A/N: Because you were all so patient for the last chapter, have a much more eventful one! Events in this chapter have been a long time coming.

Chapter title comes "When You Break" by Bear's Den. It's pretty much THE song for Broken Parable (despite the entire story being named after a different song - heh). Give it a listen if you haven't yet.

Chapter Twenty:

Begging for Forgiveness

Ashley frowned. "It didn't like Hannah? And it got mad that you broke the cross? I'm not sure. I was reading about guardian ghost things. Sometimes it was the first buried or sometimes it was a mantle passed down to new people who were interred. But the ghost's job was basically to keep anything from desecrating the cemetery."

"That makes sense then," Jess said, casting an uneasy glance over her shoulder to where Melinda was resting, her eyes closed. None of the girls wanted to talk to her and the certainly didn't want her to hear them talking about Hannah. "Em did fuck up the grave."

"Not on purpose. Or, yeah, on purpose, but not to be a dick. I just thought that since Hannah couldn't—"

"We all get it. You don't have to explain." Jess smiled at her, placatingly. "I was just saying that it made sense."

They were quiet for a few minutes, listening to the steady sounds of Melinda's breathing and Mike's knife. Sam stared up at the ceiling. She wanted to sleep, but couldn't make herself relax enough to do so. Instead, she was just lying back on the cold floor, barely cushioned by her coat and extra clothes, watching the slight changes of light on the ceiling as the monitors cycled through their images. There was a weird buzzing in her veins, waiting for something to happen. Maybe the thing would come back. Or Josh—she hoped he would come back soon. She knew she could fix things if she could just show him to Melinda, make her see the truth of what was going on.

"So… Hannah?" Ashley asked, finally. "I'm sorry, but—" She cast a furtive glance at Melinda to confirm she was still asleep. "Did you guys really see Hannah?"

Mike's knife faltered, then resumed. The girls glanced at him, but his attention was fixed on whatever he was whittling. Could Mike whittle? From where Ashley was sitting, it looked like he was just making, well, a slightly smaller piece of wood.

"Yeah." Jess's voice was soft.

"Like a real ghost though? You're sure? Not just another one of Josh's prank thingies? He rigged a ghost for Chris and me to see, you know."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you've told us enough times."

"Jeez," Jess muttered. "You make it hard to defend you sometimes, Em."

"Who asked you to?"

The blonde girl turned her attention back to Ashley, hugging her knees to her chest. "No, this was different. I mean, I assume so? I didn't see the thing Josh made, but this was… she, like, chased us all over the place. And I touched her. She was freezing. And… and so alone. I'll totally admit that I didn't know Hannah that well—I mean, apart from… yeah—but she's still here, somehow."

"Did Sam see her?"

"I don't think so. I think just Em and I."

From the corner of her eye, Sam saw Ashley look at her, but didn't acknowledge it. She still couldn't quite wrap her head around the idea of Hannah's ghost being around. And even though she didn't quite believe it, she also found herself resenting Jessica and Emily. Why would they be the ones to see her?

She rolled over to face the wall, gritting her teeth and trying to resist the tears stinging her eyes. Why wouldn't she get to see Hannah? Hannah had been her best friend. She might shove away the feelings, focus on the problem at hand, but she missed Hannah so much it hurt. It hurt just as much as losing Beth. Maybe more. She missed Hannah singing Disney songs off-key and how she always wanted to go hiking, no matter where they were. She missed wandering through the dry riverbed with her, skirting around broken beer bottles and picking strange plants that would later turn out to be poison oak—that had been a rough week.

Killing her in the explosion had only been doable at all because she seemed so separate from the Hannah Sam had known. Sure, she might have still had the butterfly tattoo and been annoyingly fixated on Mike, but that was where the resemblance had ended.

If Hannah's ghost was different… if it was really her… Maybe Sam was happy she hadn't seen her. She couldn't decide.

"And she tried to kill you?"

"Sort of. She—" Jess fell silent and Sam heard her suck in a breath. "Did you see that?"

Sam shoved herself up to look over. The others all had their eyes fixed on the monitors. One in the top right showed movement: a shadowing figure with arms and legs far too long, creeping through a room of chains and ruin. Sam didn't recognize the room. Perhaps it was another one of Josh's traps, maybe the one Jess and Emily had found. It was hard to tell with the graininess of the image. "It's the thing," she said softly.

"It's, um, big." Ashley's voice trembled. "Bigger than I expected."

"Didn't you see it in your dream?"

"Well, yeah, but there was other stuff—there was a lot going on."

Matt stood and peered at the image. "What's it doing?"

"Looking for us?" Em snapped. "Obviously."

"Or maybe it's looking for Josh." Mike's knife continued its consistent work. He sighed. "I'm not sure which possibility is worse."

Jess hugged herself and glanced at Melinda, who was still asleep, breathing peacefully. "What do we do?"

"Nothing we can do, I think. Just wait, right?"

It was a tense night.

-o-

The night air was cold on his face, but not unpleasant. If anything, it felt refreshing. Josh swung himself up onto a higher branch, his long, claw-like nails digging into the bark easily. He'd always been okay at climbing—not good, not bad, just okay—but now, with whatever the fuck was happening to him, he was amazing.

His mouth and chin were sticky. He licked his lips, savoring the metallic tang of the blood. The deer had been easy enough to catch. The moment he'd had the idea, listened to the little voice in the back of his head, it had been like fireworks sparking in his mind. All his senses had gone into full alert. He'd done cocaine once and this reminded him of that high, only multiplied by a thousand. It was like coke and Adderall and a good night's sleep and just getting laid all in one.

He'd taken the deer down easily, grabbing it by the antlers and twisting it until its neck snapped. He wasn't a hunter. He'd never had his Dad's keenness for guns and the loud noises had always set him on edge. But this kind of hunting was easy. It just felt right.

And yet, even after eating, he still could feel the hunger that lived deep in his gut.

So he downed another pill and tried to ignore it. Just like the idea that his Mom was here.

He'd gone to the wreckage of the cable car after the sun had gone down, when he was sure they were gone. There were tracks leading away: four sets of footprints. He wasn't sure what that meant, exactly, but his mother's body wasn't there. That might be good or it might be bad. He couldn't imagine that Sam would leave her body there, even if she was dead.

Pausing for a moment, he looked out through the branches, letting the scent of pine wash over him. There were other scents too, things he might not have picked up before: things like the metal of the distant crash, the smell of the deer carcass, and more. At least he wasn't seeing or hearing or smelling any of the others. He didn't want to see them or speak to them. That last view of Sam's desperate, anguished face as he fled was carved into his mind. When he closed his eyes, she was still there, begging him to stay.

He was a fucking coward. He should go and face the music. His options were to either stall forever and be left on this hideous mountain, alone with monsters and his own madness, or to go back.

It was still night, though. As long as it was night, they would be locked in the safe room. That was license enough to stall, he figured.

He pushed off with his legs like a frog, springing up to the next branch, then up and up again. Josh wondered vaguely if he would be better at climbing ropes too. That was what they'd always done in gym class in elementary school: a thick rope stretching down from the roof of the gym, studded with the occasional knot to mark height. Chris had been fucking awful at it. He'd never been able to get even ten feet up, while Josh could make it at least twenty. Climbing class. He hadn't even thought to ask if Chris was here, but he hadn't seen the idiot and since Sam hadn't mentioned him, Josh doubted it.

That meant Cochise had given up on him.

It made sense. It had been the goal, after all. When Josh put his mind to something, he let nothing stand in his way. He wanted to comment on it, to say something to the night, but when he opened his mouth, he had trouble forming words. Oh well. The mountain didn't need to know that he missed his friend's carefully styled blond hair—why were the two most important non-family people in his life both blond?—or his dorky glasses or his urge to take awkward, close-up selfies. Had Chris finally hooked up with Ashley? Josh hoped so. It would mean that at least one part of his plan succeeded.

Well, two parts. Getting Cochise to finally see him for what he was had clearly been a success as well.

Looking down at himself, he was relieved to see that he'd managed to keep his clothes mostly clean, though his boots felt oddly tight. Had his feet grown? That didn't seem possible. He settled down into a crook on the tree, wrapping his legs around the branch below him and locking his ankles. Letting his head fall back, he looked up at the dark sky, the moon hidden by clouds. He knew he should be freezing, but he just felt oddly calm. Not sleepy, strangely enough, but relaxed. He closed his eyes and let the sounds and scents of the forest wrap around himself.

For the first time in a long time, he heard no one talking to him.

It was beautiful.

-o-

No one caught more than an hour or two of sleep, and what they did get was in bits and pieces. It all added up to a group that was incredibly irritable in the pre-dawn hours as they tried to decide what to do. There had been no additional sign of the thing. Melinda had woken, eaten, and fallen back to sleep. She'd been able to sit up, though she'd complained of pain in her abdomen that didn't seem related to her ribs and when she'd tried to stand, she'd been unable to put any weight on her left foot.

So now they were faced with an unpleasant decision.

"We have to take her down. She needs medical attention." Sam rubbed her forehead, trying to think. "I mean, we don't even know all of what's wrong with her. Her ribs, yeah, but her foot's messed up too and her head… she might have internal injuries too. We just can't tell."

Ashley was chewing on her lip again. "But Josh—"

"I know!" Her voice was louder than she intended and she winced. "I don't mean to snap. I know. I don't want to leave him behind and I don't plan to. But I also can't just let Melinda possibly die up here. What do you want me to do, Ash? What can I do?"

The other girl sighed. "Yeah. I guess you're right. What if we take her down until she can get ahold of that Hank guy? We can probably raise the emergency line with one of the radios and then we… never mind. Monster thing has the radio too. Ugh."

"What about her cellphone?" Both girls turned, surprised, to see Emily watching them. "She has a cell, right? I know my phone worked until, like, halfway up the cable car when we came up last time. We probably don't have to get her all the way down to get a call through. We could go for that cabin thing we stayed at on the way up. Call him from there and have him come pick her up. Easy."

When they didn't answer immediately, she scoffed and threw her good hand up in the air. "It'll even give you time to try to convince her to come back and save psycho-monster boy. Personally, I think we'd all be better off just calling it and leaving at this point, but somehow I doubt you'll go for that idea."

"I'm not abandoning him up here," Sam snapped.

Emily rolled her eyes. "Yeah, no shit. That's what I meant. I know you're super attached to Corporal Crazydick."

"Okay," Sam said, sounding more decisive and confident than she felt. "The second the sun comes up, we get Melinda down to where we can make a call. We'll deal with the fallout as it happens."

They didn't have much time until sunrise. They packed as efficiently as they could, leaving most of the food behind, stored carefully in the corner. Instead they focused on bringing blankets and anything they thought might make the trek down the mountain easier. If they left the second the sun came up, Sam thought, they might be able to make that cabin before dark. It would be easier going back down, knowing exactly the right path to take and being about to skirt around any potential pitfalls like the rockslide.

Melinda didn't fight them. Indeed, she seemed incredibly relieved that they were already geared up to go. They found a piece of piping that she could use as a rudimentary walking stick and ease her way.

They took up a specific marching order instinctively. Sam led the way with her certain footing. Just behind her came Jess, armed with her new best friend. Emily and Ashley followed, then Melinda, then Mike and Matt. Before Melinda had woken up, they'd all agreed that if she faltered, either Mike or Matt would carry her until she could be on her feet again. None of them wanted to put bets on the monster leaving them alone for much longer, so the faster they got down the mountain, the better.

It snowed a little more on them, but otherwise it went as smoothly as Sam could have possibly hoped, although she hadn't hoped for much. No sign of Josh or the monster, nor any sign of Hannah's ghost. None of them talked much. She spent the time trying desperately to come up with a possible way to convince Melinda to let them stay. Without Josh, though, she couldn't think of anything she thought Melinda would accept.

Skirting around a boulder, Sam glanced behind her to make sure everyone was keeping up. No one looked happy. Mike caught her gaze instantly, the only member of their party who wasn't focused on the ground and keeping their footing. He didn't smile, just watched her for a moment before she turned back to the front.

They stopped occasionally to rest, but none of them wanted to wait long. Every second wasted was another second closer to nightfall. Sam didn't want to think about what might happen if they were still exposed. The monster might have made the mine its home, but she wasn't fool enough to think it wouldn't follow them down for easy pickings.

Melinda checked her phone frequently, waiting to see bars, but it wasn't until Sam spotted the cabin about a quarter mile away through the trees that she was finally successful. Even so, she apparently wasn't able to reach the guy she'd mentioned, judging from the lack of conversation and her closed, stormy expression. It was times like that when Sam could see the resemblance to Josh, the frustration that the world refused to bend to their wishes.

She must have been in a lot of pain, Sam realized as they closed in on the little building. Melinda wasn't one for terse silence, and Sam had been certain she'd object to them breaking into the cabin, whatever it was. But Melinda didn't say anything as Sam climbed once more through the back window to unlock the front door. It wasn't dark yet, but none of them wanted to keep hiking and Melinda didn't fight them. She collapsed heavily on the sofa.

Sam helped her take off her shoes, easing the left one off carefully. The woman's foot was swollen, but Sam knew better than to ask about it. If Melinda was anything like Josh, and she clearly was, she wasn't likely to want to talk about an injury. She probably saw it as a weakness, like a stronger person would have walked out of the accident entirely unscathed.

People, Sam thought tiredly. They were ridiculous. Herself included.

The woman fell into an exhausted sleep almost immediately, leaving the rest of them to set up for the night. They locked the door and blocked off the windows as best they could. It seemed kind of pointless. Mike and Sam, who had seen the thing up close, knew very well it could probably break in if it wanted to. Maybe, though, it would hesitate if it didn't know the situation inside. That was their best bet.

They continued their unofficial group silence. Apparently no one had come up with a plan to convince Melinda to let them stay. Em made an inaudible comment to Jessica, who elbowed her with a small smile and Sam looked away, swallowing her anger. Maybe no one else had been trying to come up with a plan at all.

Rather than wait for the sun to go down completely, they all decided to sleep while they could. They chose watches. Mike volunteered to go first, the others laying out their plans behind him.

-o-

Sam dreamed she was at a graduation party that didn't happen.

The real graduation party had been the worst party Sam had ever been to, and she'd been to some doozies. Sure, there had been all the hallmarks of a good party: they had a real reason to celebrate, there were no parents around, there was loud music, and there was plenty of booze. But, graduation notwithstanding, she just hadn't wanted to celebrate. Not all of her peers seemed to feel the way she did, but she had still imagined she could feel an undercurrent of sadness and uncertainty running through the house.

She had sorted through the bottles in the kitchen, ignoring Vanesse and Dave, who were making out in the corner, and the gaggle of girls she didn't know who were counting down to their next round of shots. There had been a lot to choose from. Finally she had grabbed a bottle of plain, unflavored vodka and poured it into a new red plastic cup. It had hardly been touched and chugged merrily as it poured.

Sam had downed half of it quickly, then poured more. She shouldn't have come out that night. She had known that, even as she shed her baggy commencement gown and changed into more comfortable clothes, but her Mom had pressed her into it. "'When's the next time you're going to see all your friends, Samantha?'" she had muttered to herself, repeating her mother's words from earlier that day. "'You graduated. You should celebrate. It's what kids do.'" Her Mom had sounded almost desperate, begging Sam to do something normal.

Vodka was vile, but it seemed strangely appropriate for the night. She didn't want to do something normal. Things hadn't been normal for a long time. Honestly, she just couldn't wait to get out of the house and move into her dorm and just try to start from nothing. Sam had picked her way through the living room, carefully avoiding meeting the gaze of anyone she knew. She didn't want to talk to Chris or Liz, and she definitely didn't want to talk to Ash or Em or Jess or anyone involved in that stupid, stupid prank. She could accept that they hadn't intended it to turn out the way it did—how could they possibly have predicted that?—but tonight, of all nights, she couldn't handle dealing with them. Not when there were three people missing that should be there and weren't.

The room had spun slightly as she moved. Too much vodka. "Or not enough," she mumbled, taking another sip. She had wanted to scream, to break something. They should be there, with her, celebrating. Beth, with her elaborate plans for the future. Hannah, with her shining eyes and giddy joy at being free. Josh, with his dark humor and fierce wit. Three near-identical sets of eyes that had defined so much of her life. How had she become so entangled with the Washingtons? And how could she get back what she'd lost?

She'd only seen Josh outside of school. After they'd returned, he'd dropped out, preferring to get his GED from home. But that night, she'd stumbled out the front door, narrowly avoiding running headlong into Jesse, she staggered to a halt on the driveway and stared out at the street. The curb was crowded with cars. Among them was Josh's car. He'd been sitting behind the wheel, staring out at the lit street with dead eyes. She'd knocked on the window and all-but fallen into the passenger seat with her vodka.

But that wasn't what she was dreaming now.

She was dreaming of joy. The same music, the same people, but with three additions that made it perfect. She and Hannah did shots of watermelon-flavored vodka to compensate for the fact that Sam wouldn't do jello shots. "They're not vegan!" she'd hollered over the din of the party.

"Some jello is vegan," Hannah had argued, tugging down her shirt. She'd tried to dress sexy, but on Hannah it looked adorably awkward. Sam just shook her head.

"And you really think they got that here? Nope. No way. Nuh-uh. Not going to compromise my values."

Josh had paused while filling water balloons with Chris just long enough to roll his eyes, but Beth had pulled Sam away. "My hero! Always so good. Such a little paladin." She pressed her finger against Sam's nose and made a silly face, crossing her eyes and pursing her lips.

The blonde waved away her hand, pouting with mock anger. "I am a druid, thank you very much!"

"You're both nerds, is what you are," Hannah had interjected, handing them both another shot each.

Sam scoffed. "Just 'cause you think you're too cool to play DnD with us…"

"I am too cool to play DnD with you guys. Holy shit. Everyone is too cool for that. Down the hatch, girlie-o! No more stalling! Tonight, we party!" Hannah grinned cheekily at her, jogging Sam's elbow.

The three girls tossed the shots back and Beth grabbed Sam, pulling her away into the crowd, dancing wildly, spastically. Sam laughed at her, the sound of it lost beneath the pulsing bassline. Beth spun her, both of them laughing, then her face sobered abruptly. She pulled Sam close, so that she could hear Beth's voice even through the music. "Sam, wake up. Wake up now."

Sam jolted awake, sitting up in the near-black of the cabin. It took a moment to shake the giddy euphoria of the dream. She scanned the room, trying to pin down what had made her wake up, what had triggered Beth's urgency—if, indeed, it had been Beth and not just some figment of her imagination.

Blankets on the floor rose and fell gently with Melinda's breath and she counted the other sleepers in the room. Everyone was there, safe and sound. Everyone except…

"Mike?" she whispered, peering into the dark corners of the room. Perhaps he was only in the bathroom? She rose silently and picked her way between the sleepers. The bathroom was empty too and, she noticed with dawning horror, his boots were gone.

She didn't dare swear aloud, for fear of waking the others, but her mind had a few choice words it would like to shout at him. Sam weighed her options quickly: wake at least one of the others, which ran the risk of waking Melinda who would doubtless put a stop to any attempt to follow him, or go alone.

There was really only one option she could convince herself to take.

Sam slid into her clothes as quietly as she could, layering with everything she had remaining. She slipped on her boots and shoved her head lamp in her pocket. There was no way to grab her pack or the flamethrower without alerting someone. As a last-ditch measure, she grabbed her compass and lighter, then opened the door carefully. Cold air swept across her and she rushed out, shutting it with a soft click.

She waited on the doorstep for a moment, to see if anyone would stir, but there was no sign that anyone had been disturbed by her actions. Knotting her boot laces, she zipped her coat up over her chin and pulled her hat down over her ears. Outside, it wasn't terribly dark. Breaks in the heavy clouds let the moon filter down to illuminate the snowy woods.

A set of footprints led away and back up the mountain once more. She allowed herself the indulgence of swearing under her breath as she began to trudge through the cold.

"—better find you alive so I can have the pleasure of fucking murdering you myself you stupid stubborn piece of—"

She made surprisingly good time hiking alone. Here and there she found signs that she was still going in the right direction: footprints in the fresher snow, scuffmarks where he had hauled himself up ledges. Where was he going? She had half-expected the prints to lead back towards a mine entrance, but they curved and tracked away. Towards the… lodge? Sam walked a little faster, finally breaking out into a run as she emerged onto a clear path. How long ago had he left? What on earth was he thinking?

Rounding a bend approaching the small lodge gate, she skidded to a halt. "Mike?"

He had been staring up at the building. He turned and smiled ruefully. "Should have known better than to think you'd find me. You were always the best at taking care of people."

What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Sam was tired, cold, and irritated. "Mike, what are you doing? Why did you come all the way back up here? It's suicide to come up here by yourself, you idiot."

He dropped his gaze, then turned back to the house. "I just… I kept thinking about Hannah."

She frowned and folded her arms over her chest. "Okay. Even if I believed Jess and Emily—not totally sure I do, by the way—what was your plan? To come up here and just wander around, hopefully not getting killed by that thing from before, and hope you can, what, talk to her?"

"I know it's stupid." Mike rubbed his injured hand. Sam had a feeling he wanted to take another pill. Must be running low, if he was fighting the urge.

Sam sighed. "It's not stupid. Sorry. I'm being a bitch." She laughed bitterly. "Truth is, I want to see her too. But that doesn't mean I would sneak out in the middle of the night all alone, putting my life at risk to do it. We were going to come back up here. Why couldn't you wait?"

"Because I couldn't be sure we would come back up here. Fuck, why would Mrs. Washington ever let us? She doesn't see anything when she looks at us except a bunch of dumb kids who can't let go of the past. I wouldn't let us come back up here. Would you?"

"So instead you decided to hike through the dark for hours?"

"I said it was a stupid plan."

She walked up behind him and punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Yeah. Pretty fucking dumb, Munroe. But we're both here, so now what?" He gave a half-hearted shrug and she shook her head. "No way. This was your idea. What was your plan from here?"

"I guess I was just thinking about where she might be. They said they saw her in the sanitorium, but that wasn't somewhere… I don't know. I guess I just thought she'd find me." Mike smoothed his hand over his face. His stubble had grown in dark over the last few days of no shaving. Soon it wouldn't even be stubble, Sam thought, the idea hitting her unexpectedly. What would Mike look like with a beard? "I do believe the girls, by the way. I know they were exhausted and injured and, like, totally freaked out, but I don't think that's the kind of thing both of them would just imagine."

Sam sighed again. "Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of." She squared her shoulders. "I guess we can at least go check the safe room. Maybe Josh was there and left a message or something. Maybe he's there right now. That would be a good thing, right?"

They picked their way down to the basement. Every little noise made Sam jump, expecting the monster to spring out at them from the darkness. She found herself utterly terrified that she might hear a voice. Even Mike's. After hearing it speak, doing its mimicking act… she was grateful that Mike seemed to want to stay as quiet as she did.

The stone steps crumbled away even further as she almost fell, catching herself on the wall. The broken pieces of concrete cascaded down with a soft patter almost like falling rain. Mike's breathing seemed overly loud in the silent stairwell.

They passed the old water heater and she flinched when the rocking horse shifted slightly. She forced a silent chuckle, trying to shake the tension. Jeez, that thing had seen some serious shit. Shit that no child's toy should ever have to see. Behind it, the dollhouse stared at her balefully, its empty windows like eyes. Sam remembered when Beth had shown it to her on her very first visit up to the lodge, opening it up and showing Sam all the little secrets that were hidden within its walls. For a moment, she was tempted to open the roof and find Hannah's diary. The key, on its long length of ribbon, still protruded from the lock.

Behind her, Mike made a strange, strangled noise. Sam turned slowly, ready for the worst, ready to see the creature with its hand shoved through Mike's stomach or his head pulled off.

What she actually saw was even harder to bear.

Hannah, barefoot and clad only in the same kind of simple white dress as Beth had been, was reaching towards Mike, who seemed stunned. He simply stared at her as she extended her hand, her smile growing. Hannah had always been quick to smile, but this was different. Her eyes didn't change. They were cold and hard, full of a rage Sam had never seen before.

Jess's description of Hannah's touch flashed through Sam's head, the way she'd talked about nearly dying. She couldn't let that happen, not while she was here to prevent it. Sam gave herself no time to think.

"Hannah, stop!" Sam shoved herself in front of Mike, wincing as the freezing cold seemed to slice into her skin. If she glanced down, she knew she would see Hannah's fingers deep in her chest. She could feel them under her ribs, digging into her right lung. Instead of looking, she focused on breathing slowly. She'd read enough to know that breathing too-cold air could kill you. It wasn't hard to imagine that the shade's frigid hand could do something similar. "Hannah, please."

Hannah's wide, white eyes bore into hers, the girl's mouth still twisted up into a grotesque parody of a smile. Her voice came clearly, though her lips didn't move. "Oh Miss Giddings, how you do go on." The accent was terrible, hovering somewhere between posh faux-British and soft Southern. It had always made Sam laugh, before—Hannah's horrible inability to do any kind of remotely accurate accent. Now it just made her shudder.

"Please, Han. Please stop."

Slowly Hannah shook her head, smile still fixed in place. Her words came again, lips unmoving. "No. Not a chance. I finally have my big chance with Michael Munroe. Do you really think I'm going to just give that up?"

Behind her, Sam felt Mike twitch at the mention of his name and she shoved behind her, trying to make him back up and signal to him to stay quiet. From the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the flicker of Beth and ignored it. Hannah had been—no, was—her best friend. She could do this.

She hoped she was right.

"Han, let us go. You don't want him."

"Oh Sam. Of course I do." Hannah's voice was syrupy-sweet. "I got a tattoo for him. I died for him. Isn't it fair that he should return the favor? I love him. The least—" In Sam's chest, Hannah's fingers shifted slightly and Sam bit back a whimper of pain. "—he can do is Love. Me. Back." Each word was punctuated by another stab of her freezing nails.

Sam heard Mike draw in a breath and waved the hand behind her wildly. Shut the fuck up, Mike. She prayed he could hear her thoughts or at least understand her signals. It would make it worse if he spoke. She could sense it. Hannah had always been emotional. She could turn on a dime, devolve into tears or rage or laughter.

Taking a long, slow breath, Sam kept her voice steady. "You don't love him."

"Yes—" Hannah hissed viciously, her smile in place. "Yes, I do. You know I do."

"No, Han, you don't. God, Hannah, why do you always do this?" Okay, perhaps that wasn't the best way to talk to the thing that quite literally held your life in her hands, but truth be told, Sam was sick of this. It was an old argument. Before Mike, it had been someone else, some now-forgotten guy who was in shop class with her. More than anything, though, Sam just wanted Hannah to stop smiling. The corners of her mouth were drawn wide and fixed in place. It was like something wearing a 'Cheerful Hannah' mask. Like the Psycho mask. Like all the masks the Washingtons seemed determined to wear.

Slowly, oh so slowly, Hannah tipped her head to the side. "What?" Her disembodied voice was low, dangerous.

Sam was hyper-aware of Hannah's fingers in her, of the stupidity of continuing on in this way, but she just couldn't help it. Hannah had been her best friend, but they had fought often and aggressively. She may not have been able to reason with Hannah as a monster, but this argument was so familiar, she couldn't help herself. Maybe she could reason with Hannah as a shade. At least now, she really was Hannah. Right?

"This. This ridiculous melodrama. Shit. Hannah, you work yourself up to this ridiculous level of insane devotion and convince yourself that it's more than what it really is… a crush." Sam swallowed another noise of pain as Hannah's nails twisted. "Just a crush that you let eat you up."

"A… crush?"

Mike started to speak: "Hannah, I—"

Hannah's hand moved forward a full inch and Sam shrieked. It was like driving splinters of ice straight into her chest. "Mike, shut up." She kept her head up, barely, and drew in a ragged breath. "Yeah, Han. A goddamn crush."

"I love—"

"You don't even know him, Hannah. You have this picture of him and you in your head but it's not… You barely ever talked to him. What, two parties and a few quick conversations and it's true love? That's not what love is. That's infatuation."

The shade hissed angrily, her smile fading. "How dare you say that to me?"

"I should have said it to you a long time ago. God, Hannah. No one is worth you dying. No one. No one is worth you letting go of all the things that make you so amazing. You're kind and thoughtful and passionate and you care about people. Why would you throw that away to become this… whatever you are now?"

"Anger." Beth's voice was soft and sad. "Anger is powerful. It's easier to, well, be. I tried to be angry, but I couldn't hold it. Not enough rage, I suppose."

"And Hannah has more than enough," Mike said quietly. He sounded exhausted. "Fuck."

The fact that Mike could hear Beth was significant, but there was a more pressing concern right in front of her. Sam took a slow breath. It was just like running outside at night or keeping on through a crap. You just kept breathing, kept running, kept going. She could do this. She had to do this. You fought with Hannah until she broke, and then there were tears and apologies and calm.

Hannah's blank eyes shifted, looking over Sam's shoulder to Mike. "You told me you wanted me. Signed with three Xs. An X is a kiss, Mike. I'm sure you know that."

"I didn't—"

"Mike, shut up. Hannah, he didn't write that. Jess did."

Her smile returned, full force. "Doesn't matter. I love him. He should love me back. Give me a kiss, Mike. The three of them that were promised." With another hiss, she darted forward, passing through Sam entirely.

Sam's lungs stopped. It was how she imagined dying, how she'd imagined Beth's last moments in the dark and snow. Spots swam in front of her eyes and she staggered, falling hard to her knees. The ground bit into her palms and she struggled to get her breath back. Every inch of her was freezing. It was worse than when she'd waded through the lake, worse than being naked and wet in the basement, worse than anything she'd dreamed. She had the vague notion that she should be numb from a cold this severe, but it just translated into pain, visceral and sharp.

Distantly she heard Mike shout and an echoing pounding that might have been footsteps or simply her own blood racing to her head. She raised her head with difficulty, trying to blink away the darkness that seemed to be closing in from all sides. She couldn't die. Not yet. She wasn't done yet.

A blur that dimly resembled a figure in white ran at another, similar blur. Both fell to the floor. Then there were hands on her shoulders, cupping her face, lifting her, supporting her. "Sam? Sam, look at me. Sam, are you okay?"

"Mike?" The name felt fuzzy in her mouth. Her tongue felt too big. Had her tongue always been so big? The pain was fading, and with it any sense of her feet, her hands. That was nice. "Better than pain," she mumbled. She would just close her eyes for a moment. Just for a second. She couldn't die, but maybe she could rest for a while.

"No!" Someone was shouting; someone else was screaming. Someone was singing? That didn't make sense. Sam giggled soundlessly, her head resting against something warm. "Sam, open your eyes. Sam, look at me." A hand smacked lightly against her cheek a few times and she forced her eyes open again, annoyed.

"Lemme sleep."

"No. Sam, wake up. Stay up. Shit." Mike's face came slowly into focus. He rubbed her chest vigorously with one hand, supporting her with the other. She leaned into his shoulder. "Are you cold? What's wrong? You feel okay."

"You're all red. You always get all red when you're nervous." She laughed again, sleepily. "S'kinda cute."

He grunted. "As much as I'd love to hear about you finding me cute, I think we should talk about that a different time. Can you move at all?" His palm rested against her neck, her cheek, her forehead, assessing her temperature.

"I'm so tired."

"I know, Sam. But I need you to move. Please." His voice quavered on the word. "Please, do it for me. Just move your hand. Or your foot. Or your… anything. Please."

She rolled her eyes, her whole head rolling slightly with them. "Mother Munroe. Such a nag." With effort, she shifted one hand up to flop onto her stomach.

Mike let out a long, relieved breath. "That's good Sam. Just, um, keep talking."

Someone had been here. She'd been talking to… "Hannah?" A jolt of memory shot through her and she tried to get up, but her muscles failed her and Mike held her still against him. "Hannah! Did she—what did she do?"

"She tried to kiss me."

"Not funny."

He sighed. "Yeah, no shit. I think she was trying to kill me too, if that's any consolation. Not the first time I've had that reaction from a woman. No, but yeah. Beth, like, tackled her or something. They disappeared. I'm not sure where they are. It doesn't matter. How are you feeling?"

Moving was still hard. She felt sluggish, like the blood in her veins was thick and slow. "Cold," she said finally. "Tired." Sleep sounded divine. She would just close her eyes for a moment. If Hannah was gone, the urgency of the situation was diminished. She could just drift off, take a quick nap, and…

"No!" An arm slid under her knees, the other still behind her back, and she was being lifted off the ground. Sam shook her head. She hated being picked up. It made her feel awkward and helpless. Before she could protest, Mike shushed her. "No. Nope. You're not going to go to sleep, Sam. And you're not going to give me that speech about carrying you. Not again. Not after what I had to deal with during the winter concert when we had to dance. You can just deal with it. I'm going to… um… we're going to the hot springs." He sounded more confident the moment he settled on a plan. Mike ways always like that. He didn't like not having a plan.

Sam giggled, turning her head into his chest again. He seemed to radiate warmth, even through the layers of clothing. It was the opposite of Hannah and her fingers. "Avoid submersion into hot water when suffering from severe hypothermia," she mumbled, reciting one of the sections she'd memorized from the survival guide. "…can lead to a dramatic fall in blood pressure and result in cardiac arrest or death."

He shuddered as he continued to walk. She felt, rather than saw, him shake his head fiercely. "You don't have hypothermia. You don't feel cold to me. It'll be good. Warm water. I'll help you. I'm going to help you." The last sentence was barely a whisper, but Sam could hear it anyway.

-o-

Melinda's eyes snapped open. She sat up, pushing herself up heavily. The room was dark and her eyes were struggling to adjust. Something was off. She looked over at the floor to where the kids were still sleeping.

Or rather, to where most of the kids were sleeping. She counted them quickly. Four. Only four, where before there had been six. Although it was hard to tell with them all curled up and covered with whatever blankets and coats were available, she was having trouble identifying Mike's lanky body or Sam's blonde hair. "Oh for fuck's sake," she muttered. These kids were incorrigible. She pushing herself up further. Pain flared in her ribs and her stomach and she flinched, falling back again slightly. She grabbed her phone and pulled up Hank's number again. The light of it was almost unbearably bright and she quickly shielded the screen with her blanket, trying not to disturb the kids who were still asleep.

The call rang twice before something thumped on the end of the couch. She glanced up and dropped the phone, the sound of its impact muffled by blankets.

"Hi Mom," Josh said quietly, his face in profile as he looked out an uncovered window towards the snow. "It's been a while."