was the first one who made me feel normal, and not like the monster that dwelled within.
Maybe carve out a new life for myself. I didn’t want to be alone. I really wanted to go home, but that clearly wasn’t an option. So this would have to be the next best thing. At least I wasn’t so far from Rochelle. It was close enough to check up on my family periodically. But I needed to get things organized here.
First on the list was money. People expected you to have your own money and besides, I owed Drake a dinner. There were a couple of options. One, steal it. Two, get a job. But in reality, I’d probably still need to steal some, because a job wasn’t going to pay me right away.
After a bloody breakfast, I headed out to the Mustang and had to let it warm up for a minute. The windows had frosted over the night before. The concierge had been nice enough to give me a little map of downtown Bartlett so I could find a bank.
I pulled into the Bartlett Bank not long after it opened and waited in front of the walk-up ATM. A businessman in a gray suit pulled up alongside me in his Lexus. Bingo.
When he put his card in the ATM, I got out of the car and stood in line behind him. He took no notice of me at first, but turned and nodded while he waited for his money. I had to make sure that I made eye contact before he walked away.
“Excuse me,” I said as he turned. He was putting the money into a black leather wallet. He caught my eye and we were in business.
“I seem to need some money.”
His eyes glazed over. “You need some money.”
“Yeah, how much do you have there?” I motioned to his wallet.
He glanced down and pulled the money back out. “Five hundred dollars.”
“Give me two-fifty. Tell your wife you had to pay back a guy at work for some money you spent on a business trip.”
“Had to pay a guy back,” he said, handing me the bills.
“Thanks!” I stuffed the money into my new purse. That should last me for a couple days.
The confused-looking man got back in his Lexus and headed off. I followed him into the center of town, which was made up of a train station and a row of old buildings on either side of the street. A bakery, a few restaurants and bars, a hardware store, and a craft boutique made for a very tiny downtown. It reminded me of Rochelle, small and quaint, even in the midst of the suburbs of Chicago. I turned around and headed back in the other direction, towards a place on the map that I really wanted to go.
Winding through the tree-lined residential streets, I found the sign I was looking for. The Bartlett Public Library.
I walked in the door and to the circulation desk.
“Excuse me, could you tell me if there are computers I can use to go on the Internet?”
“Sure,” answered the middle-aged woman behind the counter. She didn’t look like a typical librarian. She had glasses, but they were cool purple ones with rhinestones, not the giant old ones you would normally picture. She wore jeans and a black sweater. She came out from behind the counter and led me into another part of the library.
“Here are our computers. They have full access to the Internet as well as other research resources. Is there anything in particular that I can help you with?”
Yeah, I want to find out how I died.
“Nope, I should be able to find it online just fine.” I grinned.
She nodded and walked in the direction of the circulation desk.
I plopped down in the chair and clicked on the Internet and tried to think of where to search first. I knew from the wooden cross that I died on October 27 and from the calendar at the clinic, I knew I had come back on the 31st. On Halloween. Not that it mattered. Nobody would’ve reported on my return. But it had been a couple of days. Had they found Harold and Mrs. Harold? I’d look that up too. Call it morbid curiosity.
I typed in the address for the Rochelle News-Leader. Such a silly name for a newspaper. But I knew they’d have just what I was looking for. I clicked on the ‘Top Stories’ button and scrolled down to the bottom of the page. My death most definitely was a top story, especially in a town of under ten thousand residents.
I gasped as I came across my senior picture next to an article titled ‘Rochelle High School Senior Dies in Freak Accident’ dated October 28. I clicked on the headline and it took me to the full article.
17-year-old Victoria Hernandez, of Rochelle, was killed yesterday after a large tree branch fell on her and a friend while they were in the woods on the Haunted Hike. The friend suffered minor injuries, and was released from Rochelle Central Hospital at 11 P.M. Hernandez, a senior at Rochelle High School, suffered massive head trauma and was pronounced dead at the scene. Park rangers are investigating the accident, but it appears the branch broke off due to natural causes and fell from the tree as the girls walked underneath. The Rochelle Park District, responsible for the Haunted Hike, said that their staff had not touched the tree as they decorated the path.
“She was such a beautiful person,” said 18-year-old Delaney Abernathy, a classmate. “She was always willing to help others. She didn’t deserve this.”
Extra counselors will be available to students at Rochelle High School through the end of the week. A memorial has been planned for Saturday, October 30th in the school’s gymnasium. All are welcome.
I stared at the screen. I wanted to scream. I didn’t deserve this. A tree branch fell on my head? Who dies that way? I also didn’t deserve what happened afterwards. To be transformed into this thing, this killer. To be stalked through the woods by another killer. Why did this happen to me?
I buried my face in my hands, not wanting to look back at the screen. But I had to check one more thing.
I scrolled up a few articles, scanning for one from November 1. Nothing about Harold and Mrs. Harold. Not a word. That was really odd. They should have mentioned how an elderly couple was found dead, together, on the floor of their garage. If and when they do find them, they’re going to have a lot of questions. I couldn’t imagine anything could lead to me.
Oh god.
I didn’t.
But I most definitely did.
I left my bloodied Homecoming dress lying on the floor of Mrs. Harold’s spotless bathroom. My heart plunged into my stomach. But what could I do? Go back? It would be so painful for my parents to hear that someone desecrated their daughter’s grave and stole her dress. Because that’s what it would look like. Someone had to notice that my grave was empty. I hadn’t exactly made a clean break from the coffin—it was pretty much demolished. And since no one had bothered to actually finish covering it with dirt, someone had to have seen it.
I had to go back and check. But what would that do for anyone? If it had already made its way back to my parents, it would be too late. But I had to see for myself. I jumped up from the computer desk and walked out of the library. The librarian waved as I ran out the door.