Scream: A Drake & Josh Story

by CHOOSELIFE

In a small town with little to do but hang out at the local theater and watch horror movies, Drake finds himself the target of a psychopath's twisted game. As those around him are brutally murdered, he realizes that the police can't keep him or his loved ones safe. Can he unmask the killer before it's too late?

4. The Invitation

"You sure you're up for this?" Josh asked for the hundredth time that morning. It was getting a little annoying honestly.

"Yes, Josh. If I didn't feel like going to school, I would tell you." He couldn't keep the irritation from his voice. Usually, Drake would use any excuse he could to get out of going to school, but he felt safer there. At least this way, he'll be surrounded by other people. His dad wouldn't dare approach him with so many witnesses.

"How's your leg?"

"I'm fine."

He turned towards the window, watching as the other cars drove past. No wonder his stepbrother likes to leave for school so early. He drives slow as hell. Drake wasn't really in a rush, but he wasn't in the mood to discuss what had happened last night, so he was ready for this car ride to be over.

"That's good," Josh said.

He was quiet then, although he clearly had more to say. Drake didn't push because it was most likely something he didn't want to think about right now. He could tell that there had been a silent question on Josh's lips all morning — that his brother had been trying to figure out how to casually throw it into whatever conversation they were having, but Josh could never quite get the pieces to fit together.

"Have you been taking you medicine?" He tried to say this with nonchalance, but it came out awkward.

"Wow, very subtle transition."

Josh rolled his eyes. "Well, have you?"

There was a silence then, which was enough of an answer on its own, but Drake finally broke it, these words providing even more confirmation. "That's not your fucking business."

"I just don't understand why you don't wanna take them."

"Because I don't need them," his stepbrother said.

"The doctor prescribed them for a reason—"

"Look at me," Drake said, turning to him. "Do I look like I need to be on antipsychotics?"

Josh could only give him a quick glance, for he had to keep his eyes on the road, but the expression he saw wasn't what he expected, and it didn't match the voice. Drake spoke with frustration, but his features were softer, as if searching for validation. He didn't seem so sure about his choice to stop the pills.

"They said the antipsychotic was just to aid the antidepressant so that it works better."

This wasn't the response Drake was hoping for. "I'm not fucking depressed." He straightened in his seat.

"Drake..."

"Look, I don't wanna talk about this, okay?"

To make sure Josh got this message, he turned on the radio. Usually, he would scan until he found a song he liked, but he froze when he heard the words that were coming through the speakers.

"—Winston Parker, who escaped from San Quentin State Prison on Saturday. Parker has been awaiting trial after the vicious slaying of ex-wife Audrey Nichols. He was last seen in the Novato area, likely heading north. Police are asking for any information—"

With the sudden silence, Drake looked over at his stepbrother, who had turned off the radio. He didn't protest. It was probably for the best. "Why are they saying his last known location is Novato? He literally fucking attacked me."

"They just don't have enough proof to confidently say that publicly yet."

"What further proof do they need? It was him. You believe me, right?"

He hesitated, trying to figure out how to best say his answer. "I believe that you believe—"

Drake shook his head and turned toward the window again, then moodily rested his temple on his fist.

"Like, yes, he is the most likely suspect," Josh quickly continued, not wanting to upset the boy by disagreeing. "I'm just saying that I don't think we should rule anyone out. We all need to stay on guard. I mean, sure, yeah, it's probably him, but just in case it's not, I think it's important to keep an open mind." He was making sense, and even though Drake was ninety-nine percent sure his father was behind the mask, he knew Josh was right. He shouldn't allow himself to get tunnel vision.

"I guess," said Drake, "but if it wasn't him last night..." He thought back to the news report. Winston was heading north from Novato. That wasn't too far from here. "...then he's definitely on his way now."

The car was silent for a moment, so Josh reached over and rubbed his brother's shoulder. "It'll be okay," he assured.

"Do you think he's mad at Megan, too?" Drake asked. "I would hate if something happened to her because of what I did."

"Everything's gonna be fine. He's not gonna do anything in front of a school full of kids. Besides, you both have cops nearby at all times, so he couldn't get to either of you even if he wanted to."

Perhaps he already had. Josh's words reminded him of the strange phone call he'd received the other morning. At first, he thought it was a prank from Trevor, or maybe Vance was just being weird. Thinking back on it, he wondered if it was something more.

"Hey, did you call me yesterday?"

"What do you mean? When?"

"Like, before the school alarm went off. Because I noticed you were already up, and I got this weird phone call."

"Weird how?" He furrowed his brows questioningly. If it wasn't Josh, then the likelihood that Drake's father made that call was even greater.

"I don't know. Just weird. He said some quote from Saw, so I thought it might've just been you fucking with me since we started that Saw marathon not too long ago."

"That's the second time the killer has quoted a horror movie," Josh noted.

"Fucking lame."

"I mean, but he has taste."

Drake gazed at him with a lack of amusement.

"Sorry."

"I guess that rules out Trevor because his horror taste is total fucking dog shit."

"So much swearing today," Josh scolded, "but agreed."

Trevor was into a lot of horror-comedy films, and despite the stepbrothers' jokes. they weren't all bad. For example, he did like Shaun of the Dead, and all his friends got a good laugh while smoking a bowl and watching Zombeavers. However, he did show up to movie night once with The Purge series in hand, and he lost all credibility with that one. Ja'won had a geekier taste. He liked found footage and creature features, and his all-time favorite was Killer Klowns from Outer Space. He was also into the paranormal and anything Korean or Japanese. Meanwhile, Stephen worshipped Jordan Peele, and his choices were mostly modern, like X and Malignant. Josh was into a mixture of things. His favorite was the gory Evil Dead series, but he also liked Argento's artsy Suspiria and the very twisted Funny Games U.S. (He liked the original as well, but Michael Pitt stole the show in the remake). Drake, too, had a taste for disturbing and fucked up things. Ultimately, he loved Green Room the most, but he liked the unsettling feelings he was left with when finishing films like Eden Lake, Barbarian, and The Perfection.

Speaking of favorite horror movies — if it was any kind of tell at all — Drake's father was the one who got him into the horror genre in the first place. The man was obsessed with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and when taking his kids trick-or-treating on Halloween, he even dressed up as Leatherface three years in a row. This was, of course, before the drinking.

"Hey?" When Josh reached over and touched his shoulder, Drake flinched, then looked at him. "Did you hear me talking to you?"

He hadn't. In fact, it was just now that he realized they were parked in front of the school. Drake had been fiddling with his necklace, which he'd received from Officer Reznick. He was told that, if he ever felt as though he was in danger, all he had to do was press the little button dangling from his neck, and they would come running. He tucked the necklace into his shirt collar so his fellow classmates wouldn't see it and ask him about it.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Josh asked yet again, doubtful.

Drake picked his bag up out of the floor, his voice quiet because he wasn't sure how confidently he could speak. "I'll be fine." He opened the door and got out of the car.

"I'm gonna walk with you to your classes," Josh said, clumsily getting out in a rush.

It was a frivolous thing to do. Josh was the most non-athletic guy he knew, and Drake wasn't sure what his younger brother thought he could do against a crazed psychopath.

"My hero," Drake said sarcastically, then he felt bad about it because Josh had been so kind to him by letting him sleep in his bed last night. In that sense, he had technically saved him, even if it was just from the nightmares within his own mind.

Too prideful to apologize and admit that maybe he did need Josh by his side, Drake turned his head until he spotted the police cruiser. Both of its occupants were now standing next to their parked vehicle after having followed the teens to school. Their eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, but it was obvious that both pairs were fixated on him. Oh yeah, speaking of which...

Drake tried the handle, but couldn't get in. "Can you unlock the car? I forgot my glasses."

Josh made his way around the car, then held them up.

"Thanks." Drake took them and put them on. Walter had already called ahead to his teachers to let them know that he would be wearing sunglasses until the petechiae and other red splotch cleared up. He was too embarrassed to let others see it. In fact, he didn't want them to know an attempt had been made on his life at all. He was rather embarrassed about it.

"Yo, Drake." It was Ja'won, and he was crossing the parking lot with Trevor and Stephen. "We heard the killer came for you last night. Are you okay?"

The young man was stunned for a moment. "Who told you that?"

"Vance. He said he saw all the police cars and ambulances outside your house."

Of course. Drake should have known. Vance knew every possible thing there was to know about him, it seemed. He was always trying to weasel his way into Drake's circle, and he was getting close, for Ja'won seemed to like him, and he sometimes invited him along to their hangouts.

Another thing about Vance is that he can't keep his mouth shut, which meant that, if he knew about the attack last night, then—

"Everyone's fucking talking about it," Trevor said.

Great, Drake thought, and he could feel Josh watching him, searching for any sign on his face that it had been a mistake to bring his brother to school today.

"Tell us what happened," Stephen pushed.

"I don't think he wants to talk about it," Josh said.

"I don't think anyone asked you," Stephen snapped back, snobbish.

"Hey," Drake said, stepping in, "don't be a dick."

It was no secret that Josh and his friends didn't get along. Ja'won wasn't really a problem because he was always kind to everyone, but Stephen and Trevor had never quite grown out of their I'm-a-popular-asshole phase. Perhaps Drake hadn't either — not completely — but having Josh for a stepbrother made him more sensitive and aware of how his actions affected those around him. Stephen and Trevor, on the other hand, still liked to tease the outcasts for sport.

"Well, we're just trying to have a conversation with our friend," Stephen said. "It's none of his fucking business."

"It's not really your business either," Josh chimed in, although in a softer, less confident voice.

"Oh, fuck you, you fucking—"

"Guys!" Drake interceded. "Stop!"

"Seriously, it's too early in the morning for this," said Ja'won. "Plus, those guys over there are watching us like we're suspects or something."

Stephen followed his gaze with a scowl. "Who the fuck are they?"

"They're supposed to..." Drake was already humiliated about the reaction he knew they would have. "They're following me, just to keep an eye out for things."

"You got a babysitter?!" his friend said with a laugh. "What are you, eight? You got a bedtime now, too, or what?"

Josh could see his brother's embarrassment. He wished he'd walk away and leave these jerks behind, but instead, he sought their acceptance by giving them the information they wanted.

"They think the killer might come for me again, so they just wanna be sure I'm safe."

"So it's true?" Trevor said, his red eyes wide. He must've forgotten to use eye drops after waking and baking.

"Yes."

"You saw him?"

"Well, he was wearing some costume thing."

"What did he say?"

Drake wasn't willing to give up this information. "Nothing. He just came at me."

"What did you do?" Stephen asked with awe.

"Obviously, I fucking ran."

There was an eye roll. "Pussy."

"The fuck was I supposed to do? The guy had a knife as big as my head."

"No shit?"

"How'd you get away?" Ja'won asked with concern.

"I punched him," Drake said, earning some credit, "and while he was down, I locked myself in a room and called the cops."

Josh noticed that his stepbrother had left out quite a few details, but he didn't really blame him when he had friends like these to please. Drake was basking in their hype now, but he hadn't felt so badass last night.

"That's pretty dope," Stephen said, giving him a congratulatory handshake. "Although I would've beat his ass, but, you know." He shrugged with a cocky smirk.

"Bullshit," said Trevor.

"I'd have to. Cops take their time when a black man calls. We have to protect ourselves," he said, then he and Ja'won shared a look — just a short bonding glance that they both understood as men of color. Stephen continued. "You should get you a gun. That's what you need."

"For sure," Trevor agreed.

"Guys, come on. That is so dangerous," Ja'won chimed in. "He's already on edge. Someone could get hurt."

"Uh, yeah, the killer," Stephen said. "That's kinda the point." He and Trevor shared a chuckle.

Drake could tell that Josh didn't approve of where this conversation was heading, and he worried that he would tell his dad since they had such a close relationship. He needed to make it clear that he was uninterested without sounding like a total loser.

"I think I'll stick to my white privilege giving me two bodyguards instead."

Stephen laughed, then put his arm across his shoulder as the crew headed towards the school, Josh being their tail now.

---

By fifth period, Drake was a mixture of tired, bored, and on edge. Unsurprisingly, he was exhausted due to a lack of sleep. He was anxious, but the dullness of each class would seep into his mind — sometimes helping, sometimes not. At times, he would be so unamused that he'd zone out completely, and in those moments, it was almost as if he ceased to be alive. At other times, his boredom led him to worry about when the killer would strike next and whether or not he would survive and how much pain he would feel.

Luckily, his lack of stimulation currently had him spaced out rather than suffering through a panic attack. What wasn't so lucky was that Mrs. Hayfer had just called on him to answer a math problem from last night's homework. To assume he'd even had time to do his homework in between learning about his vengeful father's prison escape and nearly being violently murdered was absolutely wild, but Drake knew she liked to pick on him. She hated him probably just as much as Mindy did. Fifth period was his least favorite class because he had to deal with both Mindy and Mrs. Hayfer, and he had to do it alone, for none of his friends were in this class.

"I didn't get that one," Drake said.

"Oh, so you are awake under those sunglasses," she said.

For once in his life, he didn't have a snarky response. He wondered if she would force him to remove the glasses despite the call Walter had made this morning. He wouldn't put it past her. She always did everything she could to humiliate him in front of the class. Usually, he would give her just as hard of a time as she gave him, but today, he didn't want to provoke her.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm paying attention."

There were chuckles throughout the classroom, although he hadn't said anything funny. He was being serious, but because he was normally so flippant with his responses, everyone thought he was being sarcastic.

"Are you?"

"I am."

More laughter. Drake could see his teacher's brows scrunch with anger. Would she do it? Would she command him to remove the sunglasses? He refused. If she made that demand, he would get up and walk right out of the classroom. He wasn't taking these glasses off and letting everyone see how close he'd come to dying — how weak he was.

"Alright, what about the one before? What's the answer for that one?"

It wasn't until now that Drake realized he didn't even have his homework out. After a quick glance around the classroom, he found that he was the only one with an empty desk. He quickly leaned over and started digging into his bag, swearing as he did so, but he caught himself before going any further than the "sh," and it was so quiet that he doubted many people heard it anyway. Once he found the paper, he looked down at the unsolved equations, clueless as to which problem they were even on.

Mindy sat one seat up and to the right of him. She seemed to understand his dilemma and gave him the answer, although it came out smug and without kindness. "Number six."

Drake looked at the problem. There was a little three, and then a radical sign, which had x squared plus four underneath it. That was followed by a minus two, and whatever it was equaled zero. He didn't even have the slightest inkling about how to begin such a problem. "Um..."

"Um?" Mrs. Hayfer repeated, and the tone of voice she used made Drake want to crawl under a rock. As a teacher, she couldn't be openly smug like Mindy, and she couldn't berate her students when they were being stupid, but she didn't have to do that. She had a special way of making them — well, really just Drake — feel like a dumbass. There was something malicious in her voice that only he could pick up on. Everyone else thought she was lightheartedly teasing him, and they all laughed.

"I didn't get that one either," he said quietly. He met her eyes, hoping that she would be willing to call it a truce for today, but he realized she wouldn't be able to see his silent plead through his sunglasses.

"But you said you were listening, right? Just give the class a quick summary of what I just explained."

He felt his face getting hot as he sat there, silent and dumbfounded. He opened his mouth to speak, but he didn't even know where to start. "Uh...so..." Drake stared down at his paper to see the problem again, but everything looked like foreign symbols to him. "So..."

"Yes?" It was Mindy antagonizing him this time. "So?"

The snickers that followed reminded him why he hated school so much. It wasn't meant to be rude. The students — except for one cunt in particular — enjoyed his presence because he made the class more fun. They thought they were laughing with him rather than at him, but when his intelligence (or lack thereof) became the butt of the joke, he couldn't help but feel inferior. He hated this fucking class.

"Alright, why don't you come on up to the board, Drake?" Mrs. Hayfer turned away and picked up the eraser, then wiped the whiteboard clean so that the student had plenty of space to work out the equation. After she finished, she turned to see that the boy was still seated at his desk. "Come on," she said, suddenly too nice, as if speaking to a puppy.

As Drake got to his feet, she wrote the math problem on the board, then she turned and waited for him, holding out the red marker. He walked slowly, hoping for some type of savior. He was so ashamed that he wanted to die in this moment. In fact, he hoped his father would burst through the door and shoot him in the head right there. That would save him from humiliating himself even further in front of his peers.

When he reached the front of the classroom, he accepted the marker, then looked at the daunting equation. He slowly pulled the cap off the marker, as if it would buy him some time.

"What's first?" Mrs. Hayfer asked him.

He was stumped. He didn't have the slightest idea. Was the problem not already solved? It says it equals zero. He decided he didn't want to continue her game by making guesses until he got it right because that would only make him look dumber, so he shrugged, defeated.

"No?"

Drake shook his lowered head.

"Class?"

A few inharmonious voices spoke up. Mindy, of course, was the loudest. "Isolate the radical."

"Right. Isolate the radical. How do you do that, Drake?"

He gave the problem a quick once-over as if the answer would somehow suddenly come to him, then he shrugged again.

"You don't know?"

Again, he shook his head.

"You know, with the grade you have now, you really can't afford to be daydreaming in my class, can you?"

He didn't answer, but she was okay with that. She was sure he'd learned his lesson, but just to be sure...

"Mindy," she said, "can you come up and show Drake how to solve this radical equation?"

Mindy was out of her seat fast, as if she'd been hoping for the chance to do this very thing. She took the marker out of the boy's hand, then started writing and talking mathematical gibberish. He would never understand what Josh saw in her. She was a pompous, bitchy, judgmental, stuck-up, ass-kissing—

"Drake, don't you think you should be looking at the board while she explains it to you?"

He lifted his head and looked at her. Cunt, by the way. That's what she was, in case he hadn't made that clear enough before.

Drake was relieved when the problem was solved and he was finally able to return to his seat. He rested his head in his right hand, hoping it would somewhat cover him so that his face was hidden from his peers. He stayed that way until the lunch bell rang. The second the shrill alarm sounded, everyone was on their feet and grabbing their things. Some people were already out the door within seconds.

Mrs. Hayfer spoke over the rustling, throwing out as much information as she could to the students that were still present. "Alright, class. We'll continue this tomorrow. Put your homework in a stack on the corner of my desk. Make sure you study. Hint hint. And don't forget to complete tonight's homework. That means you, Drake."

The boy glanced around to see if anyone was listening and laughing at him, but he saw no one. He started towards the door.

The teacher was still going. "Also, please grab your trash and discard it on the way out. I do not want to see anymore ants in this classroom. Enjoy your lunch. Not you, Drake."

He froze, sighed, then turned.

"Come here." She waved him over, then she walked around her desk and sat in her swiveling chair. Mrs. Hayfer opened a drawer, then pulled out a small pad and scribbled.

Drake approached her, noticing that he was now the only student left. The numbers were no longer on his side. His father could come through that door, and nothing could stop him from murdering his son with his bare hands. He bounced nervously on his toes, then impatiently shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Finally, she tore the paper from its pad and held it out to him without looking up from her desk.

He took it, then read what it said. "Detention?!"

She picked up the stack of homework that the students had turned in on the way out the door and started grading them. "Yep."

"For what?"

"Not completing the homework, not paying attention, holding the class back from learning. Pick one."

He shook his head angrily and sighed with frustration at how ridiculous she was being. He started to drop it and accept the punishment, but there was more to his protest than his disagreement with the charges. "I can't."

This wasn't new for either of them, so she expected the usual whiny complaints about unfairness, but he spoke with a firm, authoritative voice. She wasn't sure how she felt about this, so she lifted her head, wearing her best I-mean-business expression.

"It's not an option."

"I'm not going." To prove his point, he crumpled up the slip and threw it down on her desk.

"You will go, or else there will be major consequences. Didn't you just have a violent altercation with a teacher a couple months ago?" she said. "And didn't they tell you that you're one incident away from being transferred to an alternative school?"

It was true, and he hated the idea of not seeing his friends and stepbrother throughout the day. And uniforms?! Absolutely the fuck not!

"Okay, fine," he gave in, "but can't we, like, postpone it until next week or something?"

"Can't do that," she said matter-of-factly.

"Are you fucki—" He stopped himself, although late, and she lifted her eyebrows as if wanting him to finish his sentence so that she could have him sent to another school and out of her hair forever. He took a calming breath. "Mrs. Hayfer, it is really not a good time."

"That's not my problem, Drake."

"Not your problem?!" he snapped. "You're my fucking teacher, and there is a psychopath targeting me! Do you not give a shit that I was almost killed last night?!" When he said this, he unzipped the top of his jacket and snatched off his sunglasses, showing her the bruises and scratches — the burst blood cells and his weakness.

If she was stunned, she didn't show it. Perhaps the hatred (reciprocated, by the way) she had for him didn't allow her to feel sympathy. She probably didn't care if he died. In fact, she was probably hoping for it.

However, when she spoke, her voice wasn't as hard as her stoic expression. "I wasn't made aware that this occurred," she said somewhat shakily.

"Oh..." His brows furrowed. "Oh, I thought... I thought my stepdad called..."

"He did. The teachers weren't told about the specifics — just to allow you to wear sunglasses. We all thought it was some eye thing."

"Oh..." was all he could say, and then he heard movement behind him. He whipped his head around to see whether or not that familiar white mask was behind him, but it was just another student. "Shit," Drake cursed quietly, scrambling to put his sunglasses back on.

"Hey, Mrs. Hayfer. Got a sec?" It was a girl from his grade, but he hadn't shared any classes with her since freshman year P.E.

"Sure, come on in. You can go, Drake." She tossed the crumpled detention slip into the trash, letting him know that she wasn't going to force him to stay after school trapped in a room with very few other people while a killer was on the loose.

He felt a little bad about his explosion and thought he should apologize, but he couldn't get himself to swallow his pride, so he just said, "Thanks," and then he left the classroom.

In the cafeteria, his friend group sat at their normal table in the back. Stephen was there, as well as Trevor, and it looked like Ja'won had brought along a guest: Vance. Great.

Drake opted out of grabbing a meal. He could hardly eat when his nerves were so shot. When Stephen saw him enter the cafeteria, he called out to him and waved, greeting his friend with endearment.

"Yo!" When the boy sat down, Stephen impatiently asked, "What took you so long?"

He didn't feel like going over what had happened with Mrs. Hayfer, so he told them, "I had to stop by my locker. What's up?"

Vance answered with the latest gossip. He was always happiest when he had information to share. "The police talked to Huntley earlier. They called him out of class to interrogate him."

"They're interviewing everyone, though," Drake said with a shrug. He clearly didn't like Vance, and it was obvious in the way he was always brushing the kid off. He didn't want to give his stalker the satisfaction of knowing he was interested in anything he learned while eavesdropping and pestering people. He didn't want Vance to feel like he was of value to him. Okay, that sounds harsh, but when will he take the hint?!

"Did they ask you guys if you like to hunt?" Trevor asked.

Drake didn't hear the replies because he got stuck on the word hunt, and a shiver made its way up his spine. He remembered the night before, when the killer pushed him to fight harder. That sick fuck enjoyed the chase. He got off on giving his victims the false hope that they had a chance. This reminded Drake that he was still on the chopping block and that he wasn't in the clear yet. Fear started to work its way through him, and he had to physically shake his head to rid his mind of his impending doom, erasing it as if on an Etch-A-Sketch. If only it were that easy.

Stephen squinted his eyes curiously when he saw this, but he didn't bring it up because he knew Drake wouldn't want to talk about it in present company. Ja'won, on the other hand, didn't consider this and wanted to check in on his friend's wellbeing immediately.

"You alright?" he asked with concern.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

Everyone was staring at him, and he wanted to hide. The sunglasses weren't enough. He felt overwhelmed by the stress, constant check-ups, the loudness of the cafeteria and even the lighting. His senses were in overdrive, and it caused his temple to ache. "I'm sure."

"I got an edible in my locker if you want it," Trevor said, but Drake shook his head. "You sure? It'll help mellow you out a little."

Just then, there was a pair of hands on Drake's shoulders, and a loud "Boo!" in his ears. The teen flinched, then whipped around to see his bandmate Jaysen behind him. No one was laughing at his entrance, so his smile fell.

"Jesus Chri — I'm sorry. I forgot."

He'd forgotten that Drake was going through a tough time with his mother's anniversary so close, but he didn't go into detail. No one ever did, even at home. It was a subject everyone tiptoed around in order to spare Drake's feelings and perhaps their own as well, but Drake hated pretending she never existed.

"Sorry," Jaysen said again. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. Christ, I don't need you guys checking up on me every five fucking seconds."

The new addition looked around the group questioningly, wondering exactly what he had walked in on. "My bad, dude. I was just coming over to ask what happened last night."

"What?" Drake said. He really didn't want to have to go into it again. Weren't there enough rumors to quench everyone's thirst for the latest tea? Fuck Vance for telling everyone in the first place.

"Band practice?" he said.

"Oh. Oh shit, I forgot," Drake said.

Vance chimed in with, "Well, you kinda had a good excuse, what with everything that happened last night and all."

"Could you just fuck off?!"

He'd said it loud enough that students sitting at neighboring tables looked their way. Despite the fact that Vance was sticking up for him, Drake was annoyed by his presence. Also, if Jaysen didn't already know what had happened, there was no reason to tell him. He didn't want his terrifying night shared with the whole school. As more people find out about last night and about his father's escape, the likelihood that someone will put the pieces together rises, and soon, everyone will know him as the son of the man who butchered their beloved classmates.

Vance wasn't going to leave until he saw Stephen's chilling glare. "Jesus, you don't have to be such a prick all the time," he mumbled as he picked up his tray and walked away.

Ja'won looked at his friends with frustration and disgust. "Would it kill you to be a little fucking nicer to people?" He, too, grabbed his lunch, then he stood and hurried to catch up with Vance.

Drake sighed with guilt and rubbed his now pounding head as the walls closed in around him. The cafeteria got louder, and the lights got even brighter. He swore under his breath.

"What was he talking about?" Jaysen asked, taking Ja'won's empty seat. "What happened last night?"

The pain had moved through his head like a tsunami swallowing him up. He felt a high-pitched ringing in his ears, and it sounded similar to a heart monitor flatlining. "I don't know," he said, hoping to move past the topic. He could hardly hear himself think.

"You don't know?" Jaysen said with furrowed brows, unsatisfied with the lack of an explanation of last night's happenings.

"Nothing!" When his bandmate put a friendly had on his shoulder, he shoved it away aggressively.

"Drake—" Stephen started.

At the same time, Jaysen said, "Are you okay?"

"Holy shit, just leave me the fuck alone!" he exclaimed as he shot to his feet. He fled the table, stalking away, and as he exited the cafeteria, he noticed Mindy watching with squinted eyes and pointed brows. He wanted to give her the middle finger, but he remembered Josh's words at breakfast yesterday morning and decided not to stir the pot further. He really was trying; she was just so fucking insufferable.

Drake found solace in the boys' bathroom. At this time of day, his peers would use the ones next to the cafeteria, but he went down the electives hall because most students chose these classes and would rather take a bathroom break during a more boring class like math or history.

The young man approached one of the many sinks and turned it on, then he removed his sunglasses. He cupped some of the chilly water in his hands and leaned forwards to splash his face. He wished that it would've woken him from this nightmare.

At that moment, his phone dinged, breaking the silence and causing him to flinch. He felt embarrassed by this even though no one had been here to witness it. Drake took a paper towel and dabbed his face and hands dry, then pulled out his cell phone. It was a text from one of his friends.

Stephen Wheaton: havin a small party by the creek. U in? There will be alcohol

He wasn't in the mood to party, and the fact that Stephen had thought otherwise baffled him. It was as if his friends were brushing off his near-death experience. Josh had always said his friends were total jerks. Maybe he was right.

Just then, Drake heard a noise coming from one of the stalls, which spooked him because he'd thought he was alone. He turned and looked in the direction the noise had come from, but there was no sign of anyone. He was still and listened for a good ten seconds or so, but there was no further noise.

Drake exhaled, and it was then that he realized he'd been holding his breath. As he turned off the faucet, he noticed that his hand was shaking. He curled his fingers into a ball and clutched it with his other hand, hoping to hold it still. He lifted his eyes to the mirror and met his horrid reflection. All he saw was weakness. How could he ever win against a psychopathic murderer? He couldn't. The killer already proved it to him once. When he was ready for Drake, he'd get him. All Drake could do was wait.

Suddenly, Drake spun around and hurried into the stall behind him, shoving the door open so hard that it made a loud noise. He barely made it before vomit spewed from his lips. He couldn't remember when he had last eaten, so there wasn't much after the initial eruption. Instead, he stood there gagging and coughing and spitting a long string of saliva that hung from his mouth.

When he finally managed to collect himself, he cleaned the brown splatters off the seat with toilet paper, then flushed. He made his way back to the sink and turned the water on again, then scooped some into his mouth and gargled it. Afterwards, he straightened and faced himself again. His eyes were glistening with tears he held back. Drake picked up his sunglasses and put them on. Then came a whisper.

He whipped around, his heart now in his stomach. He wasn't sure what the whisper was, but he thought he might've heard his name. He saw no sign that anyone else was present, but that didn't mean someone wasn't hiding behind one of these closed doors.

"H..." he started, both of his hands shaking now. His throat was dry. He tried to swallow but couldn't. "Hello?" Drake leaned over to get a better look underneath the stall doors. No one was there.

"Draaake..."

Okay, this time he was sure it had said his name. He took a step back, but that's as far as his feet could go. He wanted to run, but he would have to pass the stall the voice was coming from in order to exit, and he felt like he wouldn't be fast enough. Therefore, his feet were like lead.

"Drake!" It was still a whisper, but it was sharp and piercing, like the knife he was almost killed with last night.

The teen flinched. He was so terrified that his knees trembled. He felt weak and had to grab on to the sink to keep himself on his feet. He regretted leaving the safety of the cafeteria. Someone was trying to kill him. It was stupid to go somewhere alone. No one would mess with him if he were in a group. He needed bodyguards.

It wasn't until then that he recalled the cops who were assigned to follow him to school and then home and then back again. Officer Reznick had given him that necklace this morning — the one with the emergency button. He scrambled to pull it out of his shirt, cursing himself for wanting to keep it hidden away rather than in easy reach. Once it was in his hand, he pressed it frantically, as if his repeated clicking would make help arrive faster.

There was another sound then — a quiet one: the toilet lid shifting — and then he saw a familiar black boot firmly plant itself on the floor. He couldn't see any higher than that because he was standing straight, but he was sure a jagged black cloak hung above it.

Giving up on the button, Drake pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He quickly tapped his thumbs on the glass to enter his password, but his hands were still wet. "Shit!" he whispered to himself, and he jabbed at the numbers harder. "Please!" Drake quickly wiped his hand off on the side of his jeans, then he tried again. It worked, only this time, his quivering finger hit the wrong number. "Fuck!"

A second boot followed, and Drake's fingers froze.

"No," he whimpered almost inaudibly, and he finally remembered how to control the muscles in his legs again. He stepped back, then jumped when he heard a loud metal sound: the stall door unlocking.

His mind went back to last night: the gloved hands squeezing his throat, the lack of oxygen in his lungs, the heavy weight on top of him. Drake's panicked breathing grew in volume, but the harder he breathed, the less air he got.

Just then, the shrill sound of the school bell filled his ears. At the same time, the door swung open, and both of these scared him so badly that he tripped over his own feet. He landed on his bottom hard, and his phone slid across the floor during his collision with the ground. He watched with fear as it moved further and further away from him. He should've called someone when he'd had the chance.

His head turned back towards the occupied stall when he heard guffawing, and standing before him was none other than Huntley.

"Aw, man!" He was doubled over with laughter. "Oh, that was great! You were so scared! You should've seen your face!"

"Huntley?!" Drake was immediately filled with anger — not because he was led to believe he was about to die, but rather because Huntley had made him feel dumb. He felt weak, and his weakness was now exposed. "You fucking asshole!" The young man pushed himself off the floor and went to pick up his phone.

"They said you got attacked last night. I don't believe it. There's no way you would've survived with you being this much of a pussy. You were so close to pissing your pants!"

Drake looked down and checked to make sure everything was still dry, and this made his bully howl even louder. Now he felt even more humiliated about last night, when he actually had been so terrified that he'd lost control of his bladder. No one else knew this other than Walter, but Drake knew, and he felt ashamed.

"You fucking deserve that shit, too. You know the cops questioned me this morning?" His enjoyment quickly turned to rage.

Drake put his phone away, then started towards the exit. He moved briskly, hoping to get past Huntley, and luckily, he did. However, he wasn't off the hook just yet, for his fellow peer followed him out.

"Don't you walk away from me!"

The hallways were bustling with students now, and Drake felt much safer in the crowd. Despite his desperation for peace and quiet, perhaps he needed—

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" Huntley yelled as he grabbed the boy's arm and slung him against the lockers. "You fucking told them I threatened you."

The teen was scared of the much stronger football player, but he tried to hide it as he pushed him away. Huntley shoved him into the lockers again as if it was nothing. The bang gained the attention of passersby, and a nosy crowd started to form around them.

"I fucking warned you, Parker," the jock spat inches from his face.

Once again, Drake pushed him away, mustering enough strength to actually get away from the lockers this time. He tried to carry on, but the hood of his jacket was snatched. There was a bit of a struggle, but Drake soon found himself on the linoleum without his jacket. His sunglasses, too, were knocked away, and now he sat there, his wounds on display for everyone to see. The entire hallway went silent, and even Huntley stared at him — at the red and purple in his eyes, the fingertip-sized bruises around his neck. Drake was humiliated. Before, it had just been a rumor. Without proof, people couldn't know for sure if what had been said about him was true, but now... Now everyone knew. Now they all saw just how weak and pathetic he was.

At that moment, just when he felt like crying, someone held his glasses out to him. He looked over and saw Vance resting on one knee next to him.

"Come on," the boy said quietly, and he grabbed Drake's jacket and bag as well.

More students arrived from a connecting hallway, and within that group was Stephen. The second he caught sight of his best friend on the ground, he went over and shoved Huntley so hard that he fell into the crowd. The football player got up, and they were in each other's faces while Vance helped Drake onto his feet.

"Hey, someone's coming! Someone's coming!" came a random voice from the crowd.

"Don't fucking touch him again," Stephen was saying. "You know I will kick your fucking ass, just like I did in seventh grade." Although Huntley was larger, Stephen was taller. Still, he was smart enough to avoid conflict when the cops were on the way, so he turned and joined his friend.

"Yeah, walk away," Huntley taunted. "That's what I thought. Fucking bitch ass."

"Eat shit!"

The two bodyguards finally caught up. They pierced their way through the crowd and looked on questioningly.

"This is your response time?" Stephen said. "You guys are gonna have to step it up. He could've had all his limbs amputated before you even showed up. Jesus." He put his arm across his friend's shoulders. "Come on, Drake." As they walked, he said, "You — get the fuck outta here."

"But I was just helping," said Vance.

"And now you're just being annoying." He rudely took his friend's jacket and bag from him. "Scram."

Drake felt a little bad about not at least thanking Vance, but he didn't want to come off any weaker than he already did, especially not in front of Stephen. Besides, Vance was super annoying anyway, and Drake didn't feel like hanging out with him.

"Bruh, so are you coming to this party tonight or what?"

Drake took his jacket and slipped it on, then was given his backpack. "I don't think so."

"Oh, come on! Don't be a loser."

"I just...I just have a lot going on right now."

"Right, and so what you need is to get drunk. Picture it. A secluded gathering by the creek. A ton of beer. Hot girls in bikinis dripping wet. Just tell them about how you escaped a crazed killer last night. They'll think it's super hot, and with that psycho on the loose, it'll be such a thrill for them to go off into the woods with you and let you fuck them like your lives depended on it. Come on. When's the last time you got laid?"

Never, actually, but he didn't dare admit that out loud.

"Look, I'll see, alright?" Drake added, "But I'm not making any promises."

---

The rest of the school day dragged on, and Drake was constantly looking over his shoulder. He didn't think anyone would be brave enough to make an attempt on his life in such a public place, but Huntley's insensitive prank had left Drake with terrible anxiety for the rest of the day. After being exposed by his bully, word of last night's attack spread like a ravenous disease. If they didn't know about it before, then they definitely knew now. He had several people approach him and ask to see the bruises on his neck and what he looked like without sunglasses. Luckily, he had a friend in every class thereafter, and they spoke up for him. Even Josh stepped out of his comfort zone to stick up for him. He was sure entire classroom discussions about him were happening because he could tell that even the teachers now knew, and they stared just as much as the students.

Today was a total shit-show, and he was glad to finally be home. He was in the sanctity of his room, chilling on the couch, with the tv on. He wasn't watching anything in particular. In fact, he was so zoned out that he didn't even know what was playing. It was some horror film Josh had rented, and since he didn't feel like getting up to change the tv over to regular channels after he had sat down, he pressed play on the DVD player remote and relaxed against the cushions.

He was exhausted and wanted to sleep, but he was too scared to let his guard down. He'd only gotten about four hours of sleep, and had it not been for Josh, he probably wouldn't have gotten any at all.

Drake nearly jumped to his feet when he heard something hit the floor to his left, but when he looked, he found that it was only his little sister.

"Oops," she said to herself, then she bent down and grabbed the unfamiliar glass object.

"What the hell are you doing?" Drake stood and stormed toward her, then snatched his weed pipe out of her hand.

"Looking for some music," she said innocently. "What's that?"

Drake held it behind his back. "None of your business. Get out of my room."

"I wanted to borrow your record player to listen to while I do my homework."

"Use your phone."

"I don't wanna hear all the ads," Megan argued. "Is it something bad?" she asked with raised brows, still focused on the thing her brother was hiding from her.

"Last time I let you borrow a record, you gave it back scratched, and it was my favorite Beatles album, which Mom gave me."

"I'll be more careful this time," she said.

"No. Get out of my room."

Megan frowned, then crossed her arms. Her eyebrows were pointed now, and she glared at him as she devised a plan. "Is that for drugs?"

"No! Just get out."

She paused for a moment, then took off running. "Dad! Drake has—"

His legs were longer, so he was able to grab her before she got far. He clasped his hand over her mouth and held her back. "Okay, okay! Jesus! Shut up! You can borrow my record player. Just don't say anything, okay?" he pleaded. "Ew!" Drake pulled his hand away when she licked it, then wiped it off on his jeans. "Fucking gross."

"And I want twenty dollars," she bargained.

"Megan, I don't have—"

She darted toward his door, faster now, and called out to her stepfather again. She was ready this time, and she managed to escape his reach.

"Fine!" he said. "You win!"

"As always." She smirked proudly and watched as he grabbed his wallet off the coffee table, then her eyes moved to the tv when she heard moaning. There was a young brunette woman with a top-hat and overalls bouncing on top of a scarecrow. Megan's face scrunched up with disgust. "What are you watching?"

"Nothing." Drake quickly grabbed the remote and turned the movie off, feeling embarrassed, then he walked over to her with the money in hand.

Megan took it smugly, then accepted the record player when he got it for her.

"Be super careful with it."

"I will."

He picked a vinyl out for her. He may not know much about her interests or hobbies, but Drake definitely knew her music taste. In a way, music was his love language.

"Fleetwood Mac?" she said skeptically as she read the words on the cover. "They look old."

"What did you expect? Sorry I don't have Taylor Swift on vinyl." He could tell she was displeased, so he said, "Just give it a shot. They inspired some of Harry Styles' music. I think you'll like them."

"Hmm," she said thoughtfully, then she gave in, although still unsure. "Okay."

"And don't bring it back scratched."

She rolled her eyes and headed toward the door with her bribery prizes, but before she could leave, her stepfather entered.

"What is all this yelling about?"

"Drake's hiding something," Megan said, ruining the short but sweet moment they'd just shared between brother and sister. "I think it's for drugs."

"Megan!" the boy exclaimed with disbelief, his feelings of betrayal displayed on his face. This is why he never did anything nice for her; she was always trying to ruin his life.

As if her words held no weight, she left the room with a clear conscience, and Walter's stern eyes landed on Drake.

"It's not—" the teen started, but he was interrupted.

"Give it here," he said in a no-nonsense tone as he held out his large hand.

Drake hesitated, deciding whether or not it was best to lie. He went with the truth, for there were other things hidden amongst his belongings that he'd rather keep private. If he lied and Walter searched his room, he would be in way more trouble than he would be for just the pipe. He huffed, then went over to the man and placed it in his hand.

There was silence. Perhaps he had been expecting cigarettes like last time. This was so much worse. Drake knew he was in for an earful. He hated when Walter yelled at him. He could be frightening when he wanted to be.

"Do you have drugs?" Walter said with all seriousness.

"No—"

"Drake," he warned. "Do not lie to me."

"I swear," he said, and it was the truth...and then he proceeded to lie. "It's not even mine. I was just keeping it for—"

Walter held up a hand, silencing him. The boy knew better than to speak. It was a wonder that his stepdad wasn't yelling already, and he didn't want to get him started.

"Don't let me catch you with anything like this again. No drugs, and no drug paraphernalia. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir." Drake hung his head, showing submission.

Josh walked in now, carrying the homework he'd completed at the dining table. He looked at the scene in front of him curiously, then went about his business as not to be rude. Walter said nothing more, and he left the room with the weed pipe in his hand. When he was far enough down the hall that he couldn't hear, Josh spoke.

"What was that about?"

"Megan," Drake replied angrily, and he needed no further explanation.

He felt a rage inside of him trying its hardest to take control of his body. He wanted to burst right into his little sister's room and take his things back, but he knew she would've already hidden the money by now, and she'd only yell for Walter again and claim he'd done something to her. It was unusual for Walter to be so calm about catching Drake with a weed pipe, and the teen didn't want to make him any madder. He was off the hook, so he had to accept his losses and remember this moment next time he thought about doing something nice for his evil sibling. He plopped down on the couch with defeat.

"You really should've done your homework with me," Josh said. "Mindy told me about Mrs. Hayfer calling you out in front of the class."

"Fuck her," Drake said quietly, annoyed that Mindy tattled on him.

"Huh?" After Josh finished putting his things away, he sat down next to his stepbrother.

Drake didn't repeat it because he truly was trying to be better about insulting someone Josh liked. Swallowing the words was like forcing a pinecone down his throat.

"What's up with you?" Josh asked.

"Nothing."

"Come on. You've been acting so strange, which is totally understandable because you've got a lot of things going on. I just don't want you to shut me out."

Drake was quiet for a moment, weighing his words out in his head as if to see if there was any truth to them, then he guiltily said, "I'm not trying to."

"I know. Things are just really crazy and scary right now. This family needs to stick together."

"I know." He decided to let him in. "Huntley said he was questioned again, and he accused me of telling the cops that he threatened me, which I didn't do."

"Don't you think the police should know, though, if the boy whose ex-girlfriend is dead is making threats? Especially when the next person the killer came after was the guy she left him for?"

"Huntley's a prick," said Drake, "but he's not a killer."

Josh sighed. "Drake, I don't want you to be mad at me. I had good intentions." When his brother looked his way, he admitted, "I'm the one who told the police about Huntley. When you decided to leave school early yesterday, I realized that it probably wasn't a good idea, so I went after you. I saw Huntley pin you against the wall. I probably should've talked to you first. I just... I'm worried about you. I just want this thing to be over." His brother didn't say anything when he was finished speaking, so he asked, "Are you mad?"

"No." He sighed. "I just feel like it was unnecessary stress added, but you did what you thought was right. I know you were just looking out for me, but Huntley's just some dickhead jock. My dad's the killer."

"Can you really be so sure, though?" he asked cautiously.

"Right after he breaks out of prison, my ex ends up dead, and I get attacked. He has it out for me. He hates me."

"Maybe," Josh said, "but how would he even know that you were dating Linny? That doesn't really make sense."

"I don't know. I just... It's him. When he was choking me, there was this...rage. I...I don't know how to describe it." As the memories replayed in his mind, he lowered his eyes shamefully. He didn't want his brother to see the redness in his eyes because he felt like Josh would be able to somehow see what had happened to him and how powerless he was. "I thought I was gonna die," he said quietly. "I still feel like I will. He'll find a way to get to me." He wanted to tell Josh how scared he was, but he wasn't able to confess those words.

"Come here." Josh pulled him into a hug, and although Drake rolled his eyes, he didn't pull away. "They're gonna find him. He can't stay hidden forever. This will all be over soon, and he's not gonna get you. I would never let that happen, and neither would Dad."

Drake didn't really see what either one of them could do against a knife-wielding maniac, but still, these words gave him comfort. He was glad that his brother got him to open up. He didn't even have to say how scared he was because Josh already knew.

At that moment, music began blaring from Josh's phone. Still jumpy, Drake jolted, but quickly calmed down once he realized what it was. He pulled away and watched as his brother checked the screen, then silenced the device.

"It's Mindy. We're supposed to meet up later for a date." After a moment, he said, "You should come."

"With you and Mindy? On your date?"

"Well, you can bring someone. It can be a double-date."

Drake shook his head. "I'll just ruin it. Mindy hates me." It wasn't until this moment that he started to realize just how many people hated him: his dad, Huntley, Mindy, Mrs. Hayfer. It never really bothered him before, but now it kind of hurt his feelings.

"She doesn't hate you. She even asked about you after she heard about what happened last night."

"That's okay, Josh. I don't really feel much like going out."

To make light of the situation, he said, "If you're struggling to find a plus one, I can help you out."

Drake couldn't help but grin at this, which made Josh smile. Drake never had problems finding a date. He was hot, he was popular and he was a musician. Girls loved him. "Nah, I'm good. I'll probably just stay home and play guitar or something. I forgot I was supposed to go to band practice yesterday. Just with everything going on..." He trailed off. He wasn't really in the mood to practice or watch a movie or anything else. He wanted to sleep, but he doubted he'd be able to until his stepbrother got back home. "What time will you be back tonight?" He tried to ask this nonchalantly, but Josh knew him better.

"I'm not sure. I thought we might do dinner and a movie, so I figured it wouldn't be until curfew." Curfew wasn't until ten. Josh saw the teen's disappointment and added, "But if that's too late—"

"No, it's okay. I was just wondering. I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Drake offered a smile to assure him of these words, but it didn't reach his heavy, exhausted eyes. In fact, he didn't look well. Besides the subconjunctival hemorrhage, petechiae and bruises, his skin was pale and had lost some of its elasticity. Bags were forming underneath his eyes, which were darkening in the bottom corners.

"When's the last time you've eaten?" Josh asked.

"Um, I don't..." His initial response was to brush off the question, for he was too tired to give it much thought, but then he gave it a shot. It wasn't dinner time yet, and he opted out of grabbing a tray at lunch. He skipped breakfast this morning because his stomach had been churning from lack of sleep. Dinner last night had been impossible with his swollen throat, and he'd ditched school before lunch yesterday so that he could try to come to terms with the news of his father's escape. That left yesterday's breakfast: a half-eaten bowl of cereal that he'd quickly abandoned as soon as Walter had entered the kitchen. Despite finding his answer, he said, "I don't remember."

"Maybe you should eat something."

"I know."

"I could make something for you."

"It's okay. I'll find something."

Josh gave him a quick pat on the shoulder before Drake stood, then the boy lazily stepped over his brother's feet and headed for the door. He could definitely use some energy. How was he supposed to outrun a psychopathic murderer if he could hardly lift his foot? Does it really matter anyway? The killer had already made it apparent that he was bigger, stronger and faster than he was — energy or not.

On his way down the hall, he heard muffled talking coming from inside Walter's bedroom. He stopped at the door, which was cracked open ever so slightly. With a peek inside, he saw his stepfather seated on the bed with his back to him, and behind him was a view of a blood-soaked torso and slightly curled, unmoving fingers. Drake turned and pressed his back against the wall, trying hard to erase those images — the memory of his butchered mother laying there. He knew not to look in there. He hadn't this whole year. When he'd stepped out of that room after a coroner had arrived to take the lifeless body away, he'd never returned. Sometimes he wondered how Walter could still lay in that bed, but then he remembered that he'd stopped the man from going in. Walter never saw Audrey like Drake had seen her. He didn't see the blood on the carpet and ceiling and walls.

He shook his head. Best not to let himself get stuck in his thoughts. Drake focused on the words being spoken on the other side of the door. Walter was on the phone having his daily chat with his mother.

"He's been out of control lately. I mean, smoking cigarettes? Punching a teacher? And now pot?!"

Drake leaned closer when he realized he was the topic of conversation.

"I was so angry, and I know I have a hard time controlling my temper once I get started, so I did nothing. I didn't yell at him or punish him or anything. What am I supposed to say to this kid? We hardly spoke when Audrey was alive, and now? You should see how fast he clears a room when I come in, and I don't blame him. All I ever do is get on to him, but that's because all he is is trouble. He's practically a stranger to me, and I'm supposed to raise him? I'm supposed to barge in and suddenly start telling him what not to do? How do you punish a kid whose mother is dead? I mean, the anniversary is only a few days away, for God's sake. Plus, he was almost killed. And I'm supposed to what? Alienate him even more by grounding him?" There was a long pause, which meant that his mom was speaking, then he sighed and said, "Yeah, I know. I just...I miss when things were much simpler — when it was just me and Josh. I didn't sign up for this. Taking care of one kid is hard enough, but then suddenly, overnight, I have three that I have to deal with all on my own, and one of them is such a terror. What am I supposed to do with that?" Walter said. "This is not what I wanted for my life."

Drake's brows furrowed with sadness, and he pulled his ear away from the door. He never realized his stepfather had such negative feelings about him. He knew he wasn't a poster child like Megan or Josh, but he didn't realize how much of an inconvenience he was. It hurt to know that not only did his real father despise him, but his fake one didn't want him around either. Ever since the death of his mom, he had felt like a guest in his own home, and now he felt completely unwelcome.

The teen looked down at his pocket when he felt it buzz, then he pulled out his cell phone.

Stephen Wheaton: yo u comin or what

At least someone still wanted him around.

---

Josh made his way downstairs with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He went into the kitchen, then to the window to his right, which gave a view into the living room, where his dad sat on the couch. The teen picked up his keys, which was kept here because he shared a car with Drake.

"I didn't know you were still here," Walter said when he noticed him.

"Yeah, I'm about to head out now."

"You and Drake aren't riding together?"

His eyebrows lowered with confusion. "Hmm?"

"He said you two were gonna double-date. He already left. I thought you went with him." Walter studied his son. "Unless he lied to me..."

"No, no. We are double-dating. He went ahead to her house. She lives just down the street, and I'm gonna pick them up. Yeah." Nervous, he turned and started for the exit before he was questioned further. "Night, Dad." Once he was outside, he got into the car, buckled up, then used hands-free dialing to call his step-brother. As the ringing came through the radio, he backed out of the driveway.

Drake answered on the fourth ring. "Hey."

"Where are you?"

"I'm with some friends."

"You told Dad you're going out with me and Mindy."

"Uh...yeah..."

Josh could hear music, then a voice — which most likely belonged to Stephen — mention a second beer. "Are you at a party?"

The young man didn't answer, as if he was trying to decide if he should be honest or lie.

"Are you drinking?!" Josh asked.

"Look, just text me before you head home, and I'll meet you back at the house."

"I can't believe you're doing this. There's a murderer after you, and you're out partying?! And drinking?!"

"It's just a couple beers. I'm not gonna get drunk. I just wanna relax and have fun and forget about all the shit that's going on right now." He sighed. "Are you gonna tell Walter?"

Josh paused and mulled it over. "Two beers. That's it. And no drugs. And I wanna know where you are. When you're ready to leave, you call me. Don't you dare get in the car with anyone else, no matter how sober they try to tell you they are."

"Fine," Drake agreed, then he shared the location of the get-together.

"Please don't make me regret this. Make smart decisions."

"Got it. WWJD: What would Josh do?"

"Smart aleck."

"Look, I've gotta go," Drake said. "I'll call you later. I promise."

Josh started to say his goodbye, but his stepbrother had already hung up. He shook his head with frustration. A bunch of wasted teens having a party in the woods while a serial killer was on the loose was one of the most asinine things he had ever heard of. Typical Drake.

---

Drake looked out at the sun setting on the water. Pretty soon, it would be dark, and that thought had him questioning whether coming out here was such a good idea after all. Did it matter? Nowhere felt safe. Not anymore.

"Drake, come on!" Stephen rushed.

His friends sat around a fire-pit. It was the usual crew — Stephen, Trevor and Ja'won — but there were also some others. Drake had partied with them before, although that was pretty much the extent of their relationships. They were mostly Stephen's friends and basketball teammates: Deiondre, Kadeem and Jared, except he liked to be called J-rod and would ignore you if you forgot. J-rod's parents owned several acres of land around the lake, so there was a porta-potty nearby, and his dad supplied the alcohol.

There were girls, too, and they outnumbered the guys. Drake didn't know most of their names. There was always a rotating door of new ones, but he did share classes with a couple.

Drake made his way back to the group and took his previous seat on the end of a thick log. Next to him was a tall girl with short, blonde hair that reached down to her neck. She had on a white tank top that was tucked into her light pink pleated skirt, which ended just above the knees, and she wore a beige knitted sweater on top, with one sleeve hanging low to reveal her shoulder. She'd introduced herself as Celeste earlier. When the boy sat down, she gave him a glossy smile. He gave his best attempt at one under the circumstances, but he was pretty sure his friends could tell he didn't really want to be here.

"You're missing the game, dude," Stephen said to him.

"Which Final Destination?" Trevor was asking with a strained voice as he held in the smoke, then he exhaled. "Like, are we talking brunette Clear or blonde Clear?"

"Does it matter?" one of the girls asked.

"I like blondes," he said flirtatiously as he passed the blunt off to the next in line, Celeste. He was totally unaware that her interest lied elsewhere.

Celeste accepted the blunt and took a puff, eyeing Drake as if for approval, but she couldn't tell if he was looking at her because he was wearing his sunglasses. He noticed this, but only because he was trying to see past her to Trevor. She was trying her best to entice him, but the smoke made her throat scratchy, and she erupted into a fit of coughs. The cloud, as well as some droplets of saliva, hit his cheek, but he waited until he could be discreet about wiping his face as not to embarrass her in front of the others.

"Looks like we've spotted ourselves a weed virgin here," J-rod said, and there were some chuckles throughout the group.

He was one to talk. The last time Drake partied with him, which was last weekend, had been J-rod's first smoke sesh. That's how you could tell the newbies apart from the OG's. Newbies always tried their hardest to act cool and not cough. Seasoned tokers don't pay much attention. It's a lot of smoke, and it's entering your lungs. You're going to cough sometimes.

"Alright, alright. I got it," Trevor said. "Fuck Laurie Strode, obviously. Marry Nancy Thompson. Kill Clear Rivers."

Celeste still had a tickle in her throat, but she didn't want to draw anymore attention to herself. She was glad that the others were all busy discussing their picks...everyone except...

"You okay?" Drake noticed that her face was red, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the coughing or because she was so embarrassed.

"Yeah." She coughed again, but managed to suppress the rest for the time being. Maybe she can hold these in for a few minutes, then systematically let her coughs out over a period of time.

Drake reached next to him and picked up his bottle, then held it out. "Want some water?"

She took it. No one else here had water. Is Drake not drinking? she wondered, but she definitely saw him with a beer earlier. As if reading her mind, he reached for something on the other side of him, and when she could see his hand again, she saw an aluminum can. He tilted it over his lips, and Celeste mirrored him, but with the water. Drake finished his off, then tossed it into a pile with the others.

"Yo, pass the blunt already," Deiondre said impatiently.

Celeste held it out to Drake, who took it, and her heartbeat quickened as his hand brushed against hers. He didn't take a hit. Instead, he leaned forwards and passed it to Stephen, who sat across from him. "You're not smoking?" she heard him ask, and Drake shook his head. The cute boy stood and walked over to the cooler, then pulled out another beer.

"Can you grab one for me?" Celeste asked quickly, nervously. She watched as he got one for her. Her eyes moved down his body, and when she realized this, she looked away quickly. After checking to see if anyone had noticed, it seemed that they were all still preoccupied talking about hot horror icons. She looked at Drake again, checking him out, noting how good he looked in those jeans, wondering what he'd look like without them...and then he turned around.

She swiftly put her eyes on the ground, but not before he caught her. He laughed to himself, and a genuine grin appeared on his face. He sat down next to her, then passed her a beer.

"Thanks," she said without making eye contact.

"I got one," Ja'won said. "Jennifer from Jennifer's Body..."

A few of the boys made noises of agreement, some oohing while others howled or whistled.

"Akasha from Queen of the Damned..."

Similar noises followed. This was definitely going to be a tough choice for most of them.

Or Asami from Audition?"

Drake listened to the conversation for a while and even internally debated his own answers, but two beers wasn't enough to get him out of his head and into the discussion. For a moment, he couldn't remember why he'd even shown up here, but then it came back to him. It's because he wasn't wanted at home. He tried to kill that thought process before it started by chugging the rest of his drink, drowning the sad thoughts with alcohol.

---

With a few more steps forward, the hot blonde was up against the wooden door, and Drake's lips were on hers. He'd never been here before. Well, not here here. He'd been to parties at the creek before, but the shed was for...more x-rated things. He'd never been inside, and he honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to go now. The hot blonde had all but dragged him here, and with that last pull of his collar, he found himself right on the doorstep.

Part of him wanted to go inside and fuck her. All his friends knew when she whispered in his ear, grabbed his hand, and led him away from the group where they were heading. He was kind of embarrassed to still be a virgin, and now was as good a time as any to rid himself of that title. It wasn't all peer pressure. He did want to have sex. He is a hormonal sixteen-year-old teenager after all. He has needs. Did he really want to lose it this way, though? He honestly didn't even know this girl's name. Maybe she'd told him, but he couldn't remember. Is it too late to ask? Was it stupid to want his first time to be with someone who at least meant a little bit to him?

He didn't have much time to mull over that, for she placed her hand on the knob and opened the door. The inside of the shack was small and mostly empty other than a mattress on the floor and some stringed lights for the aesthetic. A quilt was hung over the single window, and there were empty beer bottles and cups scattered about. He also spotted a used condom in the corner.

Before he knew what was happening, he found himself laying on the mattress with the blonde on top of him. Maybe he was a little drunk. Not long after the fuck-marry-kill conversation had ended, someone pulled out a bottle of vodka. He'd only had two beers, though, so technically, he hadn't lied, and Josh never said anything about shots. He had a few of those — four or five...something like that — which is why it was so hard for him to decide if this is what he wanted or not.

She wasn't giving him much time either. Already, she was working on his belt as they made out. Perhaps he was a little too eager because he was already aroused without her help.

"Yso ot," came out of her mouth as she unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans.

His eyes opened and he turned his head as she came for his lips again. The girl hungrily settled for his neck instead.

"What?" he said, listening hard this time.

"...so hot..." Her hand was inside his boxers now, and he couldn't help but cringe with pleasure. "Yerdik's sah ard..."

"Um..." He sighed. "Okay," he said, putting an end to this. He held himself up on one elbow and pulled her hand out of his pants despite how much he wanted her to continue. "How much have you had to drink?" Drake questioned.

"Ummno." She shrugged. "Jsevn."

"Seven?!" He wasn't sure if she was talking about shots or beers, but either way, that was a lot.

"Maybeight." The hot blonde tried to kiss him again, but he gripped her biceps and pushed her away as he sat up.

"This isn't a good idea."

"Cmoooon." She reached toward his groin again, but he pushed her hand away.

"Stop," he said, then he stood and fastened his jeans and belt, his breathing heavy after having gotten so worked up. Afterwards, he pulled out his cell phone.

"Wuhya doowin?"

"I'm calling my brother," he answered as he wiped the layer of sweat from his forehead.

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna go home. He was right. I probably shouldn't have come here anyway." Honestly, despite the alcohol, he really wasn't having fun, and he hadn't had fun all night. It was kind of depressing him instead. "We'll give you a ride home."

"Mnah."

"Hey," Drake said into the phone when he heard Josh's voice. "Are you busy?" Pause. "Yeah." Another pause. "Thanks. Alright, see you when you get here."

"Nofun," she said with judgement.

She tried to stand, but everything was spinning. Drake just managed to catch her before she fell, and then she hunched over and threw up on him.

He stood there frozen for a moment, and nausea stirred within him as well. He could feel the extra weight on the bottom of his shirt and a wetness that seeped through the cloth, suctioning it to his stomach. Most of the puke was on his jeans, and it was still dripping down his legs.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry," she said in a childlike voice, and when Drake lifted his head back up to look at her, he noticed that she had tears in her eyes.

"It's okay," he said, her immediate change in attitude making him feel as though he needed to comfort her rather than the other way around. "It's okay," he repeated, although more to himself this time so that he remained calm and didn't allow himself to focus on the sickness he was feeling.

"OhmyGod, I'mso embarrassed." She hid her eyes behind her hands. "Tha'sso embarrassing."

He was pretty sure she was weeping now, but he couldn't tell for sure because she kept her face hidden. "Hey, it's okay. I've been there before. It happens to the best of us." It was true that he had drank until he puked his fair share of times, but he couldn't truthfully say he had gone so far as to projectile vomit all over someone else. He didn't elaborate on this, though. "It's fine. I'll just run down to the river really quick and clean up. It's all good."

She was still beating herself up about it, drunkenly apologizing to him over and over again. Drake led her over to the mattress and convinced her to rest for a bit while he went to the river. She definitely needed to sober up, but he didn't have any food with him. It probably wouldn't have done much good anyway.

Once she was settled, he exited the shack and closed the door behind him. It was extremely dark out, so he pulled out his cell phone and turned on the flashlight. It hardly helped, but he couldn't stand being in the soiled clothes any longer, so he began retracing his steps.

---

Most everyone had gone home already. Stephen only knew of four others: Trevor, Drake, Celeste and Jasmine. Trevor had mentioned something earlier about skinny dipping, so Stephen was sure that's where he and Jasmine had disappeared to. Meanwhile, the other two seemed to be heading toward the infamous Smash Shack, leaving the popular football star abnormally alone. He'd gotten unlucky. The girl he'd chatted up all night was a goody-two-shoes and didn't want to miss curfew.

Stephen stumbled over a branch and caught himself on a nearby tree, then drunkenly chuckled to himself. He didn't really have a destination in mind, so when he found himself at the Smash Shack, he was a little confused, but not quite disappointed. He could see Drake and Celeste making out in front of the door. 'Atta boy, Stephen thought to himself, and the two soon disappeared inside.

He was curious, bored and wasted, so he had thoughts of eavesdropping a little and maybe trying to sneak a peek through the window, but his churning stomach stopped him. Alcohol always did this to him. He needed to get to the bathroom pronto.

Before he could move in that direction, however, his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looked at the screen to see who it was, then blinked when he couldn't make out the words with his blurry vision. He answered anyway, then started walking back the way he'd come.

"'Lo," he greeted.

"Hello, Stephen."

The boy waited for further dialogue, but got none. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's Stephen. Who're you?" He made his way past the little fire-pit, then followed the tree-line until he came to a blue porta-potty.

"I'm the last person you're gonna talk to before you die."

Despite the chilling voice and ominous message, Stephen couldn't help but laugh. "Tha's good. Tha'sreally good, Trevor."

"This isn't Trevor." The distorted voice on the other end said.

Stephen pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. He blinked until he could see the words: UNKNOWN CALLER. "Ja'won? Izzat you?"

"No. I'm not Ja'won either."

Stephen laughed. "C'mon, dude. I knowis you, Trevor." He pulled the door open, then cringed as the putrid smell wafted into his nose. He breathed through his mouth and stepped inside, then locked the door behind him.

"Guess again."

"Look, I don't have time for this shit. I have other shit to deal with right now, alright?" He ended the call, then slid down his sweatpants and underwear and sat on the toilet to do his business.

He caught himself yawning and mulled over whether or not it was time to go home. It was late, and all the alcohol was gone, so there wasn't much for him to do. However, Trevor was his ride, and although he'd been unlucky with the ladies, he didn't want to get in between Trevor's thing. Perhaps he could lay by the fire and rest his eyes until his friend was finished trying to score.

His phone rang again, the loudness of the ringtone echoing piercingly off the plastic porta-potty walls. He answered. "Yeah?"

"Why'd you hang up on me?" It was that same rugged voice as before.

"Prolly 'cause I didn't wanna talk to ya."

"Well, that's not nice."

"Who said I'm nice, hm?" he replied drunkenly.

"I just wanna talk."

"Try calling a phone sex line then, asshole." Again, he hung up, but he wasn't left alone for long. "Oh my fucking—" Stephen put the phone to his ear again. "Stop calling me!"

"Scary night, isn't it? Out here in the woods?"

Stephen's brows furrowed. This had to be Trevor, right? Who else would know where he is and would be stupid enough to pull something like this?

"All alone..." the chilling voice taunted slowly.

"Fuck you."

"Tell me, are you being so grumpy because you're the only one left not getting laid?"

"Go fuck yourself, Trevor."

"I already told you. I'm not Trevor," the man said, then there was a short chuckle. "No, he's currently getting blown by the lake. Does that make you jealous?"

"Okay, I'll bite. Who are you?"

"The question isn't 'who' am I?, but 'where' am I?"

"Yeah. Uh-huh. And where are you?"

"Right outside."

"You're outside?"

"I am," he replied threateningly.

"Okay, Trevor, you're fuckin' stupid—"

"How many times do I have to tell you?! This isn't Trevor!" the man snapped angrily.

"Look, this game was funanall, Trevor, but didja actually hava reason ta callme?"

There was silence on the other end, and Stephen could picture his drunk friend trying to hold it together so that he could keep up the joke. However, he heard nothing more from the phone. Instead, there was a shing! as a sharp knife pierced through the plastic wall, the point of the blade mere centimeters from his head.

Stephen jumped up. "Yo, whattha fuck, man?!"

The weapon disappeared and, moments later, sliced through the back wall. The teen tried the door, but it wouldn't budge. Again, the knife was gone, then it penetrated the plastic some more.

"Stop it!"

Stephen had been lucky enough to dodge each of these, but the next one managed to get him in the side. When the blade was yanked back out, he screamed. The boy looked down at the wound and saw blood pouring down the side of his pants and shirt. Because he had backed into the opposite wall, the final one went right through his shoulder. Stephen screeched with pain, then sat down on the toilet, but not for long. He wasn't completely sure if it was because he was drunk, if it was due to the amount of blood he was losing, or if it was actually happening, but he felt unsteady. He reached his arm out to catch himself, but he fell forwards when the porta-potty was tipped over. Everything that was inside the toilet splashed out, covering him from head to toe. As he pushed himself onto his hands and knees with disgust, he spotted his phone floating in the waste. Stephen snatched it up, but due to all the urine, it was broken.

"Shit!"

---

Josh's brows scrunched with confusion when Drake opened the back door and helped a girl inside. Wasted and nearly unconscious, she fell over in the seat. The young man pulled her back up so that he could buckle her in.

"Is she okay?" Josh asked with concern.

"She's fine." Drake went around to the passenger's side and got in the front seat.

"Bro, come on! You're soaked!"

"Mm, s'fine." He relaxed against the seat, allowing it to engulf him. He just now realized how achy his bones were after hours of sitting on the hard log with no back support. He closed his eyes for a moment, but felt as though he was being slung around on a roller coaster, so he opened them and tried to focus on keeping his vomit down.

"Is that blood?" Josh questioned, and Drake followed his gaze to a long slice between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Got cut ona branch or somethin' in the water," he mumbled. He used the bottom of his shirt to wipe it clean, but dried blood remained around the wound.

"Jesus, Drake! How much have you had to drink?" Josh shook his head as he put the car in drive and cautiously pulled onto the main road.

"We need to drop her off on the way home," the boy said, ignoring his question.

"Okay, and do you know where she lives?"

"Uhhh..."

Drake looked into the backseat. She was completely gone. There was no getting information out of her. He saw her purse in the seat and reached for it.

Josh glanced at him a couple times as he searched it. "Going through her purse?" he mumbled uncomfortably.

"Well!" he said as if he had no other options.

"She's not the same girl you were with at the Premier two days ago," Josh noticed.

"Yeah, so?" Finally, he found her wallet in one of the zippers. He checked her ID, then read the address out to his stepbrother.

"Do you even know her name?"

He didn't. At least, he couldn't remember. Drake looked at the license again, trying unsuccessfully to blink away his blurry vision. He squinted, just liked he'd done when reading the address. "Cel..." He tried his best to sound it out. "Celeste Habmyer."

"Jesus Christ, Drake."

"Look, I don't need your judgement, alright?" He put the ID back inside the wallet, then dropped it inside the purse and straightened in his seat. "What the fuck does it matter anyway? Just because you don't mess around, it doesn't mean I can't."

"Yeah, but you go through girl faster than a..." He stopped there to avoid hurting the drunk's feelings.

"A what?" Drake asked, but his stepbrother didn't answer. "Are you calling me a whore?"

"I didn't say that. Now you're putting words in my mouth."

"Yeah, but you were thinking it."

Josh was quiet for a moment, then he said, "Look, Drake, I'm not gonna argue with you right now. You're drunk."

Drake was still hurt by the words that Josh never said. "I think you're just jealous."

"Whatever."

"Yeah, whatever."

The rest of the car ride was silent other than the GPS in Josh's phone giving directions to Celeste's house. Both boys headed home and went right to bed, leaving behind the extinguished fire-pit, the Smash Shack and the overturned porta-potty, which was now fully submerged in the shallow part of the lake.

---

"Drake?"

The boy's eyes shot open, and the second he saw Walter, he looked at his digital clock. "Am I late?" he tiredly slurred. He immediately felt nauseous from the hangover.

"No, you're not late."

Drake saw that now. It was only four in the morning. He gave his stepfather a questioning gaze.

"Get up. I need to talk to you about something."

He immediately knew what this was about. Walter had found out about him going to that party and getting drunk. Great. Nothing like getting woken up in the middle of the night just to get yelled at only hours before school. Still, Drake got out of bed and followed the man over to the couch. Josh was awake, but he couldn't meet his brother's eyes. He must've tattled. Drake sat down with a frustrated sigh.

"Look, I know what you're gonna say—"

"No," Walter said. "You don't."

"I do, and I know I said I—"

"Drake," Josh interrupted, then he shook his head to let him know that he hadn't squealed on him. Now the young man was confused.

"I have some bad news."

He didn't know why, but his heart dropped into his stomach. Scenarios instantly filled his head, racing through like a roll of film as he ranked them based on their likelihood and how devastated he would feel. He wondered if they'd found his dad, or if his dad was dead. That wouldn't exactly be the worst news, though. After noticing that they were missing a person, he then considered the idea that something had happened to Megan. That would be the worst news he could possibly receive at this moment.

"Last night..." Walter paused, feeling unable to deliver the devastating information.

The suspense was killing him. What about last night? What had happened last night?! He never should've went out. He never should've gotten drunk.

Josh placed his hand on Drake's shoulder supportively. He continued where his father left off. "It's Stephen."