It's Halloween, and Penelope can't stand the stupid headband with cat ears. The thing is, she can't summon the energy to get out of bed and throw it or destroy it. She doesn't have the energy. She is too tired. She needs the dark. She needs to disappear, like her parents, but she can't make herself do it.

September 30th, 1998. The day her whole world changed. She remembers being at church and whispering some dirty French to Derek. She remembers the praise songs they sang and the small groups they broke into. She made sure Emily was included, and that she not only participated in the discussions but also that she got to play the games.

Then, she drove home to find a police car in her driveway. The cop got out and told her he was so sorry… There was an accident… The other driver was intoxicated… Her parents… The hospital morgue… Could she come and make an identification?

The last person she had expected to find was Ashley, weeping like a crazy person in the waiting room. That should be me, Penelope remembers thinking. But it wasn't.

"What are you doing here?" she had asked, breathless, and feeling like she had major ADD because she was unable to keep simple information in her head, or form cohesive thoughts. Was she supposed to bring clothes here? Or was that later? Who would make arrangements? Who would come? Her family was in California. Should she tell her dad, the biggest loser on the planet? Would he care?

Penelope had watched as Ashley got ghostly pale, and looked like she might pass out. On instinct, she had reached out a hand to steady the younger girl. She looks thin. Too thin. Penelope can feel her collarbones protruding unnaturally.

"My dad…he was in a car accident tonight on 252… It was bad. The other people…"

Just like that, Penelope released Ashley, letting her sway and hoping she fell. Because just like that, she knew.

"Your dad was the drunk driver? ..Your dad killed my parents."

"I'm so sorry, Penelope. I tried to stop him, I swear I did!" Ashley sobbed.

"I have to go…" she said, feeling numb. Feeling hollow.

Down in the basement of the hospital, she had gone through the motions. She had held her breath as the white sheets were pulled back to reveal her parents.

She mumbled some kind of confirmation and then darted outside where she was sick in the parking lot. A nurse had seen her hasty exodus and asked if there was anyone she could call, but Penelope couldn't form words. She couldn't say that no, everyone who mattered was no longer here.

She thought of Emily, but Em was only fifteen, and couldn't drive alone to pick her up. Penelope hadn't thought she could handle the sight of another living person in a car. So, instead, she begged for seventy-five cents, and stuck them in the pay phone. Instead of calling her best friend, Penelope had called David at the local auto repair shop.

He had showed up like the unlikeliest of heroes - all grease and blue coveralls and leather - smoking a cigarette and driving his hog. A motorcycle was as far from her parents' cherished VW Bug as she could get.

Dave had said nothing, just lifted his own helmet off and offered it to her. His eyes were like deep pools of sadness. It was a look Penelope had so rarely seen in them that it had caused her to pause. Somehow, he must have known. Yet somehow, he managed not to ask the questions that would tear her heart to shreds:

"What happened?"

"Are you okay?"

"How is Ashley?"

She had just hopped on the back of the bike and held onto his black leather jacket - vomitous dress and all. He drove cautiously - she could sense it - slowing at every yellow light. He got her home safely, and waited until she got inside to drive away.

It was then that she had seen the note she had scribbled that morning. The one that read, Bye. Love you. It had fallen from the table and landed face down on the kitchen floor. Penelope had picked it up, weeping, wondering, "Did they see this?"

The funeral and all its pieces are a blur. She cannot bring any of it to mind. Not her lovely parents being but into boxes like the good china. Not what flowers were picked or the songs that were done. Not what Scriptures were read, or how many people might have come forward, or if there was an altar call of any kind.

She remembers Ashley, standing just inside the doors, timid. Shaking. Penelope remembers going after her with a vengeance she had not even known she possessed. It had taken many people - among them Emily and Derek - to hold her back. But they could not hold back the angry words that Penelope spit in her direction.

"How dare you?" she remembers screaming. She remembers cursing and not caring, and fighting to be let go. Ashley's dad was not there to blame. He was in jail. There was no one to blame.

And now? There is just a darkness so thick and cloying that no matter how she tries, Penelope cannot claw her way out. She has stayed in bed, in the same clothes for God-knows how many days.

Her phone rings, and she picks it up. She just listens.

Emily has spent the evening turning away little children at her mother's insistence. She has no religious reasons for this, but moral ones.

"It's a disrespectful holiday based on a rude premise that if you knock on a stranger's door they should automatically cede to your desires. It teaches children nothing except to be entitled and spoiled." She takes Emily's chin. "I raised you better than that, remember."

"Yes, mother," Emily replies.

But then, the doorbell rings and there is a tiny kitten-child, no bigger than a toddler. She holds her cloth shopping bag like a purse, and it nearly drags on the cement under her kitten paws.

Emily slips outside, soundlessly, finger to her lips - shushing the child's mother.

"Aren't you pretty?" Emily says gently noting the tiny kitten whiskers drawn on the face of the child.

"Candy?" the child practically purrs. Belatedly, Emily notices the blonde curls. The cat ears. And she thinks of her friend, alone like the soldier's wife she was named for.

"Here you go, darling." Emily says, offering the only thing she has in her pockets that might pass as a treat. A single pinwheel mint. "Be careful. She might choke." The words are out of Emily's mouth before she can stop them. A maternal instinct she can never quite quench.

Inside again, with her mother none the wiser, Emily retreats to her room - spacious and bare. She picks up the telephone - feeling relieved to have a line all to herself - and dials Penelope.

"Hey… Are you there?" she asks gently. "My mother's given me strict orders to send away all the Trick-or-Treaters. But I saw a little girl, who looked like you, dressed like a cat and I thought, 'I'd better give this kid something.' Karma, right?" she asks, trying to smile, but Penelope only listens. "I'll try to come by soon. Maybe tonight? Is your bedroom window still unlocked?"

She takes the silence affirmatively.

"All right. I'll be there. When you here the tapping, don't be scared. It's just a fellow corner-dweller. We'll keep each other company."

David is tired of Saturday school. It's a higher level of detention for the special cases like him, who have a hard time getting consequences through their thick heads. It's not enough that he's the only nineteen-year-old senior in the class of '99; he has to deal with smart kids like Spencer who make everything look so damn easy.

He had needed to haul his ass out of bed at 8:00 to put in his time until 12:00 noon. All this for innocently wanting to celebrate by mixing up a batch of his special Halloween Brew - spiked Italian coffee.

Lucky for him, the holiday really doesn't start until the evening hours anyway, so the punishment doesn't bother him as much as it could. He has plans to pass out his beverage of choice to his buddies and then go out and scare little kids into abandoning their candy.

The thought of Penelope stops him short. He has never told her his parents heard about the accident on the scanner. He'd stolen it on a dare from Radio Shack. It had come in handy, knowing all the places to avoid. Places with heavy police presence, especially since his dad was a cop. Just happened that he had heard the call as he was on his way out the door, to head to work. It had sounded bad, but Dave hadn't really counted on driving by it on his bike. The little yellow bug, smashed in, with smoke billowing from the hood. The people screaming inside. The drunk SOB on the side of the road ranting about how they should be sued for driving an outdated car.

He had tried to help. He hadn't known the people inside were Penelope's parents, until he had gotten close enough to see the California plates on the car. They were the only parents in the area with a yellow VW Bug with California plates. Dave recognized it because there had been a time when his boys wanted to steal it. But Dave drew the line at stealing from friends.

"I'm a friend of Penelope's!" he called, jerking the handle of the car, just before it lit up like a Christmas tree.

David stayed until his dad arrived on the scene, and pulled him away. Told him to go to work. So he had. With smoke inhalation and burns on his forearms.

He hadn't been able to see Penelope's mom and dad. They hadn't even had a chance to say anything before the car started burning. But that's why, when she called later - hours into his shift at the auto shop - David knew he had to be there. He owed it to her, as the last face her parents saw.

He knows he will never say a word to her about any of it. He will explain away the burn scars in some wild story.

He dumps the Halloween Brew out in the grass, feeling sick.

Ashley peeks out through her Grim Reaper mask. She is so grateful that her little brother, Andrew, decided at the last minute to be Twins baseball player #40 - whoever that is - and giving her his Scream mask. Their house is so empty now without their dad's drunk yelling. Their mom was busy talking about lawyers and trials.

Because they live a few houses down from Spencer, Andrew noticed him sitting at his front window without a costume, or even a pumpkin on his front steps. Ashley has never asked but she gets the feeling Spencer has a home life kind of like theirs. Even though Andrew and Spencer don't go to school together, her brother is kind and sweet, and has invited Spencer along.

Ashley finds herself glad for the long, black cloak. It conceals her completely. She doesn't ask for candy, just watches the boys. She does her job as older sister, dying inside.

"It's so fortuitous that you came over tonight! I'd been really hoping for an opportunity to wear my Albert Einstein wig," Spencer enthuses.

He doesn't really have any friends his own age. So, Andrew Beauchamp is a boon if he's ever seen one. He is nice and lets Spencer talk on and on about all the things that interest him that no one will listen to. Spencer doesn't go to the middle school, but he is a senior and that means that he's in the same graduating class as Penelope. He hears the rumors about Andrew's dad, but knows logically that a child should not be blamed for his father's actions. He can only imagine what it's like for Andrew at school in seventh grade.

He remembers seventh grade. He remembers being eight years old and getting wedgies every day. He remembers how, the first time someone yelled, "Head's up!" he had taken it literally and sat up very straight from his crouched position looking in his backpack. He remembers the laughter as he got hit in the head with something.

They Trick-or-Treat and it is more fun than Spencer can recall having. When they are home, Ashley checks their candy for razor blades and poison. He notices how she doesn't eat any, and when she thinks they aren't looking, she adds her candy to their piles. Mentally, he adds this to the stress of their home lives, living with an alcoholic parent, being in a competitive sport, and being a perfectionist, as Ashley is. Plus, of course, she is too thin.

Spencer studies her seriously. "Are you anorexic?" he inquires.

She stares at him like she is caught. Like what he is asking is undeniably true. And then, she closes up.

"Here. Eat your candy," she says and gives him more than he had to begin with.

It's 9:00 and on a school night, JJ would be home. But it's Saturday, and she's at a cool party at with Derek. She is dressed like young Rose, from Titanic. She's grateful - just for now - to be out of her nasty soccer uniform and hoodie. Long before Penelope lost her parents, JJ had asked to borrow this amazing dress that looked exactly like what Rose wore out to fancy dinner with Cal.

JJ had resigned herself to going as something else entirely, but earlier today, the costume showed up on her front steps in a Target bag. There was no note. So JJ had put it on, and shoved away memories of Trick-or-Treating with Janet, or Trick-or-Treating with Kaya. Instead, she dressed up in the costume and the red wig Penelope supplied and spent the evening addressing everyone as "sir" and "ma'am" and using words like "delectable" to describe the snacks.

Derek appears as Frankenstein, and only moans in response to questions. JJ quickly gets tired of that and decides to mingle instead, chatting with the guests and thanking Carl for his delightful party. She finds the man dressed up like a pair of dice and calls his name.

"Well, ain't you sweet, girl? Who're you supposed to be?"

"Rose," JJ intones perfectly from the movie. "Rose Dawson."

"I'm king of the world!" someone behind her yells, and JJ rolls her eyes.

"You seen Derek, Rose Dawson?" Carl asks.

"Hey, Frankenstein! You're being paged!" she calls, feeling a bit of JJ creeping out of the careful Rose.

Derek moans, so long it's almost irritating and when Carl's eyes flash, Derek swallows. He decides to knock it off.

"What do you say we play a little football?" he asks, and Derek knows better than to argue.

"Ooh! Yeah! I have my jeans in the car!" JJ cheers.

"Rose Dawson, I was thinking it'd be just the boys…" Carl says offering JJ a smile that he thinks will calm her. But knowing JJ, Derek knows it won't.

"You think girls can't play? What? You want us to be cheerleaders?" JJ asks, genuinely insulted.

"Flag football, then. Don't wanna damage the lady's sensibilities…" Carl says. There is something dark in his tone, and Derek doesn't like it.

"JJ, just leave it alone," Derek whispers.

"Hell no!" JJ denies. "It's bad enough to not be allowed to play Powderpuff because I'm a sophomore and then it's pansy flag football. Just give me a helmet and let me play."

"Shut up, Jennifer…" Derek warns, and whether it's because of the demand or the name he calls her by, JJ listens.

"I'll play, " Derek says, stepping between them.

He knows it is exactly what Carl wants. He has to do exactly what Carl wants. Or there will be consequences. He will lose everything. He will never be anybody. It's why he agreed to come to this party. Why he agrees every single time Carl invites him on a trip, or to do extra practice. Because at least if it's him, it won't be someone else. Not any of the other kids here. Not JJ, a first time visitor, who does not know who she is dealing with.

"Let's go, then," Carl says, and Derek follows him outside into the night.

Aaron steps into the house carrying an armful of furry red monster and a bag too full of Halloween candy for Sean to eat by Christmas. He is exhausted, but knows that, unlike his brother, Aaron will not be sleeping anytime soon. He has homework. He has to check on his father, or his mother will make him feel guilty about being a terrible son.

He takes Sean into his bedroom, decorated in a Toy Story wallpaper border and yellow, red and brown sponge paint beneath it. Aaron lays him down and takes off his tennis shoes and the heavy Elmo costume.

Then, he leaves him dressed in Mickey Mouse underwear and a tee shirt, and goes to the kitchen to call the hospital. He dials the number, and asks for Scott Hotchner. He identifies himself as Scott's son, for the purposes of the call, and is transferred in to speak quietly with his mother.

"You should bring the baby by. Your father would like to see him. You know, he's not going to be around all that much longer. It'd be the least you could do for him."

Aaron clenches his jaw, flipping the television past CNN and settling it on Jerry Springer's nighttime program. He watches, feeling satisfied, as one guest hurls a chair on set. "I owe him nothing," he says tightly.

The problem with having a dying father is that it eclipses the fact that his father is an ass. Aaron can count on one hand the number of times he has ever heard 'I love you' from him, but cannot keep track of the beatings with a belt, or bear hands or a switch. For tiny infractions. Not looking his father in the eye when Aaron was being reprimanded when he wasn't much older than Sean. Not cleaning up his mess in a timely manner. Speaking at the dinner table. So, Aaron is at a loss when Strauss, the youth pastor at church, says she is so sorry for what he is going through. When the pastor asks how his father is faring these days and Aaron has to bite back that he isn't dead yet, because that wouldn't be politically correct.

"Aaron. Bring the baby. Make sure he's dressed nicely. And wear something your father would approve of."

"Isn't he doing very poorly?" Aaron asks in a measured voice. "Isn't he in ICU? Sean's too young. He isn't allowed."

"Well," his mother sounds endlessly affronted. "The doctors will just have to make an exception. Your father's a very important man, you know. Just because he's ill doesn't mean he shouldn't have the dignity of seeing his children before he leaves this world."

Aaron slams the receiver down on the cradle and he cannot stop the thought that races through his head. What dignity has their father allowed them? Why should he be allowed to possess what he never freely gave, unless he wanted their family to look a certain part.

To calm himself, Aaron turns the TV off and tries to think of better things. Not of his column in journalism class on the recent rise in school violence or the essay he needs to turn in for Honors English. Not of the Modern Global Studies project that will soon be past due if he doesn't get a move on and do it.

He thinks about the highlight of his evening. Of stopping by the home of Emily Prentiss, the girl in his choir class, who started here last month after moving from Italy. She had been prepared to shut the door in their faces until she recognized him, dressed as Woody, from Toy Story. He would have never gotten away with something so frivolous if his parents were here, but the fact had been, they weren't. And it made Sean happy.

Emily recognized them both and went very quiet.

"Hello, Sean," she said, bending down and looking his brother in the eye.

At that moment, Aaron saw what he had been missing for the last month. Emily Prentiss was beautiful. She wore black to camouflage it, but it didn't matter. The way she interacted with Sean was a million times more motherly than his own mom had ever been with either of them. Aaron suspected, too, that Emily might lack parental warmth. Why, then, did she seem to have it in spades?

Why, then, was she offering Sean a tiny Hershey bar against her own mother's strained objections?