Finding someone in a sea of skeletal faces and sugar skull manifestations resulted in being challenging when Salem stepped onto the scene at the Mathison farmhouse. Everyone had gone all out, really committing to Bridge’s theme both in time spent and cultural accuracy. The music was a cavalcade of genres that perfectly described Bridge Mathison. As Nicki Minaj’s ‘Roman’s Revenge’ screamed from some outside subwoofers, he realized just how vast the Mathison’s land was. The farmhouse itself was a giant erected in their honor, surveying the five acres they owned with supreme scrutiny. The dark wood of the farmhouse harmonized the Día de los Muertos concept exquisitely as people paraded through the massive front lawn where everyone could dance, eat and drink: the party trifecta that was a perfect concoction to make the night unforgettable.
That’s when Salem spotted Kirby’s recognizable anatomy over by one of the drink tables, pouring neon hued alcohol into three separate solo cups. His devilish face paint must have spooked her, since she jumped when she glanced at him, missing one of the cups she was filling and caused the dark red tablecloth to be coated in sweet sticky saturated liquor.
“Dammit, Salem.” He was merely glad that she could see his features underneath all of his faultless makeup, her gasp enough to upturn his lips in amusement.
He popped his eyebrows a couple times at her. “It’s good, right?” Salem gestured toward his intricate red paint. “I figured Bridge would appreciate the effort.”
“So it’s all for Bridge? That why you’re here tonight?”
“Partly.” Salem stated. “But I was also hoping that you and I could talk about us finding that woman the other day.”
“I’m just here to have a good time, Salem. To let loose and forget heavy stuff like witnessing Paige’s crash.”
“Seriously, Kirby. The fact that you even know her well enough to recite her name is exactly what I’m talking about.” Salem’s gaze zeroed in past her vigorous deflection. “It’s clear that something big is at play here. I’m just asking for you to be real with me about it.”
Kirby gracefully grabbed her drinks and whipped away from the table, Salem trailing her as they glided over the lawn.
“Yes, there’s a bigger story.” She ultimately pronounced. “All you get, all I even really know, is the guys are convinced that Paige has been stalking them since school started.”
“What? Kirby—”
“Not now, Salem.” She looked toward a clearing, a break in the crowd of people, where Faith and Willa were hanging out until her return with their drinks. She faced Salem again, making sure to really spray her dialogue with as much conviction as they truly carried. “I just want to be a girl at a party tonight.” Her nose imploded in on itself as she eyed her friend. “Why don’t you go find Bridge and just be two boys at a party?”
Her drinks pointed her in the direction of where her friends were waiting for her. Once she handed Willa and Faith their cups, their eyes remained on Salem.
“Okay, why haven’t you introduced us to that ghost of boyfriend past yet?” Faith cooed suggestively.
“Seriously, Salem is delicious,” Willa sighed, a faux indication of her heart’s romantic pitter patter. “Even if I am sort of already taken.”
Faith reacted with a wide beam of a glare. “You and Hugo made things official?”
Nodding emphatically, Willa dazzled like a diamond melting waves of crystal in the sun as Kirby shrugged off the school girl swoons over Salem. “I’m glad for you, Willa. But Salem and I have a lot of history. We’re still getting to know each other again.”
“Well, that’s good.” Faith declared with certainty. “Have either of you seen any of the guys? Straton and Hugo are super slow getting here.”
“I haven’t, no.” Willa stated.
Taking the suggestion to glimpse over the wave of illustrated high schoolers, Kirby just happened to make out Bridge, and then later Mercer as he came up to him hurriedly.
“I’ll go see if they know anything.”
Pushing past both the strangers and the familiars, Kirby was coming into her boyfriend and his best friends’ conversation as Mercer said the words, “We should do it soon.”
“Do what soon?” Her eyebrows arched as she swapped intense eyelocks with each of them.
“Go ahead and tell her.” Bridge decided, cracking his knuckles during the inevitable pause between them. “We may need her help.”
“Bridge—” Mercer went to protest and debate the idea of his girlfriend into their clandestine meddling, but his friend was nimble to suspend his sentence.
“The birthday boy hath spoken.” He said defiantly, holding his head high like a true regal candidate, which coincided with the cheap yet extensively detailed plastic crown wrapped around his dome.
Mercer let his eyes somersault in dismissal, Kirby chuckling as he grabbed her hand as a tactile tether, a way to draw her attention to his eyes. Bridge wordlessly examined the area for Abram and Alex, but all he witnessed was his random skeletal subjects as Mercer filled her in.
“Breaking back into Arclan?” Her voice lifted like a hot air balloon taking sudden ascension. “Wait, are you trying to get into contact with Frankie Ellery?”
He confirmed her assumptions with the gentle clutch of his hand. “We have to. We’re preparing to tell Dagger the whole story, and Frankie is a part of that, at least whatever she knows.”
“Frankie’s in solitary.” Kirby shook her head. “How do you—”
“We’re out of options,” He exhaled harshly, throwing away his already toxic feelings concerning the night’s transgressions. “It has to be tonight, while Paige is still in the hospital.”
“Alright, alright.” She was beginning to interpret the urgency Mercer was warranting. “When is this going down?”
“Preferably now.” Bridge mentioned with the wisp of his hair as he smoothed it with the quick flick of his wrist.
“We have a problem.”
The voice came from Alex, Abram right by his side where everyone knew he belonged. They came bounding from what looked like the parking lot, having observed something that required an urgent relay.
“I really hate to ask for any follow up.” Bridge resolved.
“There’s pretty stable security surrounding this place.”
“More details, Abe.”
Alex took it upon himself to interject. “Unmarked police cars surveying the perimeter of all streets leading out of here.”
“Maybe it’s just Dagger keeping an eye on things.” Mercer gave his opinion with guarded optimism. “Just in case.”
“That’s great and all, but that makes it more than difficult for all of us to sneak over to Arclan and badger a psycho in solitary.”
Abram winced at Alex. “Can we refrain from the Pword when talking about people in Arclan?”
“The point being that we all can’t go disappearing from the party and go straight to Arclan.”
A series of bleeps reverberated from Abram’s phone then, the blond taking the time to read it. All the color blurred from his face, his emotions as untamed as wildlife in the Serengeti. His friends’ worry climbed without question when his entire body went as white as his sugar skull face.
“Abe, what is it?” Alex’s agony grew when the phone holding his hand quaked.
He allowed Alex access to the phone from his possession and received the nonverbal okay to read the text aloud.
“Mr. St. James, I acquired your number from when you called our company. I believe it’s time I tell you the whole story.” Alex lifted his presence from the phone, eyes rebounding between Bridge and Mercer. “You deserve to know about Emmy Walker.” Alex looked up from the phone, bemused by its current glowing paragraph. “Reyna.”
“Oh my God.” Bridge breathed carefully.
Another text appeared on the surface of Abram’s phone. Alex gave it back to him, Abram’s grip on the device making a vein engorge.
“She sent me an address.” Abram leered. “She wants to meet with
me. Now.”
“You have to go.” Mercer concluded. “You get the dirt on Emmy Walker, we’ll get whatever we can from Frankie Ellery, and we can take it all to Dagger to finally get everything out in the open.”
“Ugh, please don’t say the detective’s name.” Alex pleaded roughly.
“Why?” Abram relished on inquiry.
“Long story, it can wait.” He grabbed Abram’s hand. “But Mercer’s right, you should go.”
“What about getting into Shadows Manor? I’m the only one who knows how to get in.”
“So tell me.” A gallop was performed as Mercer stepped forward. “I can do it.”
“Mercer, are you sure?” Kirby’s tone vibrated prudence, convulsing every chord on the way up. “The last time you were down in that passage, you were shot.”
“Go with him,” Bridge advised with an invisible shove. “You’re the only other person who’s familiar with Arclan’s layout. Do you know where the solitary block is?”
“I had to hunt my mom down for lunch there once. I can get us there, no problem.”
“Then let’s go, I can explain how to break into Shadows Manor on the way to Alex’s car.”
“B, come with us to Arclan.” Mercer nodded.
It was at that instant that Bridge found Salem in the crowd, a simper brightening his mood. Sure, they had secret stuff going on, but it was still Bridge’s day and he wanted to truly enjoy something before the night became transfixed on crime and confidentiality.
“Actually, I’m going to hang around here for a bit.” Still looking over at Salem, Bridge added, “Good luck.”
Alex lunged forward to clarify why him staying at the party alone was a bad idea, but Abram blocked him by outstretching his arm.
“Abe, he’s so unprotected by himself.”
“It’s still his birthday, Alex. Let him at least attempt to have a normal one while we do what needs to be done.”
“Alright. Let’s go then.”
Kirby nodded. “Lead the way.”
Mercer and Kirby went ahead and bounced for the parking lot, Abram and Alex lagging behind. Alex turned around to see Faith popping up amidst the parade of teens, agitated and frantic judging by her erratic facial contortions and wild flailing of her limbs intended to be seen as gesturing.
“Take the car,” Alex presented his boyfriend with his car keys. “Faith needs me and it's obvious we’re meant to split up.”
Abram strived to ease his ails with a suave grin. “I’ll be fine.”
“Make sure of it.” Alex leaned in and kissed Abram swiftly before retracting back to his previous stance. “I love you, you know.”
“I know.” he laughed. “I love you too.
With the mutual declaration, Abram left for the parking area off the main part of the lawn as Alex went to meet his sister at the halfway point between their current locale.
“Wait, no.” Faith let out when they were close enough. “Where is Abe going?”
“Dealing with something.” Alex easily read the panic running a marathon back and forth in her darkly dressed eyes. “Why do you look like you’re waiting to faint?”
“Because I’m still convinced that I might.” Faith assured with mock certainty. “But I need all of you for this. Straton and Hugo just got here.”
“Well good for them.” He scoffed. “And everyone is out trying to deal with our stalker and other encompassing problems, so you’ve got me.”
“Alex, this is big. Hugo and Straton have information on the stalker that are exponential.”
“What? What intel could they have on Paige?”
“No,” her eyes grew darker as she glimpsed her brother’s soul through their shared hazel eyes. “It’s not Paige.”
Back across the lawn, Bridge joined Salem by the rim of the party, leaning against someone’s car that started the parking arena. He was still in awe that he was back at the family farmhouse. It was the first time that Bridge had been back since his parents were claimed as missing. Having the party at the house was his way of connecting with his parents, of somehow sharing his birthday with them even if distance and conundrum exiled them from each other. Shifting priorities and all thoughts thereof, he laughed as he leaned next to the taller man sipping his selfconcocted mixed drink.
“You made it.” Bridge said, still chuckling. “Love your makeup, by the way.”
“I told Kirby you would love it.” Salem nodded as a smirk set off his features. “Speaking of, have you seen her?”
Bridge went to describe to Salem that Mercer and Kirby had left a few minutes ago, glancing to where Abram was issuing himself into Faith and Alex’s car unattended. Eyebrows raised, he watched as his friend eased out of the parking job, as anticipated. But then someone exited the shadows, someone also watching Abram, that was crouched behind an identical car to the one Abram rode off in, trying to thwart whatever this person assumed they were up to. Under added scrutiny, Bridge managed to make out two flat tires on the doppelganger vehicle, clearly caused by the cloaked character as a fury of fuming curses befell them, this person owning the title of their stalker without Bridge hesitating on the accusation. And then, their defeat discernible, the shadowy figure turned back to concealment, but they slipped up and Bridge was able to see the person’s identity for a two second window.
His heart was instantly submerged in arctic water, drowning in hypothermic shock as their stalker’s true existence sent icebergs of skepticism to the void in his stomach.
“Anyway, do you wanna dance?”
Salem’s words were distant and suppressed, straining to comprehend the verity of what he had just seen. Slowly stumbling steps carried him onward, away from Salem, undeterred by the latter’s begging for a clarification, and Bridge thoughtlessly broke out into a run, craving an escape from the crushing reality of who had been torturing them since school had initiated. He wasn’t sure if Salem was following him when Bridge stumbled right up to Willa’s car and sent up an unspoken invocation that she had been careless enough to leave her doors free from latching closed.
Luck must have sided with Bridge at his request, because the driver door to Willa’s Chevy Cobalt retracted at his will. As he slid into the seat, Bridge quickly thanked whatever karma was spectating him that the car had the breezy push to start ignition.
The Cobalt thundered to vivacity. Bridge looked up and gazed into the rearview mirror and waited for Salem’s face to appear, having chased him for more details on his leaving his own birthday party, but the face fading on the glass belonged to his stalker. They were so stupid, so naive to think that it was Paige, someone who was an innocent bystander in all of this mess. Someone who had only tried to help Bridge in his time of need when he was without a place to stay without proper supervision. But he didn’t have time to send himself the onslaught of selfdamnation. It was in the moment that their eyes connected in the mirror that Bridge knew that wherever he took the car, they’d follow him.
And he knew exactly where to lead them.
He drove the brisk tenminute ride, trying to remain calm and vigilant when he threw the car into park at Armor Falls Cemetery. Two horrifying forces fought for supremacy inside as he calmly got out of the Cobalt. First, he hadn’t been to the property of Armor Falls Cemetery since the night that Sumner had snapped, and his first steps strolling past headstones were ones of untrustworthy stability. Second, a car had been tailing him since his departure from the farmhouse, a fact that quickened his heart rate without proper navigation.
The stalker had just arrived as Bridge stopped at Marjorie Shadows’ grave, his pulse fluttering when footsteps met the crumbling leaves that plentifully decorated the lush of the cemetery. Still unmoving and his back facing the stalker, Bridge felt his heart doing trapeze tricks when the figure gridlocked the stomping toward him, presumably only a handful of feet truly dividing them.
“I know you’re really the one who has been threatening my friends,” Bridge spoke, his shaking chest giving his words a coarse
fringe. “I know who you are. I know when I turn around and see that I’m right, that it’s been you all along, that there’s no hope at some other conclusion.” He paused to sniffle out a bout of distracting emotion. “And I need a minute to believe that I’m wrong.”
Nothing happened right away, which only fueled the thoughts Bridge knew were valid. A slick wave of nausea bubbled at the base of his esophagus. He gradually spun to face the stalker, a gasp catching his breath when he looked into the eyes of the last person he wanted to be standing before him.
“Ben,” Bridge managed to choke out, tears aligned and standing by for the okay to jump from the cliff of his reddening black eyes. “This whole time…”
“Bridge, I can explain.” Ben’s demeanor was passive, sheer divergence to the harasser that had been plaguing their every waking move.
“Explain?” Bridge was crying, a mixture of heartbreak and wrath. “Explain how you could do this?” Then, a burst of temperament permitted him to howl. “How could you!?”
“I swear to you, my feelings for you—”
“Stop!” He clutched where his heart was housed, taking his available arm and using the sleeve of his sweater to smear his skeletal makeup, two thirds of his real face now evident. “I was so stupid!”
“Bridge, please.”
“If you ever felt anything for me, you will tell me why you did this, what you’ve done and what you know.”
“But—”
“Now!”
Bridge wiped his face again, his tears smudging what remained of his masterful and meticulous Día de los Muertos inspired visage. Ben let out an anvil of a groan to free his lungs.
“Where do I start?”
“The very beginning.”
Fearing Bridge’s retaliation if he didn’t accommodate, Ben cleared his throat as his confession iced his tone on the way out of his mouth.
“My parents live on the same street as Kirby,” Ben began with reluctant earnest. “And I was visiting them before second semester started at Heartmyth. We got into this fight about what I was doing with my major after I quit my psych internship, so I went out for a walk to cool down from the argument. I thought about going back to school for the party, but I decided on walking through the woods behind the house Athena and Kirby would move into. And then when I was walking in the woods…”
“You saw us burying the body.” This realization shivered his fingertips with static apprehension. “You were the one Alex heard that night.”
Ben affirmed the statement. “I was mortified. How could you just bury someone and not tell the police?”
“Ben, you have no idea what we went through!”
Ignoring him, Ben pursued the ending of his disclosure. “I thought you would come to your senses and tell the police, but then you all went away and so much time had passed, even more so once Abram was released. From there, it was easy to convince my dad that I could do some freelance psych tutoring when Abram’s dad confided in mine about his asylum woes. So, I became Abram’s therapist in training.”
“So you decided to make us bend to your will? That means you knew who I was the night we first met at that Heartmyth party when school started this year.”
Ben sighed. “Yes.”
“You bastard.” He sobbed and scoffed simultaneously, avoiding Ben’s intent stare.
“It started out as trying to get all of you to report to the authorities. That’s why I paid a couple freshman to write that ketchup message on your table the first day of school.”
Bridge’s jaw snapped ajar, unable to avoid his eyes at such a revelation. “That was you?”
“It’s all been me.” Ben admitted with exact clearance. “The rummage outside the RV, the messages on your cars, taking the pages from the passage and leaving them at Shadows Manor. All of it.”
“Did you…” Bridge wrestled to enunciate the one act that really ate away at the hearth of his soul. “Did you set me up for Blanche’s murder?”
Without sobbing or letting emotion dip into his tone, Ben replied with a simple, “Yes.” He sighed, searching for sympathy when he looked into his eyes, but all Ben found in them was himself reflected back. “Bridge, I’m so sorry.” He stepped forward in a small way. “I just wanted you to tell the truth. You killed someone!”
“Because Sumner was trying to do the same thing!” Bridge felt every overwhelming sense suffocate him to the brink of asphyxiation, a wobbly chance that he would faint from this very confrontation with their stalker. “You’ll never get what that night did to us.”
“Bridge, you have to tell someone. Dagger has to know. It’s been eight months now.”
Rage bewildered Bridge’s ribs, silencing the hate speech that bullied its way out of him. At the stillness, Ben furthered his verbal assault.
“I’m sorry about what I’ve put you and your friends through, I really am. I just wanted you to do what was right.” Approaching the high schooler with acute hesitancy in his progressing movements, Ben advanced him with comfort. “And I never planned on falling in love with you.”
A callous clash emerged, Bridge’s braced fist interlacing haphazardly when it rocked Ben’s jaw, a crack matching the release in Bridge’s wrist, waving off the pain in a series of shakes. Ben fumbled to the ground like a football that had failed to be caught, hitting corners to teeter on the ground.
“Don’t you even stumble in front of me and suggest that the inaccurate idea of loving me kept you constantly berating us over the past couple of months.” Bridge let his crying take control, talking with heavy sobready malevolence. “You didn’t love me.”
“I did, I still do!”
“No, you don’t!” He countered. “You don’t obliterate the life of the one you love!”
On the ground, Ben was on his knees clutching his swollen and aching jaw. During the violent but well deserved excursion, neither of them heard another car pulling up in between their own separate means of travel. Ben boosted to his feet at the same time that Salem ran up to them in full athletic stride.
“Salem, get out of here.”
He was surprised by Bridge’s immediate discharge of his appearance, especially when the other guy with Bridge seemed incredibly seething as his hand left his cheek.
“Is this the reason you refused to give us another shot? You’ve already got some dumb tatted jock to bang?”
“Dumb jock?” Salem scoffed. “I graduated as salutatorian, asshole.”
“Did you do it?” Bridge neglected the show of testosterone between the two romantic interests. “Did you kill Blanche?”
“What? I’m not a murderer, Bridge.” Ben said, out of breath at the allegation. “You really think I’m capable of killing someone?”
“You’ve been stalking my friends for months, set me up for murder.” Bridge issued without doubt. “I believe you’re capable of anything at this point.”
“This guy is your stalker?”
“Salem, please.” The breath Bridge liberated was reaching a new level of devastation. “I can deal with this. Just get the police.”
“Wait.” A plea sizzled Ben’s tone as he took a cautious step toward Bridge. Salem stayed a few feet from them, something the eldest of the trio held on a pedestal of caution, extra speech ready on Ben’s tongue. “There’s something you don’t know. I know you hate me, but I can help you find some closure. I figured out the association that both Emmy Walker and Frankie Ellery have to Sumner.” A slight shiver of a scoff touched Ben’s lips. “I solved the mystery of Sumner Shadows.”
Regardless of the hostility he held for Ben, Bridge yearned for an answer to what they’d been running around searching for. Unfortunately for both parties, an easy solution to the motives of the infamous maniac would never be delivered by the stalker known as Ben Magnus. The reason being that a gunshot gnawed its way through the night.
None of them possessed a gun in any aspect. Instead, the weapon sounded from a reasonable distance. But the bullet protruded Ben’s flesh, striking him in t
he back and worming a path out of his chest just as it nicked a corner of his heart. Bridge screamed, over Ben being shot right in front of him and over the bullet hitting his own shoulder harshly, falling to the ground, the bullet finding a new home in his skin.
“Bridge!”
Salem caught Bridge by grabbing him underneath the armpits, doing his darnedest to get them out of there before whoever had shot Ben, and inadvertently Bridge, came to see the rewards of their deviance.
“Wait,” Bridge babbled breathlessly, limp as Salem literally dragged him toward his Eclipse. “Ben was shot…”
“I’m worried about you.” Salem grunted from his straining labor. “Now try and stay with me.” He did his best to keep Bridge from slipping from his stronghold.
“I deserve this,” he heard Bridge spew as they made it to Salem’s car, having no real choice but to, as gently as possible, throw Bridge into his car. He coughed as blood burrowed out of his shoulder blade. “This is my punishment for killing that woman.”
Alarm presented itself, Salem momentarily lapsing in action at the daring direct in dialogue Bridge was uttering, but it was probably due to his GSW. It must have been. Salem closed the passenger door, clearing his mind of absolutely everything except for rushing Bridge to the hospital, the latter’s blood threatening to exit the throbbing wound until his entire supply of AB negative tarnished Salem’s leather interior.
Thanks to Abram’s instructions, they used the back entrance to Sumner’s basement bedroom to weasel their way into Shadows Manor. It also helped that both Celia and Hendrick weren’t home to see them breaking and entering. Mercer and Kirby got through Sumner’s bedroom easily, astounded that Sumner’s family hadn’t done more than locking the door that lead to the passage that married Shadows Manor and Arclan Asylum. After busting the lock, their trek down the passage consisted of sprinting until they were met with a much more baroque chaining of the door leading into the kitchen of the asylum.
“Dammit.” Mercer exhaled. “We’re so close.”
“Mercer, this is life and death.” Kirby took the miniscule steps to the newly chained door. She got down on the floor at the door, lying on her back until she could kick the door down. Swirls of grunts predated Kirby literally kicking the door in, all of her might summoned to perform the action. A perfectly proportioned hole was left when Kirby’s kicks ceased to take place in the wood. Mercer ran up to the steps to help her up, pulling her into him once she was standing.
“Is it wrong that I’m excessively attracted to you right now?”
Laughing ebbed from them without restriction, but Kirby pressed away from Mercer by using his chest as leverage. “Later, Meadows. Come on, we need to move faster.”
They crawled through the jagged opening, traveling from the concealed closet to the kitchen. Luckily, there was a Halloween event occurring for the patients, so security was reserved for the grand hall to protect the patients. Slipping into the solitary block proved to be more effortless than previously foreseen, with only one guard tending to the double doors labeled in bold stoic letters as solitary.
“Help!” Kirby cried from around the corner, surprising her boyfriend.
“Kirby, what are you doing?” He whispered harshly.
“Providing a distraction.” She nodded. “Get to Frankie, I’ll lose him and meet you back here.”
She went running full speed in front of the guard, shrieking for help over a faux matter as she disappeared down another corridor.
“Hey, wait!” The security guard heeded, running after to her with lazy gumption.
Making great haste, Mercer tossed back the doors of solitary, sleuthing through the elongated hall. He rapidly checked the paper cards naming which patient dwelled in that respective room. Frankie’s room was the second to last on the left.
Peering in, Mercer was suddenly glad that he and Kirby had wiped their makeup off so they wouldn’t scare her any more than their unannounced visit already would. He looked through the tiny window and saw a fragile and feeble redhead sitting on her dilapidated twin mattress. He slid the window to the right, opening up to a tiny screen allowing them to converse.
“Frankie Ellery?”
“Who are you?” She leapt of the bed in slow motion, not granting herself to trust a man with paint remnants on his face. “How do you know who I am?”
The double doors swung open violently, Mercer’s heart plunging until the intruder was exposed to be Kirby. His relief followed a gulp, thankful that it wasn’t the guard.
“We have about five minutes before he circles back here.”
Bowing his head, Mercer regarded Frankie again as Kirby made her way over to join them.
“Frankie, I want to help.” He admitted. “We’re people who are trying to understand your relationship with Blanche Baxxen.”
“Blanche? Is she okay?”
They failed at swapping a knowing glance, a glare Frankie could still observe through the window.
“She needs your help.” Kirby said, temporarily covering their alibi. “We need to know what information you have on Sumner Shadows.”
“Sumner,” Frankie spoke his name like it held a hex and carried the aroma of formaldehyde. “Blanche was terrified of him.” She stated. “She always swore that he had been the one to put her mother in the coma.”
“What about what happened to you?”
She shook her head at Mercer. “I can’t explain it. I have no memory of it, even now. All I remember is waking up covered in blood and my family…” She broke down, her memories aching her comprehensively. “I swear I didn’t do it.”
“And we believe you.” Mercer nodded ardently.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about Sumner? Anything that could explain why he would frame Blanche and maybe you?”
“Sumner framing me?” Frankie toyed with the idea. “But why?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” Kirby added.
“Do you remember any details about why Blanche was afraid of Sumner, anything about Sumner at all?” Mercer pressed on. “Something that could lead to why Sumner did this?”
“I did hear something,” she prodded. “Blanche and I were never really friendly, until…”
Mercer nodded. “Until?”
“The night she escaped, she discovered something.” Frankie withdrew a breath, an anxious surge flowing through her nostrils. “It scared her. Really scared her.”
“Did she say what it was, the something she uncovered?” Kirby questioned.
A gyration of head turning proceeded Frankie’s answer. “She said it was the truth.” She focused on Mercer, squaring her gaze on him powerfully. “Are you Abram?”
“Abram?” Kirby looked between Mercer and Frankie frantically. “Why would you ask if he’s Abram?”
“The last thing Blanche said that night,” Frankie continued. “She said that Sumner had to finish what he started with someone named Abram.”
“Oh, God.” Kirby clamored, the depth of the cognizance striking her thoughts like a metal probe aiming for a lobotomy. “Mercer, he got those texts.”
Mercer quivered in place, the horror hitting him objectively in the heart. “Sumner is going to try and kill Abe tonight.”
Alex let Faith lead him back to where the rest of their friends were waiting for them. Willa and Hugo were huddled close together, fright frozen on their faces. Straton was standing next to Sterling, who had apparently decided to join in on the delirium.
“Okay, what’s going on?”
At Alex’s prompt, Straton took lead in the rendition. “Hugo and I were on our way here, and we ran into Paige.”
“Literally.” Hugo interjected with a scoff.
“She got released already?”
“Apparently.” Straton nodded at him. “But she was on her way here to tell you guys what really happened when she wrecked her car.”
“Which is?” Alex felt funny about this. What did Paige want to do, apologize for terrorizing them?
r />
Hugo took over then. “She told us that she had been attempting suicide not because she’s your stalker, but because she discovered that it’s been Ben Magnus all along.”
“Ben?” He had to find Bridge. There was no way his friend would be capable of dealing with this seismic shift in validity, not alone. “Anyone seen Bridge?”
Alex’s cell thrashed awake, stalling any reply from his friends. Fear filled every space of his active conscious when Mercer’s name lit up on the phone’s screen. He did his best to persevere, to look unfazed as he answered the call.
“Mercer, something’s happened.”
“That’s why I’m calling.” He retorted. “Kirby just got a text from Salem. He’s followed Bridge to Armor Falls Cemetery.”
“The cemetery?” Alex’s mind was racing at mach speed. Why on Earth would Bridge go back to that specific place of personal trauma? “Oh, God. He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“Ben’s our stalker. I can’t explain right now, or even validate it appropriately, but maybe Bridge found out and led him there where it all started.”
“Shit.” Mercer said over the low grumble of his Jeep. “I’m headed there now. But that’s not even the worst part.”
Alex sighed, so deep it put a spasm in his chest. “There’s a worst part?”
“We talked to Frankie Ellery,” he huffed. “And she heard that Sumner...he’s planning on attacking Abe.”
He saw a blur in front of him, his friends fogging up with heavy precipitation. Alex felt his heart seizing, his blood pressure blasting off like an Apollo mission. He couldn’t lose Abram. Not by the hands of Sumner Shadows.
“Find Bridge.” Alex rushed out of his mouth. “I’ll get Abe.”
Hands tremoring, he ended the call and tried to ring Abram’s cell.
“Alex?” Faith’s tone asked the question she kept to herself.
“It’s Abe.” he said with razorsharp honesty, his hands shaking too much to dial out his boyfriend’s number.
“Alex.” she repeated his name, seeing the ashen appearance on her brother’s face.
“Faith, there’s two unmarked police cars on either end of the street,” He closed his eyes and smoothed the storm welling and weathering his ringing ears over everything clashing around him. “Go get them and direct them to Armor Falls Cemetery, and we can have one of them follow me to rescue Abe.” Alex then directed his attention over to Straton. “Can I take your car?”
“Rescue Abe?” Straton questioned, pulling his keys from their home in his pocket and plopping them in Alex’s hand. “From what?”
Alex remained undaunted as a tear slid down his cheek, his friends already mournful at his mood.
“From Sumner.”
Excitement exuded from every nerve ending Abram had, savoring the live wire feel humming throughout his body. Meeting with Reyna again was huge. Anything they could learn about Emmy Walker was exceedingly valuable, and he was ecstatic that she was ready to tell them any details to try and resolve the mystery of Sumner’s impromptu outbreak.
The address she had designated for their sequel of a meeting wasn’t even an establishment, but rather a small clearing just before a bout of forest, and coincidently it was the same spot Mercer had parked his Jeep when they were fetching the stolen pages from Shadows Manor. He was hoping that Mercer and Kirby were around, maybe just having finished exploring the asylum and passing by, but they’d long since left 1661 Karder Cove.
Abram was getting impatient as he waited outside of Alex’s car. Leaning on the vehicle, he let out an anxious breath. Shouldn't Reyna have been here first? Just when the thought evaporated from his head is when his phone buzzed from his jeans. Pulling it out, he saw the same assortment of numbers in the recipient’s bar, a text from Reyna.
I’m here, just within the trees.
It was then that a wicked feeling dusted itself across Abram’s shoulders. Something was off, Abram analyzing the vibes the atmosphere was putting out when he reread Reyna’s text and looked up to assess the trees.
But he had to go talk to Reyna, it wasn’t up for discussion. This was no time to be scared, even if the universe was telling him something was very wrong. Abram inhaled a clear, slightly pinescented breath, and stepped through the branchy veil of the trees. His heart thrashed like a caged animalistic fusion of being enthusiastic over finding the lowdown about Emmy Walker and being unable to neglect the sense that he was about to be in a whirl of paranoid induced danger.
“Reyna?” He knew better than to call out into the night, but he couldn’t help himself. “Reyna, it’s Abram.”
He pushed his way into another clearing within the woods, reaching his destination finally. Only, it wasn’t Reyna that was waiting on him. His abysmal perspective had been right. Abram only wished he would have fully listened to his guttural instincts.
“Sumner.”
A seething simper angled his dark brown eyes, Sumner looming over him, waving an expendable phone at him, the silent taunt doing wonders on shattering Abram’s confidence that he would or even could survive this treacherous encounter.
Abram was immobile, fear governing his willingness to operate kinetically. With whip cracking certainty, Sumner threw the phone down on the pine needle ridden grass, his foot coming down like a smoldering meteor and decimated the device way beyond future function.
“Oh, Abram.” Sumner said once the phone was destroyed. “Did you honestly believe Reyna would want to spill her secrets?”
“What are you doing, Sumner?” Abram was petrified, but he wasn’t going to let Sumner bully and display condescendence at him. “Why lure me here?”
“Are you that dense?” He scoffed, scratching deep red marks into his own neck absentmindedly.
“Enough. What do you want? You’ve already ruined everything. You’ve unleashed your havoc and shaped our lives into ones of mania and suspicion. And we still don’t know how Blanche, Emmy, or Frankie fit into all of your devastation. So, before the cops get here, just tell me what it is you plan to achieve by bringing me here.”
Sumner seemed surprised by Abram’s entire schpeel, and Abram was as well when Sumner cackled like a bloodthirsty banshee.
“You really don’t know anything, do you?” A knowing facade attuned his face, Sumner stepping forward. “Emmy Walker is your birth mother.” He reveled in the plummeting change to Abram’s disposition, a dramatic alteration that fed Sumner’s sadistic and soulless appetite. “Why haven’t you figured that out by now?”
“Oh...my God.”
Abram didn’t possess any other words. Emmy Walker was his birth mother? He couldn’t instantly give Sumner’s assertion credit, with him being a compulsive liar and all, but even the words, the possibility of the idea, raised the hair on Abram’s neck.
“If that’s true,” He gave Sumner his most unshakable gaze. “Then why did you uncover it? Why do you care?”
Sumner stepped up again, another cackle springing forth from his lips. “I can’t give it all away.” He shook his head. “That’d be too easy.”
Sumner took a swipe at Abram with the blade he had been hiding in the sleeve of his grey and black striped shirt. Abram lunged himself backwards to avoid the cool slash of the knife.
“Sumner, stop this. Please!”
“No, this has to happen.” Sumner’s eyes did that maniacal thing they had the night Sumner had first attacked him, all bouncy and swirling with incredible lunacy. It gave Abram the same sense as all those months ago; he felt like tonight was the night he was going to die. “There can only be one of us.”
He took a second jab at Abram, but he took the chance to seize Sumner’s arm, wrenching the knife free from the crazed grasp of his former friend. Abram punched Sumner in the face, giving him enough time during Sumner’s surprise to grasp the blade from the grass and for a moment, Abram wasn’t sure what to do. He’d never held a knife in his callous hands, let alone with the objective of using it. But ever since the night at the ceme
tery, Abram had been labeled a victim, a brave survivor of Sumner Shadows’ strife. Flipping over the knife in his hand, Abram decided that tonight, that was finally going change.
Sumner was working through the cloudy vapor that Abram’s punch had initiated, so it was now or never if Abram was going to strike. He took the glinting blade and sent a slash Sumner’s way, the knife hitting skin along the aggressive ridges of Sumner’s collarbone, extracting a stubborn scream from him.
As the adrenaline pumped rapidly, the sound filling his ears, Abram knew he wouldn’t get another opportunity to escape from him. Unfortunately, during his struggle with Sumner, he’d gotten turned around. Abram had no idea which direction would lead him to the car that would enable his escape.
So he just started sprinting, hoping for the best as his legs pumped him farther and further away from the young man obsessed with ending his life. But Sumner refused to give up without a huge leap, so he went running after Abram at tremendous length, much faster than Abram if he didn’t push himself to outrun Sumner.
On the way, Abram pulled out his cell, needing to hear Alex’s voice in case he didn’t make it or Sumner caught up to him. He ignored the missed calls from both Mercer and Alex, and went under his boyfriend’s name and pressed call.
Abram didn’t even realize that he was crying until he heard Alex’s voice and he stifled a sob.
“Abe, thank God. Where are you?”
“In trouble,” He laughed it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but both of them knew better, Abram’s breathing labored by his persistent running, fear quaking his uvula upon hearing Sumner’s approaching hoof beats. “I just want you to know that I love you, Alex. I always have and I always will.”
“Abram, stop it. Tell me where you are!”
He broke through the woods then, running onto the street, a side that didn’t occupy his car. Abram opened his mouth to tell Alex how he could help when a car came out of nowhere at thunderous lightning speed, mowing Abram down like he was an out of season lawn. The driver’s windshield spiderwebbed as Abram’s body crashed into it, the screech of the car’s tires shredding his eardrums. A cascade of darkness invited him to the realm of unconscious, his fate teetering endlessly on the seesaw of life, not knowing exactly what state he’d wake up to, assuming he had the strength to fight the darkness that was quickly becoming his new home.
After seeing the incident first hand, Sumner halted his pursuit, watching with wide, distant eyes as Abram rolled off the car and fell to the awaiting asphalt, scraps urgent to bless his skin with a cruel kiss. The car finally came to a stop, the engine lurching smoothly as the driver stepped out of the sheer white vehicle, their eyes latching onto Sumner knowingly.
Astonishment embedded into every pore thriving on his face, Sumner stumbling between scoffing and chuckling when glazing over the driver’s identity.
“Well, I never thought you’d have it in you.”
There was a huge police squadron populating Armor Falls Cemetery when Mercer pulled his Jeep into the parking lot. For a few seconds, Kirby and Mercer surveyed the scene, all the officers working to put the police tape up to keep outsiders at bay. Their hearts doubled the dismay over the limitless things that could have happened to Bridge and Salem before their abashed arrival.
Mercer snapped into perfectly honed focus, needing to know that his best friend was still alive, that the night hadn’t claimed the life of someone he cared about. They rushed out of the Jeep and ducked under the feeble warning of police tape and meandered up to the mirage of cops, telling them that they couldn’t be there, which was honestly the least of their cumulative worries.
“My best friend is here, I’m not leaving!”
His outcry was enough for the officers to lower their assault on their approach, especially when his eyes caught on a body lying on the ground, a sheet covering the figure’s true identity. Tears poised on the rims of his eyes, Mercer leapt forward, needing to know that Bridge hadn’t succumb to some dastardly, mysterious end. The officers tried to stop him, but the only thing preventing Mercer from unmasking the body was his own fear, and he simply had to know. He ripped back the sheet in one swift movement, the fabric doing a cascade of pirouetting in the air, as the individual that had passed was revealed in a sufficient draught.
“Ben.”
Mercer looked back to Kirby, who just looked on with a heavy heart that a life had been lost, hoping that there wasn’t another to add to the evening. He was just thankful that his best friend was presumably still alive, but where was he? If Ben had died tonight, then where the hell were Bridge and Salem?
After covering up Ben’s body once more, the officers pointed them in the direction of where Dagger was located. A tendril of dread surged along Mercer’s veins when he concluded that Dagger’s direction was standing just before the woods that contained the grave, precisely where they had buried the body all those months ago, and it sent his heart into hyperdrive. What if things had gotten crazy out of hand and Bridge had accidentally confessed, leading them right to the descended corpse?
They came to Dagger’s locale, the great detective lingering on the line at the start of the woods, his face hidden beneath his hands.
“Where is he?” Mercer’s voice shook severely, trying to prepare himself for the probability of Bridge being incapacitated. Or worse, decapitated. “Where’s Bridge?”
Kirby and Mercer’s assumptions were sent rocking off their axes as Detective Dagger faced them, his eyes puffy and scarlet from crying, fresh tears still scampering down his rugged face. Imaginations heightened with possibilities, Mercer tried to look beyond the detective to understand his state of distress better.
“What’s going on?”
Apparently, Dagger hadn’t really taken in the sight of them, his irises passing over Mercer until resting on Kirby with deliberate strain.
“Kirby.” The detective sniffled grimly, shaking his head zealously at her. He lopsided his head back over to Mercer, a significant weight pulling his normally spry features back. “Mercer, you have to get her out of here. Now.”
“What?” Panic rang vibrant in Kirby’s voice. “Why?”
Mercer was confused by the hazy sense of command he had been awarded by Dagger’s metaphorical metallic fist. What was happening? And where were their friends?
It dawned on Kirby like a splintering sunrise, a blinding veil of light softening her skin when the visceral thought tore through every neuron attempting to comprehend Dagger’s intentions.
“No.”
Trudging forward, Kirby burst through the woods, disregarding Mercer’s cries to wait. Dagger went to sobbing again, not bothering to stop them from seeing what was in the forest.
Scared couldn’t quite describe how Mercer was feeling when it hit him that they were nearing the grave of the woman they had buried, and that fact was as disheartening as how distraught Kirby was getting when they neared the grave.
Kirby transformed into a fullfledged harpy as her body went rigid with sympathetic rigor mortis, a shriek expelling from her as she stared down at the body lying half in the ground at their feet. She thrashed herself in the dirt, cradling the body in her arms, Mercer crying with her as he watched his girlfriend lose the one thing she never thought she would.
Everything was a cache of chaos, Mercer seeing Kirby wail for her mother as questions whirled around them like buzzards waiting for a mass of unfortunate demises
Because in the grave that Mercer and his friends had created didn’t contain the body of the woman they had accidentally killed. Staring up at them lifelessly, clutched tightly in Kirby’s arms, was the corpse of Athena Wheaton.
About the Author
Jesse Grey is diving into the literary world with his debut novel, SEVER, the first in a four part series culminating in the SLAYER SOCIETY saga. He relies on music the way others rely on people, plays too much video games, and sings too loudly in the car. He lives in Virginia with his extensive Grey’s Anatomy collection and multiple c
opies of every Taylor Swift album.
Be sure to follow Jesse on social media for updates
Twitter @JesseGrey_
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