Enjoy!


Shattered Minds

Chapter 1

November 10th 2016 Wednesday

Josh

The human mind is a very complex thing. It's what separates us from other mammals. It's what puts us at the top of the food chain. We have no claws, no fangs, no venom, no wings, no nothing. Except for our brains. In the animal kingdom only the strongest survives. Humans are the rare exception to this rather vague rule. In a carnivore's world a lion survives only if it's fast enough and strong enough to bring down its prey. A man on the other hand needs only resources and his brain to create a tool that works as his claws, fangs, venom, and wings.

But what happens when that same mind shatters? What happens when someone slowly drifts into madness? Such questions lead to many studies; however, none of them bring to the table definite proof of what happens inside the mind. The human brain is a glorious organ, but, within the blink of an eye, it can become our greatest enemy.

"It's a good start. I'm actually surprised you even bothered with the assignment. You made it pretty clear last week you wasn't going to do it. It's—"

"Now, hold your horses, Mr. PhD, I—"

"Josh you know that's not my name. If you're wanting me to schedule you an extra appointment this week, then not taking this seriously is the way to do it. We're here for you. Not me. Not your parents. You. It's about you and your recovery. I doubt you want to make a return to Lambrook."

The two men speaking had been seeing each other once every week for the past five months. Their conversations were held in a little office that smelt like peppermint, and beside a large window that you could look out and see dozens of cars flying down the expressway. Their names were Dr. Eddington, a renowned psychologist known as the writer of the book: Surviving the Grief, and Josh Melanie Washington, a client who'd rather be anywhere but inside some old guy's office.

The tension was high between them due to the fact that Josh hated homework assignments. He hated them in high-school, and he hated them more now. "How is writing about my illness supposed to help me? Tell me doc. How? I'd love to hear it." Josh wouldn't budge. He glared silently at his old therapist. This guy's out of his fucking mind if he thinks I'm gonna write three pages of this shit, his thoughts surfaced as he awaited his answer.

It wasn't because he was bitter that he—okay, maybe he was a little bit bitter. But who wouldn't be? He'd literally lost everything within the span of a year or two. His sisters, his friends, his home, his sanity, his place in modern society. He had little to lose, and he made that evident in his tone whenever he was met by authority figures or pretentious assholes who asked him the same damn question: "Do you see dead people?" He used to love that movie. Man, times had changed.

"Josh," Eddington sighed, rubbing his head tiredly, "you know I'm here to help. All I ask is that you give me a chance. We've known each other for some time now, and you haven't spoken a word about what's troubling you. I know it's hard talking about the incident, but in order for us to move forward, you have to come clean with me." It was then Josh sunk down into his chair and crossed his arms.

"Look doc, can I call you doc? You have very little," he brought out his pinky and wiggled it as a ridiculous visual representation, "influence over my life. I see you once a week so that you can tell me crap I already know. That's where the line ends for you." His eyes flicked down at the paper. "And this assignment is a poor excuse to give me busy work." He scooted the sheet of paper away from him as if it was plague infected. He'd grown to learn that playing on the defensive was always the best strategy in most situations. Don't let the enemy see you quiver, stand straight up even though you have the entire world on your shoulders, and never, never, cry. Too bad he didn't learn those lessons earlier. They would've saved him a lot of grief.

Dr. Eddington frowned as he adjusted his glasses. Josh was an entire desk away yet his anger could be felt across the room. It was obvious doc wasn't going to get through to the kid, and when the old man peered up at the clock, it said that it was time for Josh to go. Feeling partially guilty and partially disappointed in himself for failing to get his patient to open up, Eddington gathered up the single piece of paper, a notable frown still on his face, and led Josh to the door. "I guess we'll make an appointment for next week? How does Monday sound?"

"Whatever," Josh grumbled before opening the door and stepping back out into the waiting room. There were at least ten people who were sitting in chairs. Every single one of them had to be in their late thirties and addicted to some kind of drug. Meth most likely. He simply walked by them, pretending they weren't all staring at him with their beady little cockroach eyes.

It was early morning when he exited the building, and with mid-November approaching, the leaves on the trees were beginning to change color, as the smell of pine was more alive than ever. It was a peaceful backdrop even for Josh; however, that peacefulness ended as soon as he entered his mom's car.

The woman didn't even attempt to turn the key and drive. Instead she cupped her son's shoulder and asked: "How did it go? Did you let Dr. Eddington see what you wrote?"

Not wanting to listen to her any more than what he had to, Josh smiled and nodded his head accordingly. "Yeah, he liked it a lot," he lied, something he seemed to be doing a lot of. "Told me that I'm a lot smarter than what I give myself credit for." His mom bought into it like a naive child. "Let's get home. I'm exhausted. Do you think we can stop by Taco Bell?"

"Sure, honey." She cranked up the mustang, and as they started to drive off, Josh couldn't help but to look up at the second floor and through the window of the office he'd just left. He saw Dr. Eddington at his desk, pen in hand, writing something. Probably something about him. Josh ignored it and leaned the car seat back.

"Just get me a number ten with sprite," he ordered, eventually dozing off.

After returning home and eating his lunch, Josh slipped into his room for a time so he could listen to music and chill on his bed. Doctor appointments always tired him out. Though before doing that he entered his closet, which could've been bigger than a mobile home and was filled to the brim with shoes and clothes, and brought out his favorite ninja turtle pajama pants. "Ah, nothing says mental patient quite like a grown man wearing kiddie pajama bottoms," he said quietly to himself as he smelt the pants. "Smells like victory." He laughed maniacally as he put them on.

He then retrieved his phone from beside his computer on his computer desk and jumped into bed covering himself. A breath of relief soon followed. Nothing says relaxation like a soft bed and good music. The small dresser beside him housed a pair of headphones that he quickly reached over to pick up and put on his head. He strummed through his Spotify music selection until arriving to one of his favorite songs by one of his favorite bands: The Freshman by The Verve Pipe. He shut his eyes and slowly began to fade into obscurity.

When I was young I knew everything. . . .

During one of the choruses he felt his phone vibrate beside him. Grunting, he picked the phone up to see who it was. The last time someone texted him was about a week ago, and the person who did was someone he met during his stay at Lambrook. A guy named Jordan. But their conversation died a long time ago, and plus this new number wasn't a part of his contacts. He thought it odd and even more odd when he actually read the text that was sent.

507-469-6458: Hey, booger. It's Sam. I heard you've been out of the loony bin for a while. Your mom called a few days ago and gave me your new number. Sorry I wasn't there to see you when you got back. How long has it been? A year? Oh well. Doesn't matter now does it? Look, I know you probably wasn't expecting this, but I would love to meet up somewhere this week. Don't worry, it'll just be me. And no I don't plan on killing you lol, or whatever other paranoid thought that brain f yours might concoct. I would offer to take you out somewhere to eat, but I don't think you'd like eating vegan. What did you used to call it? Dirty hippie food? Something like that.

Josh: Okay. Let's get something straight. It's not "dirty hippie food" it's dirty animal food. You're pretty much eating the same diet as a fucking cow. Not saying you're fat or anything.

Sam: You're such an asshole. I'm glad to see you haven't changed.

Josh: You know what they say. You are what you eat.

Sam: Ewww! How long did it take you to come up with that one?

Josh: As long as it took some willing girl to shit in my mouth.

Sam: I'm already regretting this conversation. You need some mental help. Oh, wait...

Josh: Leave it to you to pick on the mentally handicapped. I can hear the cows clapping in the background.

Sam: Butt-face.

Josh: Tree humper.

Sam: You mean tree-hugger?

Josh: I know what I said.

Sam: -_- You're such a child. Grow up.

Josh: Never.

Sam: You're impossible lol. How does Friday sound? We could go to the homecoming game.

Josh: Did you just suggest what I think you suggested?

Sam: I don't see you coming up with any ideas dummy.

Josh: Ouch, that hurt Sammy. Yo, what about we meet up at the Pink Pig?

Sam: You do know that's a strip club, right? Also, did you really use the word yo? You're such a loser.

Josh: Takes one to know one.

Sam: Enough with the stupid one-liners already! This conversation has gone way longer that what it was supposed to. Friday. Callbe's Skating Rink. Yes or no?

Josh: You know I can't skate. Do you just want to see me fall and bust my ass?

Sam: I'll take that as a yes. Are you allowed to drive? Or did mommy take wittle Joshie's wicense?

Josh: No. The doctor took away wittle Joshie's wicense. Also, why the hell are you texting me now? I've been out of Lambrook for months.

Sam: Two reasons. One: Your mom didn't call but a few days ago. And two: even if I did have your number, I would've wanted to make sure you was stable enough before asking you to go somewhere with me.

Josh: How sweet, Sammy. I knew you loved me.

Sam: More like I pity you.

Josh. Ouch. You're really bringing the insults today. So, Friday? At Callbe's Skating Rink? Then we can go to the Pink Pig?

Sam: Lemme think. NO. Alright, have your mom drop you off at around noon. Tell her I'll bring you back. I'm sure she'll be glad to hear you're actually leaving the house to have some fun for once.

Josh: I leave my house to have fun all the time.

Sam: Whatever you say. Anyways, I gotta go run some errands. See you then.

Josh: Adios amigo.

The conversation ended and Josh found himself in an interesting place. He couldn't even remember the last time he actually went out and enjoyed himself. And even though he couldn't skate, and would probably get a concussion, the fact that Sam called him was absolutely baffling. After everything I did . . . he thought solemnly to himself as he got out of bed. So much for sleeping the day away. Now his mind was preoccupied with a certain blonde.

He left his room and headed down the stairs without changing out of his sleepwear. He looked over the railing as he came down and could see his mom in the kitchen fixing a blueberry and kale smoothie. It was all a part of her so called diet. The only time Josh ever dieted was when he ordered that diet coke from Applebee's several summers ago. And it was then he decided he would never drink another diet soda again.

His mom must've heard him coming down the stairs because she turned around. "You didn't sleep long. Is everything okay?" Josh couldn't believe that she had the audacity to just stand there as if she had no clue about Sam.

"I had an interesting phone conversation," he said dryly, sitting on the bar stool several feet from the blender and where his mom stood. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, right, mom?"

"I'm sorry, honey," she replied, but Josh could hear the unavoidable laughter in her tone. "I have no clue what you're talking about. Who called you? Was it—"

"You know who it was," he interrupted. "Sam-I-Am. Why didn't you tell me that you gave her my number? It's not like I would've been mad or anything. And why didn't you tell me you called her?"

"I would've," she began, failing to sound convincing, "but she told me not to. She wanted it to be a surprise when you got the text. And plus, she called me. I didn't call her."

"Wait, what?" His mind immediately went back in time to the phone conversation, right to the point where Sam had lied to him about his mom calling her first. Oh, Sammy, Sammy, he thought, why must you lie to me? He felt bad for how he'd treated his mom, who was just trying to make a smoothie in peace, and so he apologized. "Sorry about that. It was just, uh, some misinformation. It's nothing to worry about." He paused for a moment, thinking on how he could ask her to drop him off so he and Sam could go skating. When she returned to the blender, pushing the settings to mix, Josh slid out of the bar stool and leaned his body over the counter. "Sam wants to know if I can go skating with her Friday."

The blender was being a total asshole with its mega-loud, mega-annoying grinding sound. It was so loud that his mom didn't even hear him. "Mom!" Josh shouted angrily. She turned around like nothing was the matter and went to grab a cup from the cabinet beside the fridge.

"I'm listening," she hummed, reaching up and pulling out a medium sized plastic cup. Josh watched the green chunky liquid pour from the blender with absolute horror. It smelt like celery. He had to pinch his nose to avoid throwing up.

"Gross!" he cried. His mom just laughed and enjoyed watching his face shrivel up when she raised the cup slowly to her mouth, acting as if it was filled with dead rats, and began to drink it. She sucked it down loudly, and Josh could hear it as it slimed down her throat. It had to be the single most horrid thing he'd ever seen. Even the wendigos themselves would shake in fear from the beast which was his mother. He turned away from the sight, feeling the awful sensation in his stomach, and tried putting the subject back onto what he'd originally been talking about. "Sam asked me if I wanted to go skating with her Friday. Can you take me?"

Using her sweater's sleeve, his mom wiped her mouth and put the poisonous liquid down. A small smile surfaced on her face. She was glad to hear that they were already making plans.

"It'll be good for him," she remembered her and Sam's talk on the phone the previous week. "I know he regrets what happened on the mountain. Last night I heard him screaming in his room. I ran in there to see what was going on and he told me he felt a hand grab his leg. Don't tell him I told you that. He'd never forgive me. I've just been so worried about him. He never leaves his room, and he's been very hateful towards me and his dad. I just about gave up hope before you called. I have no one else to turn to. He always seemed happier when you were around, maybe you can help him? I really think all he needs is a close friend. You know, for moral support. He's the best son I could've ever asked for, and it hurts me to see him suffering." The tears were making their way to her eyes. "I found him in his room a few days ago cutting his hands with his father's knife. He told us he was trying to use blood magic to summon the demons out of him. We didn't take him to the hospital, thank God, but it scared me so much. I couldn't sleep. I'm sorry." She sobbed. "I didn't mean to burden you with all of this."

"Oh, don't worry about it, sweetie." The pain Sam heard in Mrs. Washington's voice almost made her want to go over there right then to give her a hug. "You're not burdening me with anything. I'm here for you and Josh. All you have to do is call. What's his new number? I'll be sure to call him sometime during the week."

Mrs. Washington stifled a few sniffles. Her face was soiled from her tears, and so she used a small wash rag to wipe them away. Putting herself back together, she cleared her throat of the mucus. "Thank you so much, Samantha," was all she could say without crying again. "I know Josh will appreciate it. If you're ready for it, his number is. . . ."

And thus was their conversation. It ended with a few heartfelt goodbyes and Sam promising to call Josh up within a week, which, by the evidence on his baffled yet excited expression, she'd been true to her word. Maybe a little too true as far as Josh was concerned. He still couldn't wrap his head around the crazy notion that Sam still wanted to be associated with him. He'd been staring blankly at the kale infested blender and hadn't been paying much attention to his mom at all.

"Josh," he heard her say finally. "Did you hear me?" He turned his head and saw that she had both her hands on her hips.

"Sorry," he apologized, though his mind was obviously on something else. "I was just thinking . . . about something." He could see his mom's impatience glaring at him.

"I swear you're just like your father. You really need to work on your listening skills." Whether that was an insult or a compliment, Josh hardly cared. "I told you: yes." She put a lot of emphasis on the word "yes" so maybe he would hear her the second time around. "What time should I drop you off? I'm guessing you guys are going to Callbe's? Or is it somewhere else?"

"Nah, it's Callbe's," he replied quickly. "And Sam said she'd be there to meet us at about noon."

"What time is noon?"

Josh shrugged. "I don't know. She wasn't specific. I'm guessing around twelve thirty." He was about to go on to something else, but remembered what Sam had told him about driving him home. "Oh, yeah, don't worry about picking me up. Sam's gonna bring me home. We've got it all lined up." He smirked, expecting his mom to be cool with it, but realized he was mistaken when a deep frown burrowed onto her face.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" she asked, concerned. "You haven't been out of the hospital for long and—"

"I've been out for at least four months!" he chimed in, a little flustered. "Don't worry about me. I promise I'll be fine. You can trust Sam." He tightened his lips. "She's a very sophisticated and mature young woman." The sarcasm laid heavily on his throat. "She'll make a man out of me yet."

Mrs. Washington rolled her eyes. "What am I going to do with you? I swear," she looked at her son like any proud mother would, "you're looking more and more like Bob every day. Sam definitely has good taste." She noticed the ninja turtle pajama bottoms he was wearing and couldn't help but to chuckle. "I can't believe you've kept those for so long."

"I can't believe I still fit into them. I was such a fatty back then." The memories of grade school came back to haunt him. His family was rich, but it still couldn't keep him from being a butterball for all those years.

"You wasn't fat," his mom argued, but, like always, she barely sounded convincing. "You were adorable, and you know you were. All the girls loved you."

Josh blushed a deep blue. "Mom," he groaned childishly, "you know that's not true. I looked like the real life Pillsbury Doughboy. Don't you remember?"

They just laughed and laughed, and, for once, Josh felt as if the world was alright. Maybe, just maybe, the time for grief was coming to a close. And, maybe, just maybe, reuniting with Sam would be the start of something new. 'Cause everyone deserved a second chance. Right?

Later that night Josh laid awake in bed. He could hear his father's snoring from across the hall. "It's like trying to sleep in the belly of a whale," he remembered his mom explaining to him one time as a way to describe her husband's snoring. Chuckling quietly to himself, Josh rolled over on his side and grabbed his phone from the dresser. He glanced at the clock. It was fifteen past eleven. I wonder if Sam is still up, he thought. Should I text her and see? He wasn't too sure. In truth, she probably wouldn't have cared, but he didn't want to seem overbearing, so he ultimately decided against it and instead slipped on his headphones. He scrolled through Spotify until arriving to the song he'd been trying to listen to all day, and, much to his relief, there was no Sam to interrupt it. At least until halfway through the song.

Sam: Still up?

Josh sighed.

Josh: Nope.

Sam: C'mon cut it out. I'm just calling to check on you.

Josh; You lied to me.

Sam: About what?

Josh: About getting a call from my mom. I know it was you who called.

Sam: Goddamn it! Now I have to move states. Fuck!

Josh: Good. Get as far away from me as you possibly can. I'd recommend Antarctica. You don't have to worry about the weather. It'll freeze your tits off all day every day.

Sam: You're gonna have to take me to dinner first if you're gonna be talking about my titties.

Josh: Interesting proposal. How does lamb chops sound to you?

Sam: Fuck you, dude.

Josh: You wish. What was it Emily said to Jessica at the lodge? You couldn't buy a moldy loaf of bread with your skanky ass?

Sam: I dunno. Lol. That sounds like something Emily would say.

Josh: Might've been Jessica.

Sam: Who cares?

Josh: Please, don't act like you don't like juicy gossip, Ms. Cheerleader.

Sam: oooh. It's on now ass-eater. I'm gonna laugh when you fall on your face when we're skating. And who knows, maybe my foot might slip and accidentally trip you.

Josh: If I go down, you're coming with me.

Sam: Good luck catching me fat-ass.

Josh: I'm a fatass now? hmm I think I'll buy a nice, big, delicious pizza for us. Smothered in garlic, fifty kinds of cheeses, ham, pepperoni, more ham, hamburger meat, have I mentioned pepperoni? And I'm gonna watch you eat it all.

Sam: I'd rather die. But, hey, since we're talking about food, how does celery and diet coke sound?

Josh: You wouldn't...

Sam: Try me.

Josh: Is this you trying to get back at me for chasing your toweled ass around the lodge?

No response.

Josh: Sam? Hello?

A few minutes passed and by that time Josh was sitting up in his bed with his back against the wall. He stared at the message box on his phone but Sam never texted back.

Josh: Did I say something? Sam?

The silence was deafening. Why wasn't she responding? Many scenarios began to spin inside his head. Someone must've broke into her house. No. No. Somebody kidnapped her. No. Maybe—

Sam: Listen. Never mention what happened on that mountain again.

A pause followed.

Sam: I'm going to sleep. I'll see you Friday.

After reading it, he didn't dare text her back. Dreadful shame ravaged his mind for the rest of the night. He laid back down and replayed the song he'd been so desperately trying to listen to. He hummed the verses and eventually started to sing softly. But there wasn't a song in the world that could make him feel any better. No matter what, it seemed like he could never escape from his past. The scars were still fresh on his skin, and he feared they'd never go away.

Like many times before, it was nothing new that Josh was unable to sleep. During his months at Lambrook he had stayed up for several days and nights tossing and turning, trying to cope with the hell inside his mind. Eventually, the doctors had to inject him with sedatives. His peers called it booty juice. Which was a freakin' hilarious name; but it wasn't so hilarious when they forced you on the ground and stuck you in the ass with it. His butt was sore for several weeks after leaving. His mother was there to pick him up. She was his savior—even went so far as to buy him Longhorn's on the way home. Good memories, but, alas, those good memories were few and far between.

He quietly made his way down the stairs with his phone as his flashlight. The house was pitch black and it gave Josh a horrible sense of paranoia and goosebumps. It reminded him of the mines. He scrambled to the living room's light switch, flipped it, and let out a sigh of relief. Nobody had broken in. Thank God. Though he did see an orange little feline licking its paw on the couch. Josh smiled and sat down beside it. The cat meowed and purred, its soft tail touching his nose as the cute creature rubbed against his side.

The phone was still in his hands and for some reason he had the sudden urge to call Sam. He wanted to apologize to her for what he said, but was afraid she might cancel their plans if he kept pestering her. All he could really do was wait for tomorrow—Thursday—and hope that then would have served as the appropriate length of time before he texted her again. But that was easier said than done. It had seemed like an eternity since the last time he communicated with someone other than his parents and doctors. And he never realized how alone and isolated he truly was until this morning. Thanks Sam, he thought sarcastically. You've made me see how shitty my life is. Oh, I'm definitely buying you that cheese lover, triple stuffed pizza.

Tonight was going to be a long night.

After giving his cat the belly rub treatment, Josh tiptoed over to the movie shelf beside his mom's ridiculous diet books. But that didn't stop him from accidentally scanning over one of the funniest book titles in the history of book titles. The Pocket Book of Boners. "Oh. My. God." He had to cup his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. "What the hell are you reading mom?" All sorts of crazy images started to come into his head. I gotta tell Sam about this, he decided. He didn't bother to read the content inside however, the cover alone was enough for him, and instead went for the Blu-Ray copy of: I Love You Beth Cooper. "This movie is so shitty," he laughed to himself, opening the box, "but so good at the same time." He popped it into the Blu-Ray player and went off into the kitchen to fix himself a bowl of popcorn.

When he returned, the movie had already started. "Shit." He turned off the light and plopped down on the sofa. He reared back and stretched out his legs. Sometime during the movie he threw a handful of popcorn at the screen. "What a fuckin' dork! Goddamn Hayden Panettiere is hot-hot-hot. Wait, hold the phone," he thought about Sam and how similar the two girls looked. It weirded him out. He violently shook the thoughts out of his head and continued watching the movie without any more outbursts.

The movie ended, and Josh, at long last, had passed out. The popcorn bowl slowly slid down from his stomach and onto the floor. Just like his father, Josh was cursed with an awful snore. His mom came down to see what all the ruckus was while in her pink slippers and gown. She smiled when she saw that it wasn't a burglar, but her baby boy sleeping peacefully on the couch. Quietly, she reached down and picked up the bowl, cleaning up the popcorn as well. Afterwards, she turned off the television and brought Josh some cover. He fumbled around for a bit, mumbling in his sleep, but eventually settled back down. It would take a bomb to wake him up.

"Goodnight, little Joshua," she whispered as she lightly kissed his forehead and rubbed his cheek. "Sweet dreams." Nothing else was spoken that night in the Washington's household as Mrs. Washington returned to her room and laid beside her husband. Closing her eyes, she dreamed of her family, dreamed of a time when they weren't so broken, when Hannah and Beth were still alive, and it was in her dream that she found solace.


November 11th 2016 Thursday

Sam

The cold autumn rain fell like shards of glass hitting the sidewalk. Thunder rolled across the gray clouds above. A chilly wind swept through the streets where Sam could be seen standing alone beneath a bus stop. She counted the droplets that dotted the pavement. One. Two. Three . . .

Cars zoomed by her on the road. All of them going at least fifty. Luckily, there weren't many mud puddles around, so she didn't have to worry about some truck's tires spitting the nasty stuff all over her. No. Today was a good rain. A beautiful rain if she wasn't standing in it. She adjusted her Nike jacket to a more comfortable position and reached into her pocket, pulling out a small scratch of paper. Written on it was the address: 3401 Parkway Drive, apartment #106.

Chris. She hadn't seen him in such a long time. How many months had it been? Three? Four? Exactly when hardly mattered to her. After what happened on the mountain, and after Josh was put into the hospital, their relationship had steadily grown closer. You could say that they were borderline best friends. She'd invited him and Ashley to a small get-together that her family was having. She had also invited Matt and Emily, but, like she expected, they never showed up. Emily was probably still pretty sour about the whole Mike pointing a gun at her thing. Sam couldn't blame her. She'd be pissed too. But the weird thing was was that nobody had seen or heard from Mike and Jessica for nearly five months.

"I went over to Mike's yesterday," Chris told Sam a month before the get-together. "Nobody answered. I'm not the biggest fan of Mike, but I'm kinda worried."

Since that talk between them, the mysterious disappearance of their two friends became even more distressing. Sam believed they just wanted to be left alone. To forget the night that haunted them all. But Chris thought differently. He explained to Sam on several occasions his wacky, outlandish theories, ranging from them being kidnapped by the CIA to being abducted by aliens. Which both ideas were absolutely preposterous; however, it did lead Sam to draw her own strange conclusions. Maybe, they were magically changed into pigs by an an evil witch and then sold to a pork farm. Of course, she never mentioned this to Chris, because he'd probably go and check every pig farm from New York to Kansas until he found two hogs that looked identical to Jess and Mike. True, it would've been hilarious, but in very bad taste on her part.

Just like how the bus running late was in very bad taste. Impatiently, she rolled up her jacket's sleeve and tapped on her watch. C'mon, hurry up. It read ten in the morning; five minutes past the bus's scheduled arrival time. Angry thoughts of cussing out the bus driver started to fester inside her head. And as she continued to stand there in the rain, with her arms crossed, and her pocketbook strapped over her left shoulder, she noticed a bright yellow set of headlights break through the cold, misty, November fog.

The bus came to a slow halt. Excitedly, Sam shoved the piece of paper back into her pocket. But before she could board, she had to wait for a group of young teenagers to get off. One of the boys in the group, a tall, handsome young thing, looked at her and smiled bravely. Sam returned his smile with her own, thinking about how much he reminded her of Mike. In fact, seeing all of those kids together reminded her of her own group of friends. It was almost like looking into a mirror. A shallow, blurry, deceitful mirror.

"Are you getting on or not?" croaked the old toad serving as the bus driver. The man was fat like a bloated puffer fish and smelt like piss water. His nose took up the majority of his face, and a big, slimy wart was placed right at the tip of it. Sam couldn't believe how ugly the old man was, and her staring almost got her into serious trouble. "What are you looking at? Take your seat. I ain't got all day," he growled. She could smell the booze and tobacco on his breath from several yards away.

Okay, she thought to herself, I'm definitely not taking the front seat. There had to be at least seventy people occupying the bus, most of them were standing up with their bags down at their feet. Sam gripped the strap of her pocketbook tightly and maneuvered her way in between as many people as she could. "Excuse me. Sorry," she repeated many times. A man grunted angrily when she accidentally drilled her elbow into his stomach as she tried slipping past him and some chubby woman wearing a strange combination of dark blue lipstick and red mascara.

A brief moment passed where Sam felt extremely claustrophobic. The bus was so loud that she almost didn't hear her phone going off as she found a seat beside a young girl. They nodded respectfully at one another. Girls had to stick together, right? Especially on an overcrowded bus.

Once she was finally settled in, and her pocketbook was securely on her lap, Sam took out her cellphone. Her eyes widened when she saw the name of who was texting her. Josh. An unavoidable pang of regret rose inside her stomach. She hated herself for how she'd treated him last night; it hadn't been his intent to upset her like he did, but, honestly, she just wasn't ready to joke or even talk about what happened on the mountain. Those terrible memories were buried deep beneath the gravel of Sam's brain, locked away, never to be rediscovered.

Josh: Sam-I-Am! How are you? Hope I didn't wake you up.

Silently, Sam smiled to herself. It was obvious he was trying desperately to make up for upsetting her so much last night, making the pang rolling around her bowels tighten until it grew into pure guilt. Poor, Josh. He was working so hard to make ends meet, and she could tell. She looked around at all the faces surrounding her.

Sam: Nah, man, you didn't. You just caught me in a tight place. Literally.

Josh: Uh huh. I'm not going to ask. Anyways, after you headed to bed, I went downstairs to the living room to watch a movie, and I accidentally came across one of my mom's books. Guess what the title was? It's so fucking funny.

Sam: Lemme think. Was it The Pocket Book Of Boners?

Josh: How the fuck did you know? Are you stalking me, Sam-I-Am? Because if you are I'll be sure to leave my window open for you. Just know that I sleep in the nude.

Sam: Too much information. And no, I'm not stalking you, I gave her that book several years ago. Well, actually I gave it to Hannah, but your mom must've kept it.

Josh: What? How couldn't I have known about that? Well, shit. That spoils everything! Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.

Sam: Lol. You're ridiculous. Look, I'm on the bus right now, and it's hard enough having to deal with all these people. Do you think we can talk later? In a couple of hours, maybe?

Josh: Of course, no problem. Sorry, I didn't know. I hate public transport. It's the fucking worse. Good luck, Sam, and may God have mercy on your soul. Mwahahahaha!

The conversation ended on a rather good note. Sam was glad to see Josh attempting to be social, even if it was only with her for now. She hoped someday soon he would be willing to come with her to see Chris. They were best friends after all, and Sam fully believed that they could restore their friendship with a few spoken words and hugs—well, maybe not hugs. Man hugs.

It appeared as if the rain wasn't going to stop. After the girl sitting with her got off, Sam quickly slid over to the window and looked outside. From bus stop to bus stop, she watched as people carrying umbrellas scuttled away quickly into their apartments and homes. And other than the few bright headlights in the distance, it was nearly impossible for anyone to see anything that was more than thirty feet away. The white fog swallowed every inch of the city, reminding Sam of her favorite horror movie and video game: Silent Hill. She wondered if anyone on her bus thought the same.

They didn't.

In the time it took for her to arrive to her designated location, 3401 Parkway Drive, the majority of the bus-goers had already left. It was only her, an older woman sitting directly behind the bus driver, Sam figured she was flirting with him—gross—and a handful of well dressed men. Weird that they were taking a bus home. Their suits were so well kept and clean you'd think they'd be driving Ferrari's and banging porn stars. Looks could be deceiving, she guessed. But she didn't have to guess for long, because when the bus stopped, she bolted down the aisle without speaking to a soul, and got out as fast as she'd gotten in. Note to self, she thought as the bus drove away into the gloom. Never take public transportation again.

Walking in the blistering cold rain wasn't her exact idea of "fun," but she promised Chris that she'd come visit him and Ashley today, and by goodness, she was just gonna have to deal. Luckily, she had tucked away a small umbrella in her pocketbook before leaving her house, though she believed it wouldn't put up much of a fight against the heavy wind. God must've enjoyed making things difficult for her. He was the all mighty douchebag according to Josh.

She scrambled around inside her bag until she felt her hand on the umbrella's handle. She pulled it out, opened it, looked both ways, and walked across the street. Just like she'd thought, the wind sent hundreds of stinging droplets into her eyes. She batted her eyelashes fiercely, hoping to combat the storm, but, of course, it didn't help one bit. Chris owed her big time after this.

Relief came when she saw the large apartment complex in the fast approaching distance. The red and black buildings were like beacons of hope in a world consumed in a shivering mist. She wanted to break into a sprint, but first she had to get through the green gate surrounding the area. A long line of cars waited to be allowed in on the far left—a woman could be seen sitting in a small booth, pressing buttons that opened and closed the gate. Beyond that were endless rows of nicely trimmed trees and hedges.

Chris and Ashley definitely had moved up in the world, and Sam was shockingly proud of them for it. She'd half expected them to be living in a broken down part of town, low on income, and barely hanging in there. But like she'd figured out long ago, you never knew what's what until you've seen it with your own eyes. And no case was truer than with those two.

Sam greeted the woman at the booth with a smile and a warm, "Hello. How are you? I'm here to see a friend of mine. Christopher Hartley? Um. He told me he lives here." The woman stared at her blankly. The fat beneath her chin reminded Sam of a plump snail. Awkwardly, Sam reached into her pocket, pulling out the piece of paper. "Um. 3401 Parkway Drive, apartment one hundred and six?"

"Yeah," the old cow grunted, smacking on her gum. Did this woman always look so grumpy? Her red lipstick was almost as distracting as the fat rolls engulfing her neck. "Go on in." The more she talked, the more she started to sound like someone who'd been smoking cigarettes for the past sixty years.

After using her sausage-sized finger to press the green button on the control panel in front of her, a tiny red light shot on, and the gate slowly pushed open backwards, allowing Sam, who stood on the sidewalk, clearance. "Um." Sam looked back at the obese booth keeper. "Thank you, Mrs—"

"Abigail," she croaked. Could she and the bus driver with the big nose possibly have been brother and sister? They had so many resemblances that it was downright frightening. Sam did the only thing she could do in a time like this, and that was nod her head and continue forward.

It was a happy day when she finally reached the first apartment building. She headed up the stairs and stepped onto a long balcony, where a roof was securely above her head. Along this row were at least fifteen doors, each one led into somebody's home. After returning her umbrella back into her pocketbook, Sam started counting the numbers on every door she passed by.

One hundred and three. One hundred and four. One hundred and five. One hundred and six.

Sam checked the paper again just to make sure she was at the right place. She was. For a moment there she needed to gather herself. It'd been months since she last saw Chris's face. Hundreds of thoughts rushed to her mind, all of them asking a similar question: Had he changed? Gritting her teeth, she lightly tapped on the door with her knuckles. "Chris," she said loud enough for anyone inside to hear. "It's me, Sam. Chris?" She knocked a few extra times. The warm sensation of anxiety rushed to her face, and her chest felt ready to burst. Why am I so worked up? she thought. I'm sure he hasn't changed at all. I'm sure—"

The door opened.


November 11th 2016 Thursday

Mrs. Melinda Washington

There were two days that Mrs. Washington could say were the scariest and worst days of her entire life. The first one happened two and half years ago. A day that obliterated the foundations of everything she thought she knew. It was as if all those years before no longer mattered. All the dreams, all the hopes, died with her two beautiful daughters. The only thing left to wake after the destruction was a disassembled, broken family. The words that used to describe the Washington household were: joy, life, and love. But now, after many hard days and nights, the only words left in the aftermath were: misery, death, and hate. That was all. What was light turned into darkness. What was happiness turned into merciless pain. And Mrs. Washington knew that her son, Josh, blamed himself for every bit of it. Her little boy, her pride and joy, was falling apart before her very eyes, and she could do nothing. Nothing.

Then came the second day, not so far from the first. Merely a year after. When she received the call that the lodge had blown up and only Josh's friends made it out, Melinda, already broken, fell to her knees and cried—moaned as if she'd been shot through the stomach. Her husband rushed from the living room to see what was the matter, but his wife could only gurgle on the tears in her throat. He picked up the phone; the officer was still on the other line.

Desperate and scared, Josh's father shouted, "What the hell is going on? Who are you?"

"Mr. Washington?" came the calm voice on the line. "This is the Edmonton Police Department, we're calling this morning to inform you about an incident on one of your properties. Reports coming in say that the lodge at the base of Mount Washington has been destroyed by unknown causes. Information is still coming in. As it currently stands, only seven teenagers have been found. They are receiving helicopter transport. Their names are Samantha Giddings, Chris Hartley, Ashley Brown, Michael Munroe, Jessica Riley, Emily Davis, and Matthew Taylor. We're sorry—"

"What about my son!" Josh's father interrupted by shouting. "Joshua Washington! Tell me he's alright!"

"We're sorry to inform you, Mr. Washington," the cop went on, "but there haven't been any traces of your son anywhere. We have investigators right now on the scene who will be conducting a search on the ground, and helicopters will be provided for aerial support." The cop paused, waiting for Bob Washington to say something, anything, but all that was heard through the line was Mrs. Washington's wailing. "Mr. Washington?" the cop tried.

"Yes? I'm sorry, it's just . . ." Bob had to keep himself from crying. "It's just a lot to deal with right now. Please, officer, find my son. I can't lose him. Not like this. Please."

In that moment, there was an exchange of sympathy going from one man to the other. The cop, whose name was unknown, a cop simply doing his job, spoke to the silently sobbing Bob in a tone that could make even a blind man see. It was uncompromising yet compassionate all in one voice. "I will do everything in my power to find your boy. I promise you. I will use every man, dog, and chopper that I can get. I will find your son." It was unscripted, something cops weren't supposed to say. All Bob could really do was thank him before hanging up.

For the next three days, Mr. and Mrs. Washington never left their house. They received some gifts from the actors Bob had come to know through his work as a movie director. He sent each of them a text saying he was okay and even went so far as to call a few. The conversations weren't much though. Just a whole ton of thank you's from Josh's dad, and several, "You're in my prayers," from the actors. He appreciated their sentiments, but none of it helped him feel any better. That was, at least, until he received a phone call one night from the police department.

"Mr. Washington?"

Bob knew that voice. It was the officer he'd spoken to on that same fateful morning. "Yes, that's me," he said shakily. All the days of searching had led up to that single moment, and Bob was terrified.

"This is Sergeant Hancock of the Edmonton Police Department," the officer continued. "We're calling tonight to inform you that we have found your son, Joshua Washington inside the mines of Blackwood Mountain. He's sustained multiple head injuries and a fractured ankle and is currently being transported via airlift to the region's central hospital." The sergeant paused to let everything sink in. "Go ahead. Tell your wife. Your son's gonna be okay." He didn't bother with the, "I told you so," the happy reaction of Bob and his wife carrying on in the background was enough for Hancock. It was all part of the job after all. No feeling in the world could top knowing you had brought a family together.

Weeks past with one thing leading to another, and Josh was finally given leave from the hospital. At least until the judge ordered he needed to be taken to Lambrook, with the notion that he'd be there for eight months instead of a measly two weeks. But after the hell he endured on the mountain, Josh made little fuss about it. Whatever happened in the mines, something his father noticed immediately upon seeing him, changed Josh. He wasn't the goofy, lovable kid he once was. What Bob saw in his son's eyes were both a calloused coldness and a detached confusion. Confusion about what exactly? His father did not know, and that might've been for the best—probably something that needed to be buried and forgotten for good.

Oh, if he only knew . . .

These were the types of flashbacks that played over and over inside Melinda's head. And every time her mind escaped back to them, the more she succumbed to isolation and darkness. She obviously knew how unhealthy her life had gotten; but after the grief of losing her daughters, and almost losing her son, her cluttered mind quickly became the unwilling host for the parasites that were her internal demons: agony and regret.

There were very few moments in her life she could recall being proud of. She'd married a wonderful man, raised a beautiful son, but everything cut out after that. Everything was put on hold—all her wishes, her desires—as she was left to face the cold, grim truth of Hannah's and Beth's fate. And it was too much for her to handle.

Melinda: Josh and I are at the grocery store. Is there anything you want to eat tonight?

In the background, while his mom was busy texting his father, Josh took it upon himself to grab a handful of random junk food. Two boxes of Lunchables, a box of cotton-candy flavored yogurt, a bag of Doritos, and a pack of red Gatorade. How he was able to carry all that at once? Nobody knew.

"Josh," his mom said with a sigh, detailing her slight annoyance. "Please, put that crap back. How many times do I have to tell you?" She grabbed one of the boxes of Lunchables and waved it in the air angrily. "I don't want this in my house. It's like you and your father don't give a damn about me or my diet." Like an angry carnivore, she forced all the junk back into Josh's hands, nearly causing him to lose his balance and fall down.

"Can I at least keep the Gatorade?" he asked convincingly. "It's not bad for you. Athletes drink it all the time; and it's better than Coke, right?" The fake sheepish grin playing on his face made his mom roll her eyes and shake her head.

"Fine," she detested. "But that's all you're getting. Don't ask for anything else."

"I won't. Promise," he assured.

Once Josh restored the food items back to their original spots, Melinda led them over to the dairy isle, where entire shelves were filled with all sorts of milks. Soy milk, coconut milk, almond milk, peanut milk, rice milk, milk milk—just endless rows as far as the eye could see. And as she was deciding on which kind to buy, her phone went off inside her pocketbook. Josh took it out and gave it to her. Mrs. Washington dropped the gallon of almond milk into the buggy and opened the message she originally thought was a reply from her husband, but was surprised to see that it was actually Sam.

She read the text and then looked over at Josh who was completely unaware of the situation. The message itself wasn't some kind of mind boggling revelation, but it did leave Mrs. Washington a little unsettled at first. It read:

Sam: There's something important I need to tell you, and, please, don't tell Josh. Not yet anyways. It's about Chris.

Melinda: What is it, Samantha? Is everything okay?

Sam: Yeah, everything's fine. Didn't mean to scare you, but I'm over at Chris's apartment right now, and he told me he's leaving in March to go to Parris Island.

Melinda: What? Are you sure?

Sam: One hundred percent. He shaved his head and everything. It's kinda creepy. Lol. I never imagined in a thousand years he'd join the military. I was going to tell Josh, but Chris swore up and down at me not to. I probably shouldn't even be telling you. You're not going to tell him are you? Chris will kill me if he finds out...

Melinda: Why doesn't he want Josh to know?

Sam: I'm not totally sure. He just told me not to tell him and left it at that. I think he's planning on telling Josh himself.

Melinda: When?

Sam: Dunno. I'll try to keep you updated as best as I can and talk to you later. Also, drive safe going home. It's raining cats and dogs out there.

After the flow of messages stopped, Mrs. Washington spent the remainder of her time in the store talking with Josh about anything to keep her distracted off of what Sam had told her. It wasn't until they were in line being checked out did her phone go off again.

Bob: Spaghetti sounds good.

Out of simple spite for her husband's late reply, she texted back:

Melinda: We're having tacos tonight. Deal with it.

Bob: Damn it.


November 11th Thursday 2016

Chris

He sat alone in front of the television, sucking on a fat, brown cigar, his feet propped up on the coffee table. The movie playing used to be one of his favorites: Vantage Point. A movie he remembered watching many years ago at Josh's house. It seemed only fitting that he watch it now as he waited for Sam's arrival.

Christopher Hartley, a name he thought about changing. He'd already changed everything else about himself: his clothes, his hair, he even bought a nice new pair of glasses. What was a name worth to him? Other than it being his birth name.

Since the incident, Chris had worked himself tirelessly into a life of strict discipline and integrity. Two traits he lacked for the majority of his life.

And as he sat there pondering, enjoying the taste of the tobacco between his teeth, Ashley stepped out from their bedroom wearing one of his shirts and a loose pair of gray sweatpants. Chris acted like he didn't even notice her as she passed by him to go into the kitchen and pour herself a glass of water.

"Chris!" she shouted, opening the freezer. She shifted through the ice trays and boxes of ice cream until she found a small bag of precooked, frozen sausage biscuits.

"Huh?" he asked, though his eyes never left the screen.

"I'm fixing breakfast. Are you hungry?" It wasn't the perfect breakfast, but it was breakfast nonetheless. And the last thing she wanted to do was go out into the rain and buy something from the store. Besides, she had to deal with enough people working as a part-time waitress at the local Outback. Couple that with going to college, and she was absolutely fine with staying home and being lazy—well, as lazy as she could be, living with Chris.

He literally lived and breathed the gym, and would often times take her along. Ashley enjoyed exercising, she stayed pretty slim, but Chris, on the other hand, took lifting weights and cardio to the extreme. It was all a part of his Marine boot camp preparation. And, honestly, after he shaved his head, Ashley felt that maybe he was taking things too far.

She understood how he wanted to move on with his life. To live and forget about what happened on the mountain, but a part of her believed what he was doing wasn't for recovery, but instead a deceptive attempt to push down all his rage until it disappeared. To ultimately become so cold and distant that he no longer harbored feelings about anything or anyone. Even her. Even the love of his life.

The space between them grew colder and colder as days turned into months. How Ashley longed to be cuddled inside his warm embrace again. Not some hard outer shell he created to protect himself from the emotions that came with tragedy and hurt. All Ashley truly wanted was for Chris to be happy, to be the person she used to know. The person she loved.

He never answered her question, so she sat down beside him on the couch after putting the biscuits into the oven. Hoping to invoke a reaction, she poked him hard in the side. The reaction she was expecting was for him to laugh, swoop her up, and kiss her. Sadly, that wasn't what happened.

"Damn it, Ash," he thundered. "What do you want?" The lips she'd kissed so many times before were now scowling at her, and the blue eyes she used to lose herself in were darkened and tainted with venom. What happened to her Chris? And who was this impostor?

His outburst caused her to flinch. He wouldn't hit her. Right? The way he was treating her, like an owner scolding his dog, made her unsure. "Sorry," she muttered. She didn't know whether to stay sitting next to him or to get up, go into their bedroom, close the door, and cry. But what would he say? If he walked in there and she was crying? The thought scared her.

A silence ensued between them for several moments. The smoke from Chris's cigar formed a large creamy cloud over them. Ashley coughed and swatted at the toxic fumes filling her lungs. "Chris! Can you please take you and your cancer stick outside?" The words fell from her mouth angrier than what she'd wanted, but she stood by them, huffing and puffing with her arms crossed.

"Give me the goddamn ashtray," he demanded. Plucking the cigar from his mouth, he glared at Ashley, and then swiped the tray out of her hands. He took one last inhale before dousing the cigar and throwing it away into the trashcan. He sat back down and muttered not a single word.

"What's your damn problem?" was what she wanted to say, and she thought about saying it for a long time. But she couldn't muster up enough courage to do so. The deafening quiet and the beating of her own heart were going to have to suffice for now.

Fifteen minutes later and the movie finally rolled credits. Sam still hadn't shown up, and it was beginning to get under Chris's skin. "She's late," he repeated several times to himself and Ashley. One could easily sense the anger in his tone.

"I'm sure she's on her way. She's probably just having a hard time in the rain." Ashley tried calming him down a few notches. Really all she noticed on his face was his ever-present scowl—a look she'd become accustomed to, but being accustomed to it didn't make dealing with him during his bad moods any easier. Then again, Chris was constantly in a bad mood; and Ashley blamed it on one person. Joshua Washington.

"I doubt it," he scoffed. "People just don't give a shit about being on time any more." Ashley lovingly slid her arm under his, but he moved away. "I'm not in the mood, Ash," he told her dryly, and was about to say something else, when the timer for the biscuits started beeping.

Ashley jumped up from the couch like a spring. Thank goodness for food. She hurried to the kitchen and opened up the oven and pulled out the pan with a towel. She then grabbed a jar of jam from the pantry and slapped it onto two of biscuits and brought them to Chris on a plate.

"Thank you," he said, taking the plate and laying it down on the coffee table without ever glancing at his food. Ashley noticed the glint of contemplation in her boyfriend's eyes.

Growing steadily more concerned, she laid her hand on top of his and sat down beside him. Chris continued to stare forward into the blank television screen. The side of his mouth twitched, but that was the only movement she got from him. He appeared so indifferent to her touch that she had to ask: "Chris. Are you okay? What's wrong?"

His face remained expressionless. "I'm just thinking . . ." he started, but then stopped.

"Thinking about what?" Ashley leaned into him and laid her head on his shoulder. "Talk to me," she whispered. "I'm all ears." She used her fingernail to lightly trace over his knuckles.

"I'm just . . ." He sighed. Ashley squeezed his hand. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that for the last couple of weeks my life has been a living hell." Chris ran his free hand through her hair. "I'm sorry," he said, kissing her forehead. "I know I haven't been fair to you. Sometimes I wonder if we made the right choice moving in together. I love you, Ashley. I love you so much, and I'm sorry that I'm not the man you deserve."

Warm tears were beckoning to roll down her face, but Ashley withheld them so Chris wouldn't feel guilty for making her cry. "I know, I know," she replied quietly. Somewhere past that hard outer shell still lived a child whose only wishes were to love and to be loved. "We don't have to talk if you don't want to. I just want you to know that I'm here for you." They locked eyes, and it was a moment she'd cherish forever.

"Always?" Chris asked sheepishly

Ashley kissed his neck. "Always."

They sat there in the quiet for what felt like an eternity, but Chris didn't mind. If Ashley promised that she would always be there for him, then the least he could do was be there for her when she needed him too. And by how he'd been treating her for the past few weeks, she needed him now more than ever. He scooped her up and brought her in close on his lap. She buried herself into his chest, her breathing soft and warm.

"I've missed this," she cooed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The sound of his heartbeat was like music to her ears. This was her Chris. This was the one she fell in love with. The kindest and most tenderhearted man she'd ever known.

Then came several loud knocks on the door, followed by Sam's voice.

"Shit," Chris groaned, but Ashley just laughed and patted his chest. Of all the . . .

"Some other time, lover boy," she joked and broke away from him, gathering up the cold, uneaten biscuits and tossing them into the microwave for later.

Meanwhile, Chris was busy checking himself in the mirror, making sure he looked presentable enough for their guest. But being that it was Sam, whether he looked presentable or not really didn't matter all that much. He was just glad that she actually came, even if she was thirty minutes late. Chris swore to himself that he would do right by Ashley and not blow a gasket over it.

They both greeted her at the door.

Ashley let out a pleasant gasp. "Sam!" she cried in the midst of hugging her. "It's so good to see you again." Chris stood in the background smiling.

Let the girls have their moment, that-a-boy Chris, he thought amusingly to himself. He had to admit Sam was looking good in her red hoodie, white shirt, and black running pants. She kinda reminded him of his old personal trainer, Amy, same color hair and everything.

Sam smiled back at him after finishing her hug with Ashley. "Wow, you two . . ." she began, losing words to describe her disbelief. She walked over to Chris and rubbed the top of his head. "What the hell happened to your hair?"

"I shaved it." Now Chris was laughing. "What do you think? I look like a real ladies' man." He winked over at Ashley whose only response was to roll her eyes. "So, how have you been, Sam?" he asked, but before she could answer, "Here, take a seat and relax for a bit" Chris turned to Ashley. "Ash, remember that case of wine coolers in the fridge?" She nodded. "Go get them for us. Are you okay with a little alcohol, Sam? It's one hundred percent vegan with no additives. Guaranteed."

Sam shrugged sitting down. "Sure, I'm cool with it. What flavor do you got?"

Chris looked back at Ashley who was searching through all the mess inside the refrigerator. "Ash," he called, "Sam wants to know what's what on those wine coolers."

"Erm, hold on a sec," she replied. They really needed to clean out their fridge. It was like a rat's paradise in there: old lumps of pizza, half eaten sandwiches . . . disgusting. It wasn't until she looked behind a big box of Yoohoos did she finally find their drinks. The case held only six glass bottles. Ashley scanned over the ingredients and flipped it over to the front side. "Says here it's apple-cider flavored. Huh. Interesting . . ." She took one for herself, opened it, and enjoyed a huge thirsty sip. Nodding with satisfaction, she took another one, "Catch!" and tossed it over to Chris.

He caught it and then offered it to Sam. "Here you go, milady. And may I say you look wonderful this morning."

"Charming as ever I see." Sam smiled. Five months of never visiting Chris and Ashley? What was she thinking? They were her favorite people, and it felt so good to be in their presence once again. If only Matt, Emily, Mike, Jess, and Josh were here too. The entire gang back in one room. Well, she could dream couldn't she?

Time flew by as they all three chatted up a storm. However, one thing in particular truly stuck with Sam; and that was when Chris told her about him signing up with the Marine Corps, explaining to her that he was leaving mid-March.

Her mouth had hit the floor. "No, shit," she said flabbergasted by this new piece of information. Sam looked at Ashley who was just sitting there with not so much as an expression on her face. "Do you approve of this?" she went on to ask, taking another sip from her bottle. Apple-cider flavored wine coolers were the best, especially in a time of undeniable shock. Chris and the Marine Corps . . . Sam couldn't begin to process it. She squinted her eyes at him, trying to understand what his motives were. It was weird enough seeing him with a shaved head, but this was . . . it was hard to grasp.

Ashley shrugged and rested her hand on his thigh. "I was worried at first," she responded honestly, and a part of her still was. "But I trust him with all my heart, and I'll support whatever decision he makes."

"Well," said Sam, directing her statement to Chris, "I just hope you remember to write me—keep me updated on how things are going." She reflected upon herself for a moment, thinking carefully on how to word her next sentence. "So, um . . . I've been talking to Josh lately, and—" Chris's eyes darkened. "Erm. He seems like he's really trying to make up for what he did. I'm sure he'd appreciate it if—"

Chris raised his hand to insinuate silence. "Stop," he said, "I know what you're about to say." He sighed and rubbed his temples violently as if he had a migraine. "Look," he breathed, "it's been a hard couple of months for all of us. I should've been there for him when he got out in May, and I'm a shitty friend for that—but I'm not ready to come to terms with that part of my past just yet. I signed on with the Marine Corps to try and escape it." His tone was a serious one. "Don't tell him about me joining the military—don't tell him anything. I don't even want him to know you came here at all. I—"

Thunder suddenly roared from outside, followed by a gust of whistling wind and flashes of lightening. The rain clashed against the roof, sounding like a thousand little tacks hitting tin.

"Great," Sam grumbled. "Damned November weather. I'm not looking forward going back into that." And by "that" she meant the storm. It was like a giant typhoon was coming in from the shores hundreds of miles away. Not something Sam was particularly excited about. In fact, she downright dreaded it.

"You can stay here and wait it out with us if you want to," Ashley proposed. "We've got movies and board games in case the power goes out. I bought these new cinnamon scented candles from Walmart the other day, and they're amazing—we can set them all over the apartment, and turn on a little music from my phone. It'd be like when we were little, during sleepovers. Remember them, Sam?"

"How could I not? I'll never forget that one time—I think we were in elementary—when me, you, and Hannah, heard about the old haunted church on—what was the road's name? Um . . ."

"I think it was Patterson," remembered Ashley, thinking back to that cold Halloween night. "The one people said had a bunch of dead babies buried beneath it."

Sam scoffed in disgust. "People said that? We must've been one fucked up group of kids." Now seemed like a good time to have another drink as her mind explored the thought of children actually being buried beneath a dirt road.

Ashley must've felt the same way because she too sipped on her bottle. "Yeah, I remember us walking down to the church yard at like nine o'clock. Still can't believe Hannah's parents actually let us go trick-or-treating by ourselves. It sucks we never found any ghosts, or baby skulls for that matter." She glanced at Chris who was sitting next to her. His downcast gaze made him appear like his mind was on something completely different.

Worried, and a little curious, Ashley poked his leg. Almost as if he was in a trance, he shot back up from his silent glaring, and eyed around the room, acting like he'd suddenly woken up. "What are we talking about?" he asked, his expression confused.

"Dumb ass," Ashley joked. "You need to pay attention. We're talking about the abandoned church we used to go investigate when were in elementary school."

"Oh, that shitty old building? Man, me and Josh went there all the freakin' time, and we never found nothing. Talk about overly advertised bull crap. We wasted our fucking allowances on ghost tracking devices and who knows what else—half the stuff didn't work anyways." All he and Josh wanted to find there was at least one baby skull; hell, they would've taken a cat jumping out at them from the shadows—then they'd have something to joke about. But, no, the entire "hauntedness" that place had was only a myth. And something he thought he'd never talk about again.

The rain didn't let up until quite later into the afternoon, when Ashley had to go and get ready for work. Sam spent the next couple of minutes texting Melinda about Chris's decision on joining the Marines (the texts we've already seen.) Afterwards, Ashley emerged from the bedroom wearing a rich coating of black pants, an expensive looking black button up shirt, and a pair of fancy black shoes.

Chris smiled upon seeing her with her red hair tied back in a ponytail. If there ever lived a woman who was so perfect, so undeniably gorgeous, it was Ashley, and Chris believed that with all his heart. The fact he was lucky enough to be with her baffled and excited him in every possible way. And for as long as he had her by his side, there was nothing in the world he couldn't accomplish. She was his lungs, and he was her heart.

"It was great seeing you guys again," Sam said as she headed toward the door. She listened as a soft cooing of wind rocked the tree branches outside back and forth. Light pitter-patter of raindrops danced on the concrete, and through the cracks from a nearby window, she felt a shift of chilly autumn air saying, "It's freezing outside!"

Ashley gave her one last hug. "Remember to come visit us whenever you want." It was like getting hugged by a grizzly bear. "You've got mine and Chris's number don't you?" she went on to ask after releasing Sam from her monster hug.

"Of course I do." Sam reached into her pocketbook and brought out her phone. Scrolling through all her contacts, she stopped when she saw Ashley's name. "Um, let's see . . . 947-762-6385?"

Ashley nodded. "Yep that's mine. What about Chris?"

"586-991-7797?"

"Yep," continued Ashley. "You got them. Give us a call or shoot us a text sometime. I work weekdays, three to eleven, in case I don't pick up right away." She turned to Chris who was also standing beside Sam in front of the door. "Lazybones over there works weekends at Planet Fitness."

"You're into lifting weights aren't you, Sam?" He decided then was the perfect time to interrupt. "I got just the thing for you. Be right back." He walked briskly into the kitchen and returned immediately with a small black card. On it was a phone number, email, fax number, and address. The enjoyment written on his face reminded her of a car salesman.

"Um . . ." What could she say? "Thank you. I guess." Sam hesitantly slid the card into her pocket, already having it in her mind that she wasn't going to waste money on a gym membership. She had weights at home, and, plus, last time she checked, running was free.

They said their final few goodbyes—thrown in were a few extra hugs—and as Sam opened the door and walked out, she heard Ashley telling her to be safe and to text her when she got home.


November 11th 2016 Thursday

Sam

A concrete landscape swaddled in mud and streams of water laid before her as she stood once again at the bus stop. She'd made a mental note to never take public transport again, but she was way too exhausted to hike the several miles back home. Instead, she kept herself entertained by playing Candy Crush on her phone while she waited.

Headlights came and headlights went. Eventually, the bus arrived—thankfully the woman driving wasn't a freak of nature—and Sam boarded it half expecting herself to be lost in an ocean of sweaty people, but she was pleased when she was faced with only a dozen—most of them sitting in the back. After taking her seat in the third row, the sensation of her phone vibrating echoed through her purse leather.

You have received a new message. Was what the notification read.

I wonder who it could be, she thought sarcastically. Of course she knew who it was. Josh had never been subtle about the amount of texts—or calls—he'd send out on a day-to-day basis, even before his sisters disappeared.

Josh: Sup, Sammy! How you doin' girl? I know I ask that every time I text you, but you gotta understand I'm not that great with conversation starters. Where you at?

Sam: On the bus. Again. But there's a lot less people this time.

Josh: I thought you had a car? Or are vegans against the idea of polluting the air?

Sam: My mom took it with her to work, and what's wrong with not wanting to pollute?

Josh: Oh, Sammy, you have a lot to learn about the world. A lot to learn. I'll teach you some of it tomorrow during our date.

Sam: It's NOT a date. We're friends, Josh. And ONLY friends.

Josh: Keep telling yourself that. I'm your destiny, baby, ain't no shame in it.

Sam: The only destiny I have with you is my vegan boot going up your meat eating ass.

Josh: Wow, when did you become so violent, Sammy? I thought you were a pacifist.

Sam: You pick up a few things when your friend is a freak.

Josh: Ouch. More name calling? You're on a roll there, Emily.

Sam: Yeah right. You wish I was Emily. News flash Josh, no sane Asian woman would ever want you.

Josh: That's alright. All I need is you, babe. You are the wind beneath my wings. Cue Bette Midler.

Sam: You know that might've actually been charming if it wasn't coming from someone who still sleeps in his Batman undies.

Josh: Batman? Really? I thought you knew me better than that. My undies are devoted to my love and admiration for my favorite super hero in the whole entire world. Spiderman. Get it right, Samantha!

Sam: Oh my mistake. How could I possibly forget that?

Josh: It's probably because you're not getting enough protein for your brain to function properly. You are vegan after all.

Sam: Screw you.

Josh: That can be arranged.

Sam: Shut up.


A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Expect more chapters soon.