The Crooked Young

2 YEARS EARLIER

May 23rd, 2012

Location: Westchester Police Station

The balding man in front of Kristen Gregory coughed and wiped the accumulating sweat from his forehead. He eyed the young girl sitting in front of him who was not budging one word. This girl was sitting right in the way of his promotion and he'd be damned if he'd let her ruin all his hard work. Taking a deep sigh and trying not to twitch too much, he slammed a fist onto the wooden investigation table that kept him from throttling her.

"Ms. Gregory, I just need a few simple answers from you," he sighed.

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "I've told you everything I know already," it was Kristen's turn to sigh.

"Have you, have you really? You have grown up with this boy. If you are lying to me…he faces a long time in a reconciliation center," he said, taking a seat behind his desk.

"Would I lie to you?" She countered, raising the other eyebrow.

It had been hours since she'd been taken into custody by police, as she was Massie Block's best friend and she had known Derrick Harrington as well. She knew what she had seen. Massie's arm had been dripping with blood, dark and rust-like when Kristen had seen her. She was pale and half dead. Kristen had been afraid she was really dead. And Derrick – oh God had he ever looked cruel. He had been restrained by two guards, throwing himself viciously at Massie.

Kristen had never seen him like that before, spitting everywhere, calling Massie horrible names and saying horrible things. His right hand was dripping with blood – not his. And the officer next to him was grasping a clear plastic bag and it was enough to know that a knife of some sort was in there, covered in blood. Kristen had turned away, almost throwing up.

And he had finally snapped it seemed.

"Ms. Gregory…dare I say I believe you would."

Just as the officer opened his mouth to ask another question another man opened the interrogation room's door. He was out of breath, his eyes delighted. He was…happy.

"Sir, we've found something. About the Harrington boy," he said.

"What is it?" The officer asked.

Kristen looked between the two. The messenger's happy face dropped at the sight of her. He motioned for the officer to join him outside.

He didn't come back in for another two hours.

Alicia Rivera fidgeted beneath the table at a random café. She was nursing a hangover and drinking a glass of water with a lemon wedge inside. Sighing, she grabbed her phone and checked once again for a text or a call of any kind. Nothing. Ignored, again. Standing, she fished her purse from the space beside her and made to exit the booth, but movement from the front door caused her to freeze, mid step.

She sat down again, clutching the purse to her chest, fearfully.

Seconds passed and it became clear that he was making his way to her booth, his eyes locked onto her. Derrick Harrington raised a hand as he neared, as in a chill, laidback greeting. His eyes of course, said differently. He was here for an interrogation and Alicia wasn't sure if she wouldn't crack.

"Stop calling," he hissed at her as he dropped into the seat opposite hers.

"I can't help it," she whimpered.

"Yes you can, or I will fucking tell everybody – all your friends – about this…thing," Derrick growled.

"You wouldn't," Alicia gasped. If anyone found out they would all shun her. She would lose her place in high society. She'd be a nothing, a nobody. Her secret – their secret – wasn't worth another finding out.

"I would. Now leave. And tell Cammy-boy to watch his fucking back," Derrick grinned, as a flustered Alicia hurried to gather her things, her fingers slipping multiple times before she had all her items.

She turned around to give him one last look. A look full of hatred. And he returned it.

By the time she had stumbled out the front door she was already sweating and panting. Her fingers fumbled for a cigarette and shook as she attempted to light it. She was well on her way to getting fucked up. A beep signalled her phone. She glanced at her new text, and dropped her cig.

"Derrick about to spill some secrets? Poor Alicia-poo." Read the unknown number.

The Spanish girl let out a shaky breath of cigarette scent. When the fuck had her life become so fucked up anyway?

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," the redhead repeated as she stalked around her room, pulling on a pair of slacks and grabbing a random jumper off the ground. She smelled it, determined it was Cam's, and pulled it on. She was going to be late and she was going to smell like another boy and she was going to look fugly as hell on a date.

Yeah, Dylan was going on a date. Her first date ever since the incident. And probably her last, judging by the way she looked and smelled.

She raced out of her room and rapped on her bathroom door. Her shower was on and she was going to kill that asshole.

"Cam! Get out of my bathroom you ass! I need to do my make up," she yelled, banging and rattling the door knob.

A bewildered Cam opened the door with a towel wrapped around his waist. Mm, Dylan was lucky, her best friend was a hunk, but she couldn't care about that right now. She pushed past him and began pulling out her make up, nearly stabbing herself in the eye with an eyeliner. She was hopeless.

"And, uh, where do you think you're going with my sweater?" Cam asked, raising an eyebrow that rested above his blue eye.

"On a date!" She replied, dusting blush onto her apples and blending. Damn, she was fast.

"A date, hm? With who?"

"Kemp Hurley, Mom," Dylan rolled her eyes. Sometimes her best friend was a little too controlling for her.

"What?!" Cam choked on nothing. He grabbed the banister for help, closing his eyes briefly.

She had already grabbed her bag and was out the door by the time he caught his breath and opened his mouth for a lecture.

Dylan hurtled down the stairs from her loft apartment, applying lip gloss to her mouth. If she ran she'd only be a little late. A small secret smile graced her lips as she thought about how Kemp had asked her out. She had been pouring over her summer reading list at the library when he'd come up behind her. He'd recognized one of the books and helped her find it. Then they'd gotten smoothies by the nearby smoothie shack, and the rest was history. He'd asked her out the next time he'd saw her using a smoothie. On the outside, in Sharpie, were the words: Go out with me?

God, what a romantic. And Kemp wasn't half bad looking either. She didn't even remember when Kemp was in her middle school classes and used to draw pictures of pigs and call them Dylan. She was convinced he'd out grown his ass-like behavior. Besides – how could someone that hot be that awful? He had to be different now.

He had to be.

Watching his best friend zip out of the room, Cam staggered to the doorway, intent on stopping her from making one of the worst mistakes in her life. Well, all he succeeded was stubbing his toe on the door's edge.

He limped back into the main room and grabbed his pants from the floor, groping wildly for his cell phone. Finally he found it. He had to warn Dylan somehow. Cam tried not to think about how weird this feeling was, calling someone when he was half naked. His best friend in fact.

"Hey, it's Dylan! I can't come to the phone right now so please leave a message. Unless you're Cam. Then you can come over if you bring Chinese. BEEP."

Cam sighed at Dylan's voice recorder before leaving his message.

"Dylan? Please, it's Cam. Call me back as soon as you get this. Kemp is Chris' friend. Chris Plovert."

Silky dark hair framed a face Massie Block thought she'd never see again. It had been two years, and the girl in front of her, in a set of scrubs, with a fake name stuck across her chest had aged well. Her green eyes lit up with mischief and her apple shaped lips smiled unnervingly at Massie. Her skin was clear and milky – obviously she hadn't been spending much time outdoors.

"Scared?" Layne Abeley whispered to Massie who had just woken up.

Massie was dreaming. There was no way. There was no way Layne of all people was standing in front of Massie. It was impossible.

"I have got to hand it to you, Massie. Well fucking played. Imagine how I must have felt when I woke up in the hospital. Imagine the utter humiliation I was slammed with when I realized I had fallen for your stupid tricks yet again. And guess who's back! I am. And I'm going to make the next few years of your sorry life miserable," Layne cackled.

She moved closer, stilettos click-clacking against the hard floor. A small smile (shark alert) fell across her face. Massie slammed her back up against the bed rest. This was real. Layne was in her room. Layne Abeley. Dead Layne was back from the dead. Dead Layne was back to haunt Massie for her past sins.

"I know what happened with Derrick," Layne leaned in, "You better watch your back, bitch."

Layne threw out an arm and smacked a glass of water onto the ground. Glass shattered, echoing around the room. She laughed again, throwing her head back, showing off those white teeth. Massie shrank against the head board, gasping in air as much as she could get. She was hyperventilating and all of a sudden she wasn't. Everything was foggy. And she was closing her eyes.

Massie awoke in a fit of terror, ringing her emergency bell. Her eyes scoped around the room. Nothing, no glass, no Layne. But she remembered it so clearly. Layne was back.

"Hello?" A cranky care-taker entered the room.

"Did I have any visitors?" Massie asked, sitting up and wiping away the cold sweat that gathered on her forehead. "Visitors! Did anyone named Layne come here? Layne Abeley?"

"Um, no, honey," the care-taker said and when Massie had nothing to say to that she walked away.

God, was she really going crazy now? Was she going to kick it anytime soon? Would she be locked up for forever?

She laid there for what seemed like a long time, unmoving and just thinking about her past and Layne. Everything was so fucked up now that Derrick was back. Her heart beat thumped uncomfortably in her chest as she thought of Derrick. He was so different now… Massie sat up and took a few deep breaths, her knees tucked in to her chest. Finally she decided she needed to stop imagining things. Layne was gone. Layne would never be coming back. She placed her feet gingerly onto the ground and swore.

Pain flew up her leg and she pulled up her leg. There, embedded in the pad of her feet, was a shard of glass, surrounded by crimson ribbons of blood.

tHIS CHApter makes me feel gross and it makes you ask a lot of questions and i screwed up with my caps lock at the beginning of the sentence so don't mind me. its been a while and i've been trying really hard to write this and its just hard lol i tried yoloi literally cannot write angst anymore ALL I CAN DO IS FLUFF AND also i lost my frigging library book because my parents recycled it by against so i'm dead.

Some Replies:

Anonymous: Um, Derrick scares the shit out of everyone let's be honest here ahah! Yes more questions will be asked then answered (probably). And uh i made an attempt to update 'soon'. sorry, but i hope you enjoy this chapter!

devils and angels: HI! thanks for the feedback lovely heres an update of a mediocre chapter yay. i'm so glad you're deciding to write your own please post it up soon so i can review it and love it!