Author's Note: Hopefully this is the last chapter where I'll have to backtrack like this so I can get back to the present! Still a couple more chapters to go! I appreciate your patience as always and hope that you enjoy!


Half Hour Earlier: Part Two

The bare branches spiked into the sky - no sign of life to be found anywhere. It was so dark you were barely able to see where you were going. There were only small sounds of rustling bushes and the howl of the wind. You didn't know what laid in the dark forest, all you knew was that it wasn't going to be a peaceful journey.

Nancy did not know how long she and Frank had been walking, but the air was beginning to get cold. When she would exhale, a visible puff of air would form in front of her mouth and she shivered, clutching herself as it was becoming fairly cold, though thankfully, the brush was getting thinner.

At least, that's how it seemed to her at least. Maybe she was fooling herself.

Frank, to his credit, didn't say much. He'd taken one look at her red-rimmed eyes and dried tear tracts on her face and had mumbled something about walking on ahead to give her some much-needed space, time to think.

The despair and hopelessness she felt at her current predicament was like a heady blackness. The ways forward she had thought possible, ways to get out of here, had all but vanished into nothing. Not blocked, but like they were never there at all. The notion of hope to Nancy had become meaningless, as if her mind should linger on such ideas, then they started to feel like cruel tricks, as cruel as any desert mirage after one had walked for days without water. Her mind drifted yet again to her encounter with Ned, how heartbroken and distraught he had been, and this revelation had left her not exactly surprised, but with a feeling that she wasn't sure she wanted to feel.

For one, Frank Hardy, she knew, she had always secretly harbored a crush on, but had chosen Ned out of some…misplaced sense of security, she'd seen how losing her mother, Kate, had destroyed her father all those years ago, shattered his spirit, leaving him heartbroken and never quite whole again.

And two, she wasn't exactly in the best spot right now to suffer through yet another relationship, of which she was certain would only leave her heartbroken. Her mind was still reeling from her conversation with Ned. But…would it really be the worst thing if he were to take you on a date?

Nancy frowned as her conscience took over. She didn't usually let her emotions do this much thinking for her, preferring logic instead.

When all this is over, it's the only way you'll know for sure, won't it?

With each stride her mind became clearer, more resolute, as if the growing physical distance between them had now become an emotional chasm. As the nascent fading moonlight caressed her skin, promising a new dawn, a new beginning, she entombed her memories of Ned in thick walled ice.

He had made his choice. And she had made hers, in the end, that's what counted. Then, abruptly pausing to close her eyes and take in a deep breath of dewy air, she steeled herself to only think of her future from here on in. A future she would mold, build, direct. Then with each stride after that she felt more in charge, in command of her own mind, body and soul. She was a girl walking into her own destiny, a destiny that lay squarely in her own hands.

She furrowed her brow into a frown as her mind wandered to thoughts of Todd Baines, what he had done—or would have done, rather—had Jessica not entered the premises when she had. Of that, she did not like to think.

"I just know I'm missing something, but what?" she grumbled darkly to herself, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Frank quirked a thick brow her way but said nothing. The young detective somehow found that the best way her mind put together the missing puzzle pieces was to talk aloud to herself.

Nancy shook her head violently as she wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she'd thought to bring a jacket, shivering and grateful again to be in the company of someone like Frank, someone who didn't get jealous, who understood the risks of their line of work completely. She pounded it down again, but her thoughts refused to dislodge themselves.

But these thoughts she was having…they'd drive her nuts.

Make her insane, turn into a monster, just like Todd…

"Todd Baines…" she whispered, letting his name roll off her tongue, continuing that habit of tapping her chin. "What happened to you?"

Frank, unable to quell his curiosity any longer, chimed in with his two cents. "Do you think there's a connection between all of this? Your fall, Dr. Halstead's convenient revelation that she's Todd Baines's biological sister?"

"Maybe." Nancy's frown deepened, creating lines on her forehead and a slight groove near her mouth. "I wonder if that trip to find Baycroft's journal was just some kind of…of ruse to get my attention, I can't figure out how Baycroft's journal would have anything to do with finding Todd. Unless…unless it was just a test," she mumbled darkly.

Now it was Frank's turn to frown. "A test? You really think Jessica would put you through all that? Wait a minute." Nancy heard the shift in his voice.

She flinched. Nancy Drew knew where Frank was headed with this.

"You don't think…. wait a minute. Do you think Jessica pushed you down the stairs? Why?" he breathed, a note of horror creeping into his soft tone.

Nancy let out a huff of frustration and stomped her good foot, a release of her tension. It didn't necessarily change their bleak predicament, but it made her feel better. At least, it did in that given moment, anyways. "Maybe. And as for why, I don't know…maybe you were right, Frank. Maybe…mental illness runs in their family, but…I'd like to think Jessica wouldn't have done such a thing, but I can't rule it out just yet"

It was all she could say. But if Jessica had been the one who pushed her, then why had she done it? And what had been the point of luring her out to North Carolina. Nancy felt her frown deepen as she lost herself in thought.

"Something isn't adding up," she growled darkly. "But I'm going to find out what it is. We are," she quickly corrected, glancing at Frank. "Do you have cell service?" she asked, dipping into her bag to pull out her phone. "None on mine. Damn," she swore, glancing out at the path ahead. "I was hoping to call Bess and George, see where Cliff took them. If they're lucky, or smart, they went back to the camp. I take it you already called the cops?"

"Yup," Frank murmured, nodding. "We can call them. Let me do that."

To their relief, Bess and George answered Bess's phone on the third ring.

"Nancy!" squealed Bess's voice, sounding utterly relieved to hear her best friend's voice. "Thank God! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

George, on the other hand, merely sounded annoyed. "Bess! Calm down. I'm sure Nancy and Frank are fine, otherwise if they were, well, they wouldn't be calling us now, would they? Hey, what are you doing?"

"Nancy!" came Bess's frantic tone, and even Frank, who was holding the phone in his palm, on speaker mode, flinched and held the device away from his ear. "Where are you guys? What happened with Ned? Did he leave? Did he—?"

"Bess!" shouted George. "Stop that! Did you have to yell in my ear?!"

Nancy coughed once to clear her throat and intervene before things between the pair of cousins escalated. "I'm glad we caught you guys," she added glancing at Frank. To her relief, she saw that Frank was smiling. "We're glad you two are okay. Are you guys back at the campsite?"

"Yup," came George's voice. "We drove Cliff back to the shop he owns so he could close up for the night, and we're back here with Helen."

Nancy breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the tension melt away from her shoulders. She was momentarily taken aback. She hadn't realized she'd been so tense. "Good. Stay there, wait for the cops to arrive. We'll be back soon, but if we're not…" Another glance towards Frank. "If we're not back in an hour, send the cops to the west side of the Black Lake. We sort of…got lost in the woods," she confessed sheepishly, reaching up a hand to scratch at an itch behind her ear. "B—but we're going to get out of this, guys. Swear it."

The cousins, despite their apprehension to stay put, agreed they would and promised to call them as soon as they found something. George planned to look around the campsite some more for any clue, anything they might have overlooked. Bess, on the other hand, was going to do what she did best.

"I'm going to talk to some of the guys," Bess had said. "See if they'll open up to me," she added smugly. "Most don't want to talk to cops, or you guys too for that matter, once word got out you two are detectives, but something tells me they'll talk to me," she chirped happily, and hung up.

The call ended, Frank let out a sarcastic little chuckle. "It worked, didn't it, Nance?"

Nancy nodded her head and took a moment to readjust her low ponytail.

"It did," she sighed. "I'm sorry about…about Ned, Frank. If I'd known…" Nancy let out a little sigh, and it did not escape her attentiveness that something in Frank's kind smile and light brown eyes had dimmed.

Frank said nothing as Nancy walked on ahead, still keeping her arms folded across her chest. The laughter had evaporated from his brown eyes. His customary warmth gone faster than summer rain on the tarmac. Indeed, even his focus was somewhere on the trees behind Nancy, as if she had become invisible to him, or he couldn't bear to see her at all.

Nancy knew then that by bringing up her ex-boyfriend, she had crossed some invisible line, offended his sensibilities. She had seen Frank do this to others before, but she had thought their growing bond immune. Now her blood drained and heart hammered erratically as she watched his face. Nancy was never afraid of his anger when it came as fire, for that burnt hot and fast, and was usually over in a few split seconds. But she was deathly afraid of his ice. It coated him like protective permafrost, it had saved him from the torments of the hard life as an amateur detective, the dangers they faced, but now that same method could isolate Frank from his friends. From her. Nancy let out a heavy sigh, reaching up a hand and tucked a stray wisp of red hair back in place and readjusted her ponytail. This had been a truly stupid, horrible, and all-around very bad idea to bring up her feelings for him now.

It was pointless to try to reach Frank now. Her well-meant words would bounce off the man as good as hard rain. But she would have to see him again tonight, tomorrow, and the next day, so she had no choice but to thaw his anger, return that loving spark she loved to his eyes. Nancy was surprised at the bitterness in his voice when he spoke, his tone curt and it trembled slightly. "He always got the women. He got…you." The jealousy in his voice was unmistakable.

Nancy felt as though Frank had slapped her. Again.

The man was observing her with the gaze of a stranger, that aloof judgement with no strings attached. From up close, Nancy could tell he'd made some opinion of her just now. Her cold fury burnt with dangerous intensity. Frank knew as he met Nancy's eyes that he had made a grave mistake just now with his comment. He never worried about her frequent fireworks and showers of red-hot sparks; it was these bitterly cold, slow burning rages that threatened to engulf their friendship.

Frank let out a tired, defeated sigh and slumped his shoulders, turning away from her so he wouldn't have to see her hurting. Nancy felt the tension and heard the intensity in Frank's tone. There was a great deal of emotion behind those few words he just spoke to her now. She knew Frank needed validation of his emotions, not some solution or apology from her in the moment. Nancy took a deep, shuddering breath, steeling her nerves. All the reasons not to do what she was about to came flooding in, as if her body chemistry just sent them a blanket invitation. She felt the soft panic that would either grow or fade depending on her next move. It would fade if she backed away, but then she would have to do this all again tomorrow, and no time like the present. Frank looked like he was about to break down and leave her be, and that she could simply not allow.

Not after everything they'd been through together.

You need to say it, and fast! Go on, hurry up, he's leaving! A muscle twitched involuntarily at the corner of her right eye; her mouth formed a rigid grimace. With her arms folded tightly across her chest, she tapped her foot furiously and all the while glowered at Frank, the man who had secretly held her heart for the last eight months of their growing friendship. She secretly rejoiced that Frank had brought her here, grisly murder mystery notwithstanding. "Wait!" she pleaded desperately, catching the edge of his arm and yanking him back with more force than she thought possible of her. "Don't leave. Stay," she begged. "I—I didn't mean to upset you, I just…everything is—"

His face was set, rigid, and tense. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

"Why? It's clear to me that you still have feelings for Ned," he spat bitterly, his best friend's name sounding like it were poison that had settled on his tongue. "I can see it. You do not need to justify yourself to me," Frank snarled bitterly. "I can see it plainly for myself. It's fine."

Oh, you blind, arrogant fool, Frank Hardy. Nancy fought back the urge to roll her eyes. "Oh, yes I do!" she shouted. "You are way off base, it's not even funny, my friend. So, let me explain to you a few things. Well, for starters, you're wrong, Frank Hardy!" she huffed in frustration, stomping her foot in agitation, her hands on her hips.

"Am I?" Frank challenged boldly, not seeming to want to hear her out. "I think I'm seeing this very clearly for the first time!"

"Yes, you are!" she retorted hotly, instinctively reaching for his hand as she sensed him wanting to pull away again. Here it goes.

"I'm bad at love. I know that. We all know that. But you can't blame me for trying, can you? I want what everybody else wants, even if I'm not so great at expressing myself, what I'm thinking, what I'm feeling! You'd know perfectly well who I've fallen for if you weren't so busy feeling sorry for yourself to notice, Frank, you—you moron," she snarled, closing the gap of space between them, her face inches from his, the tips of their noses practically touching. Frank was close enough for her to kiss him.

She was briefly tempted but fought it. There were other things on her mind right now, like making him see the light. He just had to see this!

Frank faltered and took a slight, fumbling step backward. Words left him. He stared into those piercing blue eyes of Nancy's, burning with anger, and his heart fell silent. Nancy' rage seemed to dissipate and deflate, and her shoulders slumped forward slightly in defeat as she nervously reached up and tucked a stray lock of her red hair back behind her ear. Frank wanted desperately to say something, but he couldn't force his lips to move.

As if stuck underwater, everything was slow and warbled as Nancy turned away sharply to avoid looking Frank in the eyes, so he wouldn't see the tears forming in her eyes, threatening to spill over if she couldn't get her emotions under control. She wouldn't cry in front of him. She refused. Poor Frank's mind was blank and his eyes wide as he stared at Nancy in horror and elation. She felt the same way that he did! She was in love with him, she had been for a while now, as he was with her. He searched his mind for something reasonable to say, but to his surprise, his heart answered for him instead. "I like you, Nan. I like you a lot. A—and I didn't mean to…chase you away, but... more…more than anything, I think there's one thing I'd regret more than anything else in the world, and that's not telling you the truth about how I feel for you. I like you, Nancy," he said. "I think I have for a while now, but...didn't want to admit it. What could you possibly see in someone like me?"

The moment he realized he misinterpreted her actions, her words, her expressions for so many months... as if Nancy been speaking a language Frank couldn't understand... that moment her words stopped was the moment her heart broke... yet it was a good breaking... the type that leads to healing and new ways onward; sometimes, the loss of words says more.

He knew she didn't love him back, but he couldn't resist. He leaned in a little closer, their foreheads touching. Dear god, he couldn't fight against the thoughts that were going through him. Her very smell was flooding his senses now and he didn't want to fight it anymore. Frank was tired of it.

"I'm going to stop you right there. You have plenty Why do you like me, Frank?" Nancy whispered, her hands tracing the scars on his hand, connecting them all with invisible lines like a dot-to-dot, all reminders of his previous narrow brushes with death while on a case. She gazed up at him with those hauntingly serene eyes, and suddenly, he was drowning in her eyes, losing himself in them forever. "I need to know, so tell me, please."

"How could I not?" came Frank's reply, cupping her cheek so her beautiful eyes met his own. He took the opportunity to study her eyes. The first couple days, he'd labeled them "blue." If he was feeling particularly poetic, he called them "cerulean." Neither word did them justice. They were so solid, so bright, the exact lustrous color of a polished shard of metal. If you looked closer, like he was just now, you'd see the swirls of glittering onyx black and tinges of blue at the edges. They weren't monochrome or boring.

That had simply been his terrible judgement. They were beautiful. He couldn't stop himself from commenting on them. "Your eyes…they're like smoke, Nance. Blue but… full of heat. I've never seen eyes like yours."

"Hate to break it to you, Shakespeare, but smoke isn't full of heat, it's an effect of heat," Nancy corrected, yet it was hard to take his tone seriously after what had just transpired between the two of them here and now. She frowned. "But don't try to change the subject!" she growled, her hands on her hips. "We were talking…"

"That works too." Frank's crooked smirk switched to a small smile as his grip on Nancy's waist tightened, coming up to grip almost painfully tight. "They always get darker and grayer when you're angry, like a storm cloud is coming," he teased, reaching up a hand and tucking a strand of her hair back into place, chuckling a little at her stunned reaction.

"Like you would notice."

"Like I wouldn't," Frank retorted. She frowned at his answer and looked away. Frank dropped his hand from her cheek and fiddled with a loose string on his sweater sleeve instead, not sure what to do with his hands, though the inner beast within was urging his hands to explore. He loved the fading sunset behind her eyes, the moonlight that danced through her hair, the sadness nestled in the creases of her milky white palms. Frank loved all of Nancy, not just the parts that made sense, not just the parts she'd shown him during their year of increasingly warm friendship. He loved the parts of her he did not yet understand, the parts that weighed on her shoulders, the parts only he noticed when he stole glances at Nancy during the silence.

"How could I not like you?" Frank placed his arms around her, and she leaned in closer to him. The softness and gentle touch of his arm against her neck made her back tingle through her dress. They did not speak, because in their own way, they were already communicating so much. There is so much in Frank's silence, so much he just won't say. Nancy could see by his expression there was a lot going on in his head, but if she asked, he just said he was thinking of how pretty she was. Got to give the man credit, he's smoother than silk. He flashed Nancy the smile that had her tied up tighter than money in a high security bank vault, but unlike a vault, isn't claustrophobic at all. Nancy knew that she was always safe with him, even if he did keep secrets. Loving him did not give Nancy the right to know every pain and doubt, to rummage through the wreckage of his head. Some scars are invisible, she knew he carried his share.

Nancy slipped her left hand into his and they wound through the woods, hoping to spot any sign of the road, their hands intertwined, connected. Nancy moved her head closer to Frank. He stood frozen, both from fear and exhilaration. She leaned in, so her forehead rested against Frank's. They closed their eyes, content to just bask in the newfound moment.

"Thank you, Frank," she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "For everything this past year and the last few days. It means so much to me."

"For what?" Frank replied, his voice low and husky, and heavy with desire for the young, intelligent, funny, beautiful detective with the vibrant red hair had stolen his heart before he'd even known it was gone. "I've done nothing, Nance. I'm just…me."

"For being you." Her voice wavered, exhilarated from the tension between them. She reached up and intertwined their fingers together. He startled a little at the sudden jolt of electricity that seemed to pass through his body, but he liked the warmth it gave off, that Nancy gave off. "You accepted me for who I am, not for who you wanted me to be. You never once pestered me to change my looks or—or told me I wasn't good enough. Or pretty enough for you. So, thank you, Frank. Truly." At her last comment, her voice cracked and broke.

It broke his heart, to see her this way. "I like you for who you are. I just…" Frank hesitated. "I love you for who you are. I just want you to be happy, and why you could want me?" he whispered into the shell of her ear, and was given virtually no time to react as Nancy had to reach up on her tiptoes to gently lean in and kiss his warm lips. They pulled apart, taking shaky, shallow breaths.

"How could I not, Frank?" echoed Nancy, a wry smile on her lips.

A beat. A pause. For a second, Nancy wondered if she made a mistake. Unable to contain himself anymore, Frank caught Nancy's head between his hands and pulled her close for a fiery passionate kiss. Her hands snaked their way up his body around it, feeling each crevasse, each line along his perfect physique underneath his black sweater. All of this was very real. The tiny moan he heard her give out was real, and this only made Frank want more of her. He kissed her and the world fell away. It was slow and soft, comforting in ways that words would never be. His hand rested below her ear, his thumb caressing her cheek as their breaths mingled. She ran her fingers down his spine, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and she could feel the beating of his heart against her chest. When she kissed him, Frank's brain lit on fire and the warmth spread throughout his entire body. After that, Frank was addicted. He couldn't bear not to be with her, and he could barely breathe when she was around. Those kisses were his salvation and his torment. He lived for them and he would die with the memory of them on his lips. Frank dedicated his life to being with her from the moment of that first kiss, for he knew that if he lost her, he would lose himself. She was the half that made him whole.

Their first kiss obliterated every thought. For the first time in forever Frank's mind was locked into the present. The worries of the day evaporated like a summer shower onto hot pavement. His usual mode of hurrying from one thing to the next was suspended, he had no wish for the kiss to end. Drunk on endorphins his only desire was to touch her, to move his hands under her smooth summer layers and feel her perfect softness.

In moments the soft caress has become firmer, he savored her lips and the quickening of her breath that matched his own.

A kiss like this was a beginning, a promise of much more to come.


Fear. It felt like at times it ruined Eve Vanderhilt's life, the parts of it she actually did want to remember. Her friends. The family she'd lost. The fear the reporter had ever since fleeing Maine the first time wasn't cute or romantic like in the movies.

Most of the time, like right now, she felt lost with not a single place feeling like home to her. She would quite often stare at the wall, wondering what all she had done with her life, where her friends had gone. The best she could describe it was like one of those old movie reels where the images rapidly flash you by in quick succession. Ghosts of the past would flicker through her mind, she could fully see their faces, but she couldn't quite remember the names.

Why couldn't she remember? Eve frowned, mulling it over as she walked along the town's side streets and winding sidewalks, Eli trailing close behind. It went on like this for days. Eve Vanderhilt felt lost. In a foggy world. Mystical and magical, but it was bad. She felt lost in a horrible place. A place of dreams and secrets and lies. A place where memories would haunt her and the people who used to love her would frighten the life out of her. Often, Eve would stare silently, everything else just gone. Vanished. Everything else would disappear. Her friends, her surroundings.

All of it. Casston was almost exactly as Eve remembered it the first time she had come here. Eight hours of sleep after a long drive, a shower, and she was beginning to feel a little human again. Eve dressed quickly, a pair of black pants, black slip on Sketcher sneakers in case she and Eli needed to make a quick run for it, a white collared button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and over top that, she wore a black vest. Business professional, like always. Furrowing her brow into a light frown, she grabbed her simple small square black canvas crossbody purse and slung it over her shoulder. More casual than the type of bag she usually carried, but, as was her custom whenever she traveled, she wanted to blend in, and not give off the vibe she came from money, like Lana did.

Her press badge lanyard slung over her shoulder, the town was a maze of narrow winding streets, as complex as the heart. The streets of Casston, Maine, were the veins, paved with dark red stones in parts of the square where all the mom and pop shops were located, and the people were the town's blood, Eve surmised. The sounds of the shopkeepers and people doing a little light Friday night shopping were the noises that let Eve Vanderhilt know the town was alive. Casston was what a village became with no city planning and a great enthusiasm for architecture.

Every building, every shop, was different, borrowing this and that from another era. It made the place kind of feel like one of those old grandmother's quilts, each patch unique and eye catching as the one before. Eve caught sight of her reflection in a nearby shop window and visibly flinched at how ashen and pale her face was this evening. She looked almost sick. In a vain effort to make herself feel better, she gave a small, shy smile to the beautiful brunette woman staring back at herself.

Makeup pristine and perfect, dark chocolate hair hung loose and lightly curled, and coordinated her outfit perfectly, and looking nice was her way of coping with stressful situations, and most of the time, it worked, so why did she feel so…so…uneasy? Letting out a tired sigh, Eve dipped into her purse to dig out her cell phone. No call or message from Megan yet.

"Where are you, kid?" she grumbled darkly through gritted teeth.

She decided she would give Megan another five minutes before calling and raising some semblance of holy hell. Maybe she'd just been held up.

Yeah, that was it. Her mind kept offering simple phrases to her all on the plane ride up here, trying its hardest to cheer her up, but she could not shake the feeling of unease from deep within the recesses of her heart, wondering what on earth could be wrong, and why she'd decided to come back here.

Frowning, she folded her arms across her foot and restlessly began to tap her foot as she stood outside a nearby pawn shop. She caught a glimpse of a beautiful bicycle in the window, and she inexplicably felt nostalgic. That looks like…like…the bike I used to have as a kid, Eve thought, horrified.

She knelt, raising a fingertip to the glass and touched it, squinting her eyes through the evening moonlight to see it better.

Before she could stop herself, her hand outstretched and she pushed open the shop door, the bell above gave a soft tinkle to signal her entrance.

"Get outta here!" came the shopkeeper's gravelly voice. "I'm workin' on closing up shop. Don't like kids and—oh," the shopkeeper, an old man judging by the looks of him rounded the corner and as soon as he heard Eve standing in the doorway, eyes wide and round like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, he relaxed.

"It's me, Mr. Weber," Eve called. "Eve. I was the reporter who spoke to Jessica a few months ago in the diner. You remember me, don't you?"

A quick glance at the cane in his hand told Eve she'd run into exactly the person she'd hoped to see. The old man lifted a slightly trembling hand and readjusted his ball cap atop his graying tuft of hair and straightened his thin wireless glasses he wore perched on the bridge of his nose. "Ayuh. You're no kid," he growled, scoffing a bit and turning away from Eve before glancing back.

"No, sir," admitted Eve, desperately fighting back a smile. "I'm not." The young redhead took advantage of the momentary slightly awkward silence to study the shopkeeper. He was an old man, but Eve could see the young boy in him still yearning to return to the days of his youth.

"Good," the blind old man grumbled darkly. "Don't like kids comin' into my place and wrecking everything they touch with their grubby, sticky little fingers," he growled, casting wary sideways glances at Eve, as though waging war within his mind, as if trying to decide if he could trust her.

He must have eventually decided that he could, for he made no more or gesture to have Eve removed from the shop, for which she was grateful. The shopkeeper had a wizened face and surprisingly inquisitive blue eyes. With each movement there was the creak of old bones.

Whoever he was, he had the resigned look of one who knows that at his age life has stopped giving and only takes away, and for a moment, Eve felt sorry for him. The dim light from the shop illuminated his tired, worn face, wrinkles boring deeply into his skin. His expression was of frustration and fatigue. The world seemed to hold no place for this man. He'd had enough.

This man had stories to tell, experience danced on his lips like a curious child. And yet, as Eve Vanderhilt watched him, he stayed silent.

His listless blue eyes just watching, not telling, the dim amber light adorning his skin. Finally, the old man broke the silence. "Can I help you, ma'am?" Eve took a second to recover and blinked owlishly at the man.

"Um, th—that bike in the corner," she stammered, her fingers curling into a fist over her purse. She swallowed nervously as the shopkeep let out a dark little chuckle, his eyes behind his glasses doing the all-too familiar quick up and down, assessing her form in her dress. She knew what he thought. "Where…" Her nerves were shaking so bad she could barely form a coherent thought. Angry with herself for becoming so flustered, Eve turned away sharply to get a grip on her emotions. "Where did you…"

"Where did I get it?" The old man finished dryly, going behind the front counter of his shop and picking up his soft drink, taking a sip through the straw, carefully regarding the young woman who'd entered his shop.

"Bought it from the Grunhild house 'bout a month or two ago."

Megan's parents, she thought. Eve halted in her tracks, having turned away from the old man as his uncomfortable talent of feeling like his stare was burning a hole in the back of her skull was rendering her uneasy, had moved to look at it. "The Grunhild house?" Her voice came out as a breathy squeak.

The shopkeeper nodded solemnly. "Ayuh," he said lowly. "Bike belonged to their oldest girl; I think. Kid ain't got no use for it now that she's a college girl. The couple had a younger boy, too. Nicky Grunhild. Damn tragic, what happened to that kid. Just…disappeared. Dead. Cops never found his body. Remember it tore up the sister though," he added thoughtfully. "Can't remember the kid's name. Molly or Mary or something. I'm pretty sure it started with an M," he grumbled.

"Megan?" asked Eve, biting her bottom lip as it stuck out in a slight pout. Before she could even fathom what she was doing, she reached out a shaking fingertip to trace the black edges of the bike's name.

"Hey, hey!" snapped the man's voice, his tone suddenly losing its courteousness, and the bark of his voice jolted Eve out of her thoughts.

"Wh—what?" she stammered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks.

He glowered in her general direction, though she knew he could not see her. "Hands off the merchandise, little missy. Unless you intend to buy it. I may be blind, but my hearing makes up for it. Three hundred bucks. Oh yes," he added, seeing the immense look of disappointment on Eve's face. "This here is a genuine antique, a 1952-1962 jaguar Mark IV Schwinn beauty. Don't need no kids comin' in my shop here and tainting it. So, don't touch her, got it?"

Eve nodded mutely, casting one last look of longing towards the bike, and she felt a jolt travel down her spine and to the very tips of her toes as a memory came back to her. "Got it," she whispered softly. "Sorry, sir."

The shopkeeper heard her sad little smile and frowned at her.

"You okay?" he asked, sounding slightly bored and disinterested.

"Y—yes," Eve whispered, giving a curt nod of her head. She turned to the shopkeeper, who was a good head or two feet taller than her and had to practically crane her neck upwards to look at him, even when he was sitting down behind the counter of his place like this. "Who are you?"

The shopkeeper scoffed as he reached for his pop. He heard the fear in the pretty young brunette's voice as it rose an octave, nervous and timid.

Her hands were shaking. Well, one of them was shaking, the other was curled into a tight fist over the strap of her purse, her fingers twitching, Cliff could hear the girl's manicured nails digging into the straps, running down them. If he had to surmise a guess, he would hazard the young woman kept a can of mace spray in her bag in the event she ever felt threatened by a man.

Her eyes—wide, dull orbs of the ocean encased—the old man stared at nothing as he regarded the young woman for a moment. Something about this one was rather familiar to him, though he was having trouble placing her here. "What's your name again?" he asked, his voice coming out gruffer than perhaps he would have liked. Sensing this one required a softer approach, he felt something within him shift and give way. He tapped around his cane, mumbling under his breath, until he found the old spare chair he was looking for. He kicked it over, bidding her to sit. "I ain't gonna bite," he growled.

The young woman timidly sat, though it was not without trepidation.

"You want a soda or somethin'?" the shopkeeper asked, suddenly feeling guilty and noticing how pale the young woman looked. She was probably thirsty, and definitely looked like she could use fattening up.

"You're way too skinny," he commented. "Better eat or you'll melt away," he added, turning his back to rummage through his mini fridge he kept for particularly hot days, especially in the hot, dry summer months.

Eve froze, almost toppling right out of her chair as she sat down.

"What did you just say?" she whispered; her voice barely audible.

"I said," he hollered out, his tone clipped and slightly annoyed now as he turned back around, a grape soda clutched in his hand as he slid it across the counter for her, "you better eat or you'll melt away, girlie."

Eve frowned, pursing her lips into a thin straight line as she accepted the soda and popped it open. "Thanks," she mumbled, taking a sip. Drinking a cold soda in the heady heat, even for September, felt like the greatest luxury on earth. The ice fell against the cup, her fingers sliding on the condensation before her fingers were able to regain their grip on it.

She felt the chill run down her esophagus and her head made an involuntary shake. A numbness crept into her brain the way it had when she was a kid drinking too much Slurpee too fast. When her cup was drained, she took the ice cubes between her molars and bit down hard, feeling it met into cold pools on her palate, mulling over the man's words. Better eat, or you'll just melt away. Too many questions and not enough answers were swirling around in her tired mind.

Letting out a tired sigh, Eve tossed her red hair over her shoulders and rested her chin in her hand, leaning forward in her chair.

The old man said something else, but she didn't catch it, her eyes had caught a flash of something huge out of the corner of her eye from the shop's front window. When she fixated her gaze on it, Eve drew in a sharp breath that pained her lungs and held it. "Oh. It's you!" she said. She wasn't sure if she wanted to scream or laugh, but when she opened her mouth again to try to call for help, to tell Cliff to call the cops, only a breathy little squeak came out. She wished Eli had thought to bring his gun. At first, the person's face was obscured by the late afternoon light, but then the man shuffled forwards and the feeble light of the fading sun was enough to illuminate the Black Lake Killer's hulking features. He wore some kind of horrible hockey mask over his face to conceal his features.

"Cliff?" Eve whispered hoarsely, and Eli turned his head to look to see what exactly she was looking at. She swallowed back the hard lump forming in her throat.

Suddenly, her throat felt dry and parched as she cringed in fear and looked at the towering figure of the man who had ruined so many lives, who was now standing outside the shop window.

The hair on the Black Lake Killer's head stuck out in thick clumps, a light brown color, wild and disheveled. The man's jeans were torn and dirty, his red and black plaid shirt splattered with a thick, red garish substance that looked to Eve horribly like blood. Eli slowly swiveled his head in the shop window to meet Eve's, who felt herself shirk away and shrink back in her chair as far as she could go.

The man said nothing, but he threw back his head and laughed, his laughter ringing in Eve's eardrums. A chill ran down Eve's spine as she heard the man's laughter. It made her shudder as a freezing cold wind would wake someone up from a heavy sleep. Her blood ran cold and a bead of sweat formed on her brow.

She sat there helpless, rooted to her chair, not knowing what to do.

And forget about thinking. She was way too frightened to do that.

"Hey!" came the shopkeeper's voice, jolting her out of her paranoia. Eve blinked, and to her surprise, the old man was leaning forward in her seat and snapping his calloused fingers in front of her face. "You okay?"

"Uh…" Eve turned towards the window and pointed. The shopkeeper frowned and followed her gaze, not seeing whatever it was that she saw.

"Ain't nothing outside 'cept the folks getting ready for the Halloween festival."

"Festival?" Her tone was surprised. She turned back to the old man, feeling her eyes grow wide and round. "There's a festival here? But why?"

She glanced back towards the window and felt her delicately arched eyebrows furrow into a frown. Moments before, where the man had been standing, Todd Baines was gone.

If he had even been there at all to begin with. A thought, it should be noted, that made Eve and Eli greatly uneasy.

The shopkeeper was looking at Eve Vanderhilt as though she had sprouted carrots out of her ears. "You been livin' under a rock, missy? Casston's Annual Canal Festival. Happens every September. Starts tonight, big party, always draws a huge crowd and lasts for two to three weekends."

There was a beat. A pause. And then— Casually, the shopkeeper broke the silence. "You should go. You and your…boyfriend," he added, adjusting the rim of his baseball cap and glanced out towards the front door of his shop. "I'm guessin' by that sound, it's him? Boy's been standing' behind you five minutes. Can tell by the footsteps. Too heavy to be a woman's."

"Huh?" Eve squeaked, turning to see where the old man was looking.

"Him." The sniff of disapproval in the man's voice was unmistakable.

"Oh. Y—yes, this is Officer, I—I mean, Eli," she quickly corrected herself, standing from her chair and dragging it back over to its proper place. "Thank you for—for the pop, and for telling me about who that bike belongs to."

The shopkeeper nodded, watching as the young woman shakily reached for her purse, instinctively running her fingers through her fiery red hair. Finally, he thought he recognized the flighty young lass at last.

"You're looking for Todd, ain't you?" he called out, and he knew, judging by the way the woman's posture suddenly straightened and stiffened that his words had hit their mark. "Did that girl detective send you up here?"

When the young woman had regained control of her voice after what felt like several excruciating minutes spent in silence, one of her hands hovering over the brass doorknob, the shopkeeper had to strain forward in his seat to hear her. "Yes, I am. And I'm here for…a friend," she whispered. "My—my name is Eve."

"Ayuh," he nodded. "Thought so. Recognized your voice," he commented, though he did not sound put off by it. "Not many of the girls in town are quiet and shy like you are," he said, as if it was an afterthought.

Eve felt a surge of panic well within her chest and she shook her head.

"Guess not," she admitted, feeling her voice still shaking slightly. "Th—thanks for everything, sir," she whispered in what she hoped was a grateful tone. Saying nothing further, before the shopkeeper could as much as utter another word to the young Vanderhilt girl, the girl fled, the only sound evident that she had been in his shop at all was the tinkling of the doorbell.

The old man frowned as he heard the young couple leave.

"You shouldn't have come back, Miss Vanderhilt," the shopkeeper advised. Though he knew Eve Vanderhilt could not hear her, he hoped she could. The old man could not quite explain it, but he had a strange sense of feeling that the young woman was in danger, and it was because of Casston. "This bloody town's cursed is what it is," the old man growled to no one in particular, and even if there had been another adult to listen to him, no one ever did.

The shopkeeper knew it was this wretched town. It was cursed. And no one listened or cared. There never was. That was just the way it was. That was Casston, Maine. A cursed town where no one listened.

And no one cared...


It had been fun at first, the chasing. But now, it was time to up the stakes. Time to play a little game…

Todd Baines watched the young woman from behind a dark oak tree, the branches swaying in the wind. He could briefly see the redhead walked with a limp, her foot in some kind of black strange looking boot, but he was much faster. His expression was of one being forced to endure an unpleasant odor. His gaze was unwavering and unabashed. His cold eyes did not travel up to the woman's pale face or down to her feet, but they followed her as if really focusing on something a couple of feet further away instead. Perhaps it was his introspective nature that had led him to be locked in thought as he observed his new target, it was hard for Todd Baines to know for sure. But he made no gesture of recognition, no raised hand or stiff grin. The girl quickened her pace through the woods and almost melted into the trees, and that's when Todd Baines decided to introduce himself to the girl and her companion.

"Hello," he growled, his voice gruffer than her would have liked. The young woman turned; her mouth slightly agape in shock. She reached for the guy, but before she could, he bolted. "Leaving so soon? Don't. Stay, you and I...we can talk..." Todd let out a low guttural growl as the much younger man with the tuft of dark hair bounded forward, fists flailing wildly at Todd's arms in an effort to keep him away from the redheaded detective who had been a thorn in his side for entirely too long. Annoyed, he backhanded the young man hard across the cheek.

The gesture was enough to send him flying.

"Frank!" hollered the girl, but he didn't answer. He'd been knocked unconscious. "Damn it," she swore underneath her breath, seeing no other choice but to run for it, though her gait was awkward and rather clunky with her ankle still in the cast.

She wished she'd thought to bring a baseball bat, a can of mace, anything.

Nancy's feet slipped outwards on the wet autumn leaves as she rounded the corner, the cold evening air shocking her throat and lungs as she inhaled deeper, faster. With each footfall, a jarring pain shot up ankle, to knee, ankle to knee, several more times.

Perhaps jumping that boulder onto the forest floor wasn't so smart.

Her heartbeat frantically, all or nothing. Fail, and her whole body would pay the price, run and the damage would be mostly limited to her shins and knees. Nancy ran for her life. She could hear Todd Baines panting with the effort from three hundred yards behind, that's how damn noisy the man was. Conditioning from her years of rigorous workouts George put her through was tough for even this guy to beat. Her breathing came in small spurts, hot and nervous. At her sides, pale fingers curled into sweaty fists, swinging forward as if it would make her run faster.

Behind her, Nancy could hear the almost silent susurrations of Todd's footsteps. The man was close now, and if she risked heading out into the road, Todd would undoubtedly latch onto her before she could so much as make her escape. The jeering laughter of the serial killer her eardrums.

Mud smeared her sweaty face as sweat dripped from her hair.

"Please, for the love of God, let me live!" Nancy cried aloud, throwing herself forward with even greater abandon. Her lungs and heart were pumping, but the air didn't seem to be enough as she sprinted forward, panic trembling in her exhausted limbs and mind. Nancy kept running, but she knew by the sound of another one of

Todd Baines's ear-piercing shouts that her time was now up. She'd been compromised and caught.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something sharp and huge coming towards her. She tried to jump out of the way, but it was much too late for that.

Nancy screamed, giving away her position to the others, but the pain was unbearable. She collapsed to the ground, clutching at her ribcage as something warm and sticky, garish in its crimson red leaked out.

Blood, she thought wildly. My own. Frank is going to hate me for this. Maybe it would be better if they just killed me now. Just do it, let me lay here and bleed out. It'll be good for me. Anything but this. As she laid there, she saw an image of her family. Of her father, mother, only this time, Frank was there too. Was this a vision of her future? Her vision clouded, coming to her in peaks and lulls slowly.

Nancy's eyesight blurred, but not because tears were welling up. Everything became fuzzy; then the young woman saw nothing at all. Her consciousness was floating through an empty space filled with a thick static. Throughout the inky space her heartbeats pounded loudly, echoing in her ears, alongside fading pleas for help amid the sound of low murmurings, and what sounded like someone whimpering.

Feeling in her body drained away until finally all was black.

The kidnapping was over in a second. One minute the girl had been there, staring at something, at what, even Todd Baines didn't know, nor did he give a damn. What mattered now was they had the girl, at long last.

No one saw a thing, no one heard her muffled scream or the hulking figure that hoisted two unconscious figures over both his shoulders with great ease, like they weighed next to nothing and weighed almost nothing more than a sack of potatoes for him. Which, for him, they did.

Her kidnappers knew her quite well, having studied her movements over the past four days. Todd Baines wasted no time in hoisting the unconscious young detective over his shoulder. He was momentarily surprised by how lightweight she was.

She needs feeding up, he thought darkly. He had her, at last.

"Time to play, sweet thing," Todd Baines murmured lowly, leaning down to whisper into the shell of the young woman's ear. She was still knocked out, but not for much longer. Once she awoke, the game could begin. Todd Baines glanced down at the unconscious woman, who he had now shifted to rest in his arms.

There was a tiny sliver of him that felt sorry for what he was, the way he behaved. He knew he shouldn't kill all these children, or especially the young women, but each one was always so deliciously sweet. Making their blood run until their flesh was ghostly and cold always filled him with such exquisite pleasure.

He selected his victims just like others picked out their favorite chocolate, with careful precision. "You're my new favorite, pet," he crooned, reaching down and licked her cheek. The further Todd Baines traveled into the forest, into the dark, the more the light burned him. The longer he lived without it bringing color to his world, the more he grew to love blackness. Perhaps there was a time once when he didn't have to necessarily become the beast, but he was assuredly one now, ever since the drowning that changed his life. From this dark pit, this terrible pit where not an ounce of light shined, he called for others like him to follow his lead into darkness.

Todd Baines had no wish to be lonely. He wanted to be the master of this dark place, the one who possessed all the power and control of his territory.

Casston, Maine, and the Black Lake. That was his turf, no one else's.

But how could he have either if there was no one to be his partner in pain and cruelty? He pondered this thought and a truly wicked idea came to his mind just then, as he glanced down at her. This woman in his arms was meant to save herself. He could see that. Todd Baines could help her with that. He could end her suffering and put the knife in her hand and remove the conscience from her mind, that nagging, pulling feeling that dared to tell you when something was right or not.

Think of how strong she would be with no voice telling her not to kill, not to harm, and why should she listen? Todd Baines had seen this one fight.

She was quite skilled, this much the Black Lake Killer knew, to step in between two fighting men who outweighed her, at great personal risk to her own safety, and all for what? To stop the brats arguing over her.

This woman—whoever she was—could be a queen, mighty, crushing her enemies underneath her foot. There was no right or wrong, only what she could and could not do. The woman was born to be a beast like him. She would just need to come closer to Todd Baines to see such a truth for herself.

But before he could do that, he had one more person to go after…and then, she would see, and she would just have to get close enough to Todd for the truth.

To let him close the door behind them…