Cast in the Shadows

Why is happiness casting me in the shadows?

Hold on, don't turn and walk away...

And I cried these words, but nobody came

I'm all alone, running scared

Losing my way in he dark...

This is my side of the story,

Only my burden to bear

Nobody cares, nobody's there

No one will hear my side of the story

-Hodges, "My Side of the Story"


Prologue

The Walker house was the third one down on Olive Street. It was very similar to the cottages in storybooks, with its multi-pointed roof, its soft blue color, and its white picket fence. It was almost too good to be true that the Walker family seemed to match their home; they were so normal, so cookie-cutter perfect. At least, that was how they appeared.

Lillian Newman, future reporter, briskly strode up the front walk that led to the large blue house. She had heard the rumors, had read the paper dutifully each day; she knew what was going on. The Walkers had just been through a hellish court case concerning a delinquent camp that had been in their family for nearly a century, and they had yet to recover from their tarnished image.

This was why she was here. She wanted to get a first-hand account of what had really happened. There was a reason behind the Walkers' strange behavior. It was up to her to figure out why.

She rang the doorbell, letting out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding. It didn't take long for someone to answer the door. A girl with dark auburn hair stood in the threshold, looking a bit confused.

"Hello," she said warily. "May I help you?"

"Lillian Newman," Lillian said professionally, sticking out her hand. "Two streets down, red brick house. I've been following your court case closely, and-"

"Oh," the girl said, clearly uncomfortable. "You know, I don't think-"

Lillian simply brushed past the girl and walked into the nearest room. It was a pristine-looking sitting room; the chairs were so clean and the table so shiny, it looked as if no one ever used it.

"Um...what are you doing?" the girl asked.

"I'm not leaving until I get my story," Lillian said, sitting down and poising her pen above her notebook. "If I'm going to go to Communications Journalism camp next month, I'm going to need a killer report. What could be better than the Walker case?"

"A lot of things," the girl said, agitated. "I really don't think this is a good idea. My family is still recovering from the whole thing."

Lillian gave her a hard look. "I realize this will be hard for you. But you have to get used to it. People will be knocking down your door soon enough-"

"People are already doing that," the girl said matter-of-factly, hands on her hips. "It's getting to be irritating. I wish everyone would just leave us alone."

Lillian started to jot down notes. "And why is that?"

The girl gave a mirthless laugh. "Can you please leave?"

"I can tell you want to tell someone about it," Lillian answered, staring right at her. "There are things you aren't sharing with everyone. Who knows? Maybe your story could reveal something crucial to the case."

The girl hesitated, thinking about it. "I don't know..."

"Just sit," Lillian said, gesturing to a chair. "I won't judge."

The girl sighed, clearly frustrated, but sat down anyway.

"Alright, today is June 15th...and I am sitting here with Miss...?"

"Beatrice," the girl answered crossing her legs.

"Beatrice Walker, age..."

"Seventeen."

"Seventeen, brown hair, brown eyes..." Lillian glanced up and looked at Beatrice's tee shirt. "Likes Snoopy..."

"Are you writing a report, or a bio for a dating service?" Beatrice snapped.

"Sorry," Lillian said, although her tone suggested otherwise. "Just putting down necessary facts."

Before Beatrice could retort, Lillian went right on talking.

"So...when did it start?"

Beatrice's brown wrinkled. "Isn't that kind of a vague question?"

"Of course it's not. When did it start?" Lillian looked up expectantly.

"When did what start?"

"The events in question, of course."

Beatrice laughed again. "Do you want to know about the trial, or about last summer, or..."

"No time for specifics," Lillian interrupted. "Start talking. You don't think I have all day, do you?"

Beatrice gaped at her. "You really are impertinent, you know that?"

"That's the goal." Lillian smiled. "How about...when did this whole 'Camp Green Lake' business start up?"

"Fine, then. It's been going on for a while, but I think it all began when I was nine years old…"