Author's Note: Yes, here I am abusing the "Amy" tag again for the wrong character, but it's just so convenient! Please forgive me. I promise I won't do it often! Also, as much as I hate to say this, the editing on this story suffered in huge amounts-so, again, I ask for your leniency on this particular story. However, just like my abuse of the tags, I hope a few misspelled words and wrong punctuation doesn't miff anyone too badly!

Available for download in PDF. I promise you that I don't have any viruses. I just strongly recommend it seeing as this was written in book format. Visit the Tumblr dedicated to this series, "11785", for details.

Or just read it here (:

PROLOGUE

The DuPonte House
New Haven, Connecticut
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
11:18 PM

The DuPonte House, sitting deserted on the corner of George Street and Sherman Avenue, was thriving with music that was sure to drive the neighbors nestled in their surrounding, elaborate Victorian homes crazy. However, the owners of the house, the sons of a high-powered lawyer who let his kids get away with whatever they wanted, were unconcerned with how much noise they were making, even after keeping in mind that they were throwing their annual beginning-of-the-year party smack-dab in the middle of the week.

Chase DuPonte and his brother, Charles, fluttered between crowds of college students, most from Yale while others had come from University of Connecticut and Southern Connecticut state—the latter of which being avoided by the prestigious school crowd due to the fact that "even a monkey could get into SCU"—making their rounds, shaking hands or exchanging kisses with the attendees. As Charles slipped in and out of throngs of girls talking with each other in corners, boys taking shots at the bar, and couples thrusting against one another in the three-thousand-square-foot home, Chase stopped beside a cluster of co-eds discussing their course load, scoffing at them for worrying about school when it had only started earlier that morning. Leaning toward one of the girls, and draping his arm around her shoulders, Chase began to talk in length about skating through his final year at the university, hoping to achieve a degree that would satisfy his father and allow him to work at law firm Richard DuPonte owned once he graduated. Of course, though, this was all for show. The girl in which he chose to wrap his arm around knew that well, due to the fact that she had dated him for the greater part of her freshman year at Yale.

Rachel Richardson always seemed to attract the scumbags, starting with her first boyfriend in junior high school and continuing on until today. She had gone from Rodney Wright in eighth grade to Adam Greene last year, both of which contesting for number-one asshole. They had cheated on her, stepped on her, and all-around used her as though she were nothing but a toy to be played with. With each break up—none of which being her fault since the boys seemed to head off the confrontation once they found out she knew she was being cheated on—she had vowed to pick better men, or at least wait for someone to come along on a white horse. But it appeared, clearly, that no matter how many times she swore to herself that she was going to try something different, she always seemed to go back to the familiar.

Unfortunately, out of all the guys she dated, there had only been one that had stuck around long after breaking it off. Chase DuPonte, who seemed about as entitled as his father and his lust for power, didn't seem to understand the word "no", always showing up at Rachel's dorm room or her apartment in Cicero, Indiana to try to whisk her away on some peculiar adventure. With every sudden appearance, she had always pushed him away, telling him that he needed to find a new hobby or something a bit more colorful, before slamming the door shut in his face. Ultimately, though, all that seemed to do was present a challenge to the over-confident million-heir, causing him to spring his presence on her more often and persist even more than the previous attempt. And it seemed, however, the more he continued to push, the less resistant she was to his pursuits.

Which was how she had wound up at his party. The past few days at school had been nothing but stressful, with move-in day and the time-honored "shopping week" taking up most of her schedule. She had spent Monday and Tuesday trying to situate the supplied furniture in McClellan Hall into something functional, only to get into an argument with all three of her other roommates over whether or not the couch should be in the corner or the center of the room before placing it all back where it began, and earlier this morning hopping from class to class trying to find something that would fit into her schedule that also filled her graduation requirements. So far, she had only found one thing that seemed interesting in a long line of structured lessons, Acting for Screen, but, regrettably, the course didn't mesh with her psychology major in any way. Deciding it wasn't worth taking up her elective space, she had decided that Thursday would be a better day to find something both geared toward her goal and intriguing. However, that was if she survived the DuPonte party first, and Chase seemed intent on making that difficult.

As he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, she was automatically disappointed in herself for agreeing to his proposal that she accompany him to his and his brother's party. Though Charles was, by far, a much better person than Chase, and probably wouldn't pester her as much should she have chosen to go out with him—and probably wouldn't have cheated on her with Stacy Miller, either—Rachel had agreed to go for Chase's sake, making a promise that she would stick around until midnight in case he needed someone to help push the people out of his house. Though she knew his request was total bull, she also knew that Chase was the best mojito maker in New Haven, meaning that she could down as many of them as she wanted in between when she arrived at ten and when she slipped out at eleven. At the moment, she was working on her third drink, and even though she was aware of her ex-boyfriend's hand on her arm, she couldn't be bothered to care.

He had caught her after her last sample class of the day, juggling through course catalogues and her mobile calendar as she tried to figure out what would fit into her schedule and where as she climbed the steps to her fifth floor dorm. The elevator had been broken due to some hefty guy on the level below trying to carry all of his electronic equipment up with him, meaning that everyone had to clamor up the stairs with heavy books in their hands until it was fixed. It also meant that there was a possibility of running into Chase, who knew the resident advisor on the same floor as the elevator breaker. As she tried to hurry up the steps, attempting to look busy as she caught his football-player figure at the first threshold near the third-level landing, she noticed that he seemed to be waiting for her as he stood in the archway, talking to someone who was tacking a new dry erase board to the door. Racing after her, he had blocked off the path to her floor, placing his hands on the railing to stop her in her tracks and only letting her pass once she agreed to go to his party. When he was gone, she swore to herself to show up late and leave early, despite her promise to stay until the witching hour started, and to come flocked with friends.

Checking her watch as Chase continued on about his summer vacation in Bali, probably in some attempt to impress Taylor Rosen, another girl who stood in their group, Rachel caught herself glancing at her cheap Timex repeatedly, noticing that time seemed to stand still whenever she wasn't drinking. When Chase paused his elaborate story about the house his father had rented on a private island, the temple he had visited, and the hours he spent meditating with an Indonesian girl who was "way hotter than anyone in this room", Rachel began sipping the air at the bottom of her mojito through her straw, hoping the annoying gurgling sound would signal Chase into making another. Ignoring her, he continued on, going off on a tall tale about his father buying an office complex near the ocean to do business with foreign clients.

"He has a lot of international interest, especially in Indonesia and Indochina. He gets a few Australian clients, some I won't mention right now, but it's mainly in those two areas. I mean, I know he likes the United States, but why stop there, you know?" Chase said, sipping his drink as he paused, realizing that his was empty as well. "Money comes from all over, not just in the U-S-of-A. Sometimes foreign politicians and leaders will hire from America because we know how to fight dirty to get what we want, and they need that to win. Anyway, can I get any of you a drink? Maybe freshen you up?"

Shaking her glass and letting the ice clatter together, Rachel placed her drink in his hand and waited for him to leave, feeling almost embarrassed that she had allowed him to hold onto her while he went off on that spiel. However, after three, and soon four, rum-laced drinks, she couldn't feel much of anything aside from tipsy. Smiling at her friends as they talked amongst themselves about wanting to ditch Chase before he came back, probably trying to keep Rachel out of the conversation in case she wanted to stay, she listened to Taylor as she kept her eyes on the front door, tracing a path through the crowd to find a quick exit. After a long moment, the two other girls beside her, Celia Brown and Tracy Ritter, turned to leave, glancing at Rachel before taking off.

"You coming with?" Taylor asked. "We're going to go over to Matt Keiser's. Apparently he's having some kind of thing at his house that's better than this."

Unfortunately, before she could reply, Chase returned with both of their drinks, looking surprised at the three girls in front of him attempting to abandon his party. As he tried to smooth-talk them into staying, attempting to sweeten the deal with access to the make-out room upstairs, Rachel downed her drink in record time, letting the cold liquid hit her teeth and cause her to squirm under the sensation. Making a mental note, that she probably wouldn't remember, to see a dentist sometime soon to ensure she didn't have some sort of cavity, Rachel watched her friends leave without her, dooming her to having to accompany Chase around the room until she could find a way to slip out from under his grasp. Ultimately, though, that was going to be difficult, especially considering he was steering her farther and farther away from the front door.

Thankfully, after fifteen minutes, she found her exit, following Chase into the backyard and blending in with a crowd of girls she thought she recognized from one of her prior sociology classes. As she stood by, waiting for Chase to forget she was there while he divulged the story about his trip to Bali with a new group of co-eds, she listened to the conversation around her, becoming bored with it as she finished the last of her drink and threw the glass onto the grass.

"You have to consider the ramifications of free health care," one of the girls was saying, pushing up her spectacles as she spoke. "If it goes unchecked, the country would wind up billions of dollars more in debt. President Bush has already pushed the bill back as far as it can go, but the democrats are still trying to get it passed. If we make everything free, how will other things be paid for? The national deficit is already at—"

Loudly scoffing, Rachel pushed her way past the group in front of her, feeling the fourth mojito hit her like a rock. As she staggered toward the gate leading out onto a busy street, she wandered toward her car parked across the way, hoping no one was coming that would hit her or try to stop her from driving the two blocks back to campus. Opening the door to her white Infinity, she got behind the wheel, closing herself off and starting the engine. Everything in her line of vision was swirling a bit from the change of height, and as she continued to watch the world shift in front of her, she felt her stomach began to squirm. Ignoring the feeling, she pulled her car away from the curb and headed slowly back toward the student parking lot near McClellan Hall, keeping her fingers crossed that all the cops in town were busy patrolling the pubs in the area, probably hearing about the start-of-term crawl taking place near Chapel Street.

Thankfully, as she pulled into one of the few stalls outside of the school, she found that she was practically alone, the place appearing deserted while she stumbled toward the rolling plains of Old Campus. Under overhead lamps and the growing first-quarter moon, Rachel attempted to find her way through the labyrinth of cement, cobblestones, and brick buildings, gracious when she had finally stammered into the heavy entrance door of McClellan Hall. Wrenching it open, she let the light consume the stone floors and walls punctuated with polished wood doors adorned with dry-erase boards, each containing some kind of message for one of the four people inside.

The entire building was eerily silent as she headed toward the stairs near the back of the long corridor, her shuffling feet echoing with each step. Reaching for the thick banister of the stairs, Rachel paused a moment, wondering whether or not it had been wise for her five-foot-four frame to take in that much alcohol after a dry summer at home. Realizing that there might be a lesson in there somewhere, hidden underneath the liquor and lime juice, Rachel scoffed at herself before laughing, not caring that her voice was even more booming than her steps. Shaking her head, she started up, stopping after a few minutes when she recognized the fact that the task was becoming more difficult the more the room spun in front of her eyes. Feeling nauseated, she pressed her forehead against the concrete wall, sensing the coolness spreading throughout her body. When she felt better, she continued up, grabbing her keys out of her front pocket the closer she got to the fifth floor.

By the time she got to the landing of the topmost level of McClellan Hall, Rachel was certain she was going to vomit. The higher up she climbed, the less stationary things seemed. The ground tilted, the walls rotated, and the air became balmy, reminding her of that time she had been in Texas for the Fourth of July. As she raced to her suite at the end of the corridor, throwing open the door and almost breaking the key, Rachel headed straight for the bathroom between the two rooms inside. Falling to her knees, she barely got the lid up before she watched everything she ate that day become regurgitated, her body buckling under the force of the heaves. After a long moment, when she thought there was nothing left, she sat back against the cold wall of the bathroom, panting.

Unfortunately, the relief was short-lived. While she sat on the linoleum floor, listening to her own heavy breathing, the sound of something weighty being dropped in the next room over caused her to jolt upright. Knowing that all three of her roommates were at Matt Keiser's party and wouldn't be back until later, Rachel got to her feet, flushing the toilet as she cautiously left the bathroom. The dorm room in front of her, which was called a suite at the university, was the same as it had been before she left: the spacious, apartment-style common area askew with two futons in an awkward position in front of a television cabinet, its two end tables and lamps far from the arms of the couches. The door was shut, though not locked, but judging by the thickness of the sound she heard, it hadn't been anyone slamming it behind them after entering the room.

Crossing over to the closed archway, Rachel locked the door, then turned to look around. For some reason, even after having just puked her guts out only minutes ago, she was on high alert, though the thud of something being dropped wasn't enough to cause such alarm. It was as if a presence had entered the room, infecting the air. The longer she stood with her back to the jamb, the more Rachel could feel the heaviness of the atmosphere, like a dark cloud was hovering overhead. Swallowing hard, she pushed herself off the wall and headed for the bedroom she shared with Denise Greene, hoping that whatever had fallen had been nothing more than the girl's secret bowling ball or something.

Walking slowly, Rachel reached her hands forward blindly, unable to see much through the weak glow of the moon spilling in through the numerous windows. Pawing the light switch as soon as she was inside her bedroom, she flicked it up and down, only to realize that it wasn't working. Becoming more unnerved, Rachel shut the door behind her, hoping whatever was causing the sensation out in the common area would stay contained there until she had reinforcements or until morning came.

However, as soon as she was closed off from the rest of the suite, something worse than the dense air outside blanketed the room. The odor of rotten eggs suddenly grew throughout the space, starting like a spray of aerosol and becoming stronger with each breath Rachel took. Gagging, and feeling her stomach churn like it had prior to vomiting, she reached up to clip her nose shut with her fingers, breathing through her mouth as she headed for the window. Pushing open the wide panes, she relished in the warm breeze and took in the smell of summer as the foul stench carried outside. Looking down at the courtyard underneath the building, she could see nothing but the muted hunter green of the grass and dark brown of the walkway below. As she placed her hands on the sill to peer further down, she felt a grainy powder touch her palm. Gazing at it, she narrowed her eyes to get a better look, noticing that whatever it was seemed to be yellow and the source of the stink. Gagging again, she brushed her hands together, letting the wind take the granules with it as it floated past.

Suddenly, before she could completely relax again, Rachel heard the loud thud come from somewhere inside the suite. Turning around to look, she swallowed hard and prepared to glance through the dark. Unfortunately, before she could pivot all the way, a pair of hands grasped her, spinning her back into her previous position. Placing her palms back where they were in the sill, and getting more yellow powder on them, Rachel attempted to fight back, pushing against the window to try to get away from it. Ultimately, the hands were stronger, shoving as hard as possible to try to send her over the edge.

"No!" Rachel screamed, her stomach falling against the ledge and knocking the breath out of her. "Stop!"

All she heard in response was a laugh. Feeling her feet being picked up by the strong hands, Rachel tried to grasp onto the windowsill, unable to reach anything but the brick siding of the building. Before she could plead for whoever was about to tip her over not to, her sneakers left the ground, her body plummeting straight for the cobblestone walkway below.