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Prologue:

A black, silk tie rested on top of my white dress shirt, untied. I looked down at it, willing the tie to tie itself around my neck. Or better yet, for my dad to walk into the room and chuckle at me, like he used to.

"Darren, you're 18, when are you gonna tie your own tie?'" He'd laugh at me, his eyes gleaming. He then would make that tsking sound parents make when you did something stupid, but good naturedly. That's how he was. He'd tie my tie for me and I'd feel like I was 6 again, just learning how to for the first time.

Of course I actually KNEW how to, I just wanted him to help me. His shift increased at work so we hardly talked. When I went to school in the morning, he'd tie it for me, no matter what he was doing. He was proud of me for getting into Genova High, and even more proud when I became valedictorian. We didn't have a lot of money and the fact that I got into that school, one of the top school's in the state with a full scholarship, was a big moment for me. He was so proud.

Forcing myself to get moving, I tied my tie and quietly slipped out of my room. On the ledge next to the staircase hung my top-coat, same black as my pants. It sat there rumpled and I grabbed it, holding it limply in my hands. Closing my eyes, I put it on. It use to be dad's coat. It hung heavily on my shoulders, weighing them down, or maybe that was just the guilt.

I stiffly walked to my parents' room, well now just my mom's. The door was shut and, if I stood still just enough, I heard her crying. She tried to hold it in, I could tell by the soft gasps she'd make every so often. I knocked softly on the door.

"Ma?" I whispered hesitantly.

"C-Come in," her voice stuttered. I felt my heart break.

I opened the door. My mother sat on her bed, in the dress she wore with my dad on their 10th anniversary. They went to one of the best restaurants on the block. I remember the look in her eyes when she came home with him that night:, so carefree and happy for once. I don't think I've ever seen Dad with such a big smile stuck on his face. The dress was black with teal waves on the bottom. It kinda looked like a skirt, really fluffy at the end of it. He said it complemented her skin, making her look like a glowing goddess. His words, not mine. They might of been a little drunk.

I clutched her hands in my large one. She hung on like her life depended on it. Her hands were so cold. With my other hand I cupped her face and she leaned into it.

"Who would-" she tried to say, but a large sob escaped from her lips. I grabbed her and held her close to my body as she sobbed, her head resting on my chest. She was careful not to let her tears soak my shirt.

"I know," was all I could reply. My voice sounded empty and I felt a tear dribble down my face. My throat burned as I tried to keep my tears at bay. My mother needed me right now. Usually I'm pretty emotional. I wasn't afraid to cry. However, now was not the time to break down into tears. I needed to be strong for mom. Later tonight, while I was in my room, I would cry. But not now.

"You're all I got left baby," she said, her voice muffled through my shirt.

"I know," I said again, because what else could I say? What could I do to sate her pain, to make her tears dry? Absolutely nothing.

She cried in my arms for what seemed like centuries, even though it was only a few minutes. After a while she sniffled, the tears stanched for now. She sat up and sniffled once more, just once, and put a hand on my shoulder. Her skin, like mine,was just a shade lighter than my jacket, but her nails painted an emerald green, bringing contrast.

"Lets go," she said, not meeting my eyes. I nodded and we both stood up. Climbing down the stairs and out the door silently, I thought of nothing, trying to block out my emotions. But they always had a funny way of coming around to kick me in the ass. As we climbed into our 2002 mini-van, I behind the wheel, she broke down once more. I gritted my teeth as more tears unwillingly slid down my face. Without turning to look at her, I put the car in reverse and backed out of our driveway. Then, with one last look at our house, a house that would never be the same again, I started the drive to the funeral home.

The whole time in the car all I could think about was how this was all my fault. It was my fault we had to shake hands with almost strangers who were telling us how sorry they were. It was my fault that mom had to wear her anniversary dress to such an ironic event. Together forever, that was the promise. It was my fault dad was dead.

It was late on a Tuesday night. I've always hated Tuesdays. Not quite Monday, when you still had fresh memories of the weekend, and not quite far enough into the week where you feel the relief of the weekend soon-to-be. Dad and I were in the car. We were listening to some crappy song. He was singing loud, and I mean loud. It was pretty funny. I had the windows rolled down, because I wanted the neighbors to hear. Hear how happy we were. Hear how we didn't give a damn about what anyone thought. Our neighbors didn't like us that much, they call us trash. And sometimes, on a really bad day, I felt like trash. But I KNEW that we weren't and they couldn't stop us from having a good time with their harsh words. I remember the car stopped suddenly. I turned to dad, giving him a questioning glance, but it soon became apparent when I looked out the windshield. An attractive girl in a white nightgown was standing in the middle of the street. She had long brown hair and pale skin. She wasn't wearing shoes. I have to admit; she was kinda hot. "What the hell…" dad had muttered as he got out of the car. "Miss, are you Ok?" he asked her. She gave him what I assumed was suppose to be a reassuring smile but it creeped me out. "I'm fine, thank you. I just have some work to do," she said with another smile.

"Alright then, we'll just be on our way." my dad said and he stepped back into the car uncerminonally. As he slid into the front seat, I hit his shoulder and gave him a look. Even though she was creepy, that didn't mean we couldn't help her. She looked 18, about my age. She shouldn't be out in this weather, it was freezing. Besides, you know, she was hot. I quickly hopped out of the car. "Do you need a ride?" I asked her politely. "Yes, thank you…?" she murmured.

"Darren, my name's Darren." I replied managing a small smile.

After that, I can't remember a thing. I must of blacked out. All I know is that when I came to, the girl was gone and dad was dead. He was soaked in blood and had weird stab wounds all over him. It kind of looked like bite marks, but that girl definitely wasn't strong enough to hold him down and bite. Besides that was a little kinky. He was dead and it was my fault. I went into hysterics and I don't remember much after finding him.

I shook my head and tried to focused on the road. It was painful thinking of dad. He was my best friend and he was dead; and because I had freakin' amnesia, we couldn't even find the girl on the road with us. The doctors at the hospital said that she was probably a hallucination, caused by the traumatic event I went through. But I knew she was real. There was no denying it, no matter what everyone else thought.

My mom sniffled feebling next to me, and my eyes flitted towards her every so often. Her mascara was caked under her eyes, making her look like a racoon. I held out one hand and grip hers, the other I left on the steering wheel. We drove like this for the rest of the ride to the funeral home.

Soon enough, the dark gray building loomed in front of us. Two-stories tall, it was a skyscraper in our little town. Dark red windows and a huge white cross, it looked like a creepy horror-movie house. I pulled up in the back of their "home" and help my mother out of the car. She held on to my arm with a steel grip. We faced the funeral home, walking slowly but surely over to it. Her face took on an ashen tone. Reaching the glass doorway, a man was waiting for us, the funeral director, or whatever his official title was.

He was short and I towered over him, blocking out the weak sunlight that shone through the clouds that blanketed the sky. He had on a suit similar to mine, and had a purple handkerchief in his coat pocket. He looked kind, which was a little weird for an owner of a funeral home. They're usually portrayed in the movies as creepy old dudes, but he looked around his mid-forties and had a full head of reddish hair, not some weird comeover.

"So sorry for your loss, Mrs. Myers, thank you for picking Late's Funeral Home for your dearly departed." My mother nodded tersely and gripped my arm a little tighter than necessary. He led us to a room where we would hold the service before we went to the cemetery. It's cream colored walls looked too cliche, and the smell of flowers were too overwhelming.

A glossy, black coffin sat in the back of the room, thankfully closed. If I had to see my dad's lifeless body one more time, I don't know what I would do. Probably run out of the room crying.

We sat down where the families of the deceased sat. I sat stiffly in the too comfy arm chair.

As our friends and distant relatives piled in, each murmuring the usual for funerals, "So sorry for your loss" or "Andrew was such a good guy!" we just nodded. My mom seemed to never run out of tears, as they continued to streak down her face. My aunt sat next to her and nodded at me. We didn't really talk much, and she only visited my mom twice a year. They didn't get along well and it was better for all of us if they saw each other as little as possible. But she was here for my mom like she should be, which was a miracle all in its own. I didn't need to watch over my mom now.

Our pastor came and said a quick word about my dad. Nothing special. If dad could attend his own funeral, he'd probably make fun of Pastor Hew, complaining about the weird smell in the room. Good old dad.

A sudden sob heaved itself from my lips, right before Pastor Hew could finish his last sentence. He gave my a sympathetic look as I cried, but continued talking. Once he was done, and faint clapping could be heard, I bolted out of the room, using my long legs to carry me.

I ended up in the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. My eyes were red and I was making awful choking noises, the one I called my dying seal noise. My eyes, a weird mix between brown and orange, stared back at me through the dirty mirror. They were my dad's eyes, "A Myers family trait!" he use to say. Great, just great. I cried harder.

After the depressing service at church, everyone piled into their cars to go to the cemetery. We were going to bury him at St. Aimo's Burial Ground. That's where mom's and his parents were buried.

It was slightly misty out and the dew clung to everyone's jackets. It was unusually cold for April. A sudden realization came over me. Dad was never coming back. This was the end. No more hugs. No more late Saturday nights of eating icecream and watching cop shows. He wasn't going to be around to tie my ties. My throat closed up. For the second time today, I cried. I felt like a baby, but I couldn't help it. I tried to hold back the ugly crying noises as I unwillingly let the tears slide down my face. This was so unfair. Why did he have to die? He didn't deserve it. It was my fault. I let that girl get into our car. I offered her a ride. I caused this. She killed him. I knew that was the truth; I felt it in my soul. She killed him, and I was going to find her.

Pastor Hew started his final speech about dad, letting a few tears dribble down to his chin. He had liked my dad, even though dad sometimes made fun of him. They were friends. I looked around. Everyone was either crying or had a look of pain on their face. That is, everyone except for one person.

Her.

The girl from the night dad was killed. She was standing on the other side of the grave with a little smile on her face, staring straight at me. The look in her eyes told me that she knew what I knew: she was real, and she had killed him.

Suddenly, I saw a flash of images. A group people attacking the homeless in street alleys, sinking their razor sharp teeth into their necks. A girl with claws ripping out and eating a man's heart. A little boy with pale skin that had huge bags under his oddly colored eyes eat a dead corpse. A sense of pride radiated from the girl. These were her children. Weren't they wonderful? She seemed to be saying, "You're next." Why was I seeing these images? Was I going crazy?

I let out a strangled gasp. A few people gave me a sympathetic look. I returned it with one of panic. What was going on? I whipped my head towards the girl. She looked completely calm. Keeping eye contact, she took a step towards me. I felt bile rise in the back of my throat and stumbled backwards. I never took my eyes off her; I was too scared. One of my distant cousins walked right in front of her, breaking our eye contact. When he moved, she was gone.

The rest of the funeral service I couldn't focus. I was too freaked out. I kept looking around anxiously, waiting for her to appear. However, she never showed. When we said our final goodbyes and slowly trudged back up the hill, I suddenly felt dizzy. My head was swimming and my eyesight was fuzzy. "Honey, are you O.K.?" my mom asked me, worried. "I'm fine, I just need to sit down." I lied. "Okay, well, I'll meet you in the car." she replied, probably thinking I needed some time alone. I hobbled over to a bench and plopped down. Was I going crazy?I put my head in my hands and felt like the world was spinning around me. I groaned. And suddenly, I was throwing up over the side of the bench. It was mostly bile; I didn't eat anything for breakfast except a banana. After I threw up I didn't feel much better. My stomach still churned, but I wasn't dizzy anymore.

I wobbly stood up, and stumbled over to my mother's car. She sat in the passenger side, knowing well enough that she wasn't equipped enough to drive. I got into the driver side and sat down. She put a hand on shoulder and gripped it flimsily, but her eyes were harder. She had done her crying for today. I was only the beginning.

"You okay to drive hunny?"

I sighed and with a short nod, started the car. Silently I drove home. I was tired, I just wanted to go home and sleep all day or maybe forever. It was noon.

We pulled up in our driveway and I shut off the car. The engine shut down and we just sat in the car numbly. My dad didn't have a lunch or service after the funeral, like I said before we don't have a lot of money. My aunt's car pulled up in the driveway behind us.

"What's Aunt Deborah doing here?" I inquired with a raised eyebrow.

"She's going to be staying with us for awhile," my mom said vaguely. I looked at her with disbelief. They didn't hang out, they barely tolerated each other. I understood why Aunt Deborah was going to stay with us, but life here would be hell. I didn't see the point; they would be fighting all the time.

I got out of the car and opened the door for my mother. While she got up, I hissed at her, "Ma, is this really a good idea?" She just nodded and walked to my aunt's car.

I walked away, calling out to them, "I'll be in my room." Unlocking the front door and bolting up the stairs, I opened my bedroom door and slammed it shut. My face crumpled and I fell face-forward onto my bed.

My fault, my fault, my fault, my fault.

I felt tears well up in my eyes. I couldn't hold them back any longer and they rolled down my face..

He's dead, he's dead, he's dead, he's dead.

I cried harder.

I didn't want to get up, so I didn't. The rest of the day I laid in bed. I sometimes cried, but usually I laid there, numb. The light in my room faded from the bright light of noon, to the soft gray of night. My eyes felt puffy and red. No-one bothered me. I heard yelling downstairs, but it sounded only like my mom. Already fighting with her sister. Listening as their fighting increased in volume I slowly drifted off into unconsciousness.