(A/N: I've added a song to this chapter. I'll let you know when to play it.)
Evelyn had only recently traveled to Sancova, Oregon. She'd seen the news. Read the papers. Bodies were being found, as if mauled to death. But Evelyn knew well that there was no "as if". Bodies were being mauled to death. The undead had apparently infected the small town of Sancova. And Evelyn wasted no time traveling from her home state of Missouri to investigate.
She had been Touched by Nature for twenty years. In her many years as a witch, she had slain countless dead walkers. And she had seen just as many people die.
Some of those people--her entire coven.
For the last several years, Evelyn had considered herself "retired". The loss of her coven mates was so overwhelming, it had a negative effect on her magical abilities. A disability she was still dealing with. But the news of the Grisly Murders sparked something deep within her. Something that seemed innate. Maybe it was because she was a witch. Or maybe it was because she was overwhelmed with guilt.
She had to do something.
Her taxi cab pulled up to Sancova Hills Hotel. She paid the driver, stepped out and made her way into the building and upstairs to her room.
Evelyn hadn't expected to run into a dead walker that day, in a bar of all places.
Had the undead grown so bold over the years? To hide amongst humans in broad daylight?
"Advoco," Evelyn whispered, and her suitcase flew out of the closet and onto the queen-sized bed.
"I should keep you on me from now on, Tully," she said as she opened the suitcase and pulled out a 1970s Beretta. "Could really have used you earlier today."
She reached to the bottom of the suitcase and pulled out ivory bullets. Bullets made of bone that she had created herself. Angel tears were an infallible method of slaying the undead without the assistance of magic. Evelyn couldn't take a chance with her wavering magical prowess, especially in crowded areas like the bar earlier.
"Now let's see where you ran off to," she said, pulling the undead man's shot glass out of her pocket.
* * *
Fawn had placed a sleeping bag on each side of her bed. Vivienne, Monica and Ashleigh were staying in her room while Nox and the Tillman twins decided to sleep in the living room. Jules stayed in Mama and Papa's room, with Papa taking a sleeping bag so that Jules could have his side of the bed. When Fawn had finished setting up the sleeping bags, she opened her door so that the three girls could enter. One by one the girls walked in, their eyes wandering Fawn's bedroom.
"It's not much," Fawn said, "but make yourselves at home."
Vivienne scanned the room, a frown on her face.
"This . . . is going to take some getting used to," she said.
"If you're finding that difficult, the door's right there," Fawn retorted, taking a pillow from her bed and tossing it onto one of the sleeping bags.
Vivienne glared at her.
"Believe me, if I had a choice, I wouldn't be here."
"Vivi, please don't start," Monica drowsily said. "It's too late for this."
"I could easily set your sleeping bag up in the backyard," Fawn said to Vivienne, as if Monica hadn't said anything. "Just say the word."
Vivienne smiled.
"Is that with or without magic?"
Fawn felt her stomach tighten as she grew warm with anger.
Or embarrassment.
Vivienne let out a mock gasp, her hand to her mouth.
"Oh, that's right. You're a witch who can't even perform common magic."
"Okay, Vivienne," said Ashleigh, "that's just not fair."
"You need to apologize!" Monica snapped. "Now!"
"I'm not about to apologize to her!" Vivienne said, staring at Fawn as if she was the most grotesque thing she'd ever seen in her life. "You're an embarrassment to witches everywhere. Golly, it's like you haven't even been Touched."
Both Monica and Asche sharply gasped.
"Oh my God, Vivienne!" Monica shrieked. "What is wrong with you?"
Vivienne turned to her cousin, a snide smirk on her face.
"You should be asking her that?" she said, pointing to Fawn. "I'm not the incompetent witch here." She turned back to Fawn. "I guess your room will do for now," she said, getting to her knees before her sleeping bag. "Make sure you turn the lights out before you fall asleep. Thank you." She climbed inside her sleeping bag and closed her eyes.
Monica turned to Fawn.
"I'm so, so sorry," she whispered.
"It's . . . it's fine," Fawn mumbled. "You can have the other sleeping bag. Ashleigh, you can share my bed with me."
"Thank you," Monica said as she climbed into her sleeping bag. "And again, I'm sorry."
Ashleigh made her way to the other side of Fawn's bed and pulled back the thick comforter.
"Thanks for sharing your bed with me," she said, pulling her silky, blonde hair into a ponytail. "I usually don't sleep with girls I meet on the first night."
Fawn shrugged but said nothing.
"Okaaay. Failed attempt at trying to lighten the mood," Ashleigh said to herself, nodding.
"I'm just tired," Fawn said, pulling back the comforter on her side of the bed.
Ashleigh leaned over the bed, checking to see if Vivienne was asleep. Once she was sure she whispered "Don't mind anything Vivienne said tonight. She's the definition of bitch."
"She didn't bother me," Fawn said as she climbed into bed.
Asche's gray eyes sparkled.
"You're tougher than you look," she said, climbing into bed as well. "You know, when I was little, I used to --"
"Ashleigh," Fawn said, smiling at the pretty blonde girl laying next to her. "Goodnight."
She nodded.
"Right. I know when to shut up. 'Night."
Fawn quickly turned out the lights before the first of several teardrops rolled down her cheek.
* * *
Charles walked into his favorite 24-hour coffee shop. The smell of the freshly-ground coffee alone was usually enough to raise Charles' vitality after a long shift. But that effect had apparently worn off some time after the Grisly Murders. Perhaps it was the severe lack of sleep. Perhaps it was all the mangled corpses. What ever the reason, Charles shambled into the coffee shop, nearly collapsing before even reaching the register counter.
"Sheriff, are you alright?" asked the coffee shop employee behind the counter.
"I'm fine, Mali. Just a little tired."
"You're working too hard, Charles," Mali said, fixing him a cup of coffee. "You need your rest. What's the point if you're killing yourself?" She handed him his coffee. "Go home and take care of yourself."
Charles grabbed the cup.
"Thank you, Mali. I'll certainly try."
"No try," she said. "Do."
At that moment, the doors to the coffee shop flew open and a tall man in dark shades entered.
"I've been to a gas station mini mart, two bars, three cafes, and one coffee shop. Please tell me one of you knows a Benjamin Crawford."
"Can't say I've heard the name," Charles said. "Why, is he missing?"
"You can say that," the man said, stepping forward. He glanced at Charles' uniform. "You may have seen his work . . . Sheriff."
Charles narrowed his eyes.
"What?"
"The mauled bodies that I'm sure your field of work has led you to, more than likely multiple times."
Charles glanced at Mali, who stared at the stranger with cautious eyes.
"Who are you?" he asked the man.
"Name's Antonio," the stranger responded. "And I'm looking to subdue the undead man that has been terrorizing your town. I'd be doing the whole town a favor. Take a lot of your plate, Sheriff."
"Look, I don't know who you are, son, but I can assure you that you do not want to get yourself involved in this--"
"Oh, I can assure you, I do," said Antonio, his skin growing pale and veiny, his eyes turning a cold white.
"Oh my goodness!" Mali, shrieked as Charles drew his gun.
He knew full well that his weapon was useless against the undead man. But he kept a steady aim at him.
"Mali, get back!" Charles demanded.
Antonio grinned.
"I refuse to believe that you're this ignorant to what's really going on in your town," he said.
"I know what you are," Charles said.
"Then you're well aware your weapon will have no effect on me."
At that moment, a shot rang out, the coffee shop's glass door shattered, and Antonio howled in pain, falling onto his stomach. A silver blonde woman approached the coffee shop, a gun pointed at the dead walker.
Antonio rolled onto his back, a bullet hole in his shirt. He cackled.
"'Sooner than you think'. You weren't kidding, were you?"
"I give you credit for being the boldest undead man I've ever met," the woman said, now standing over Antonio. "And the most foolish."
"I don't think I've ever seen a witch equipped with a gun. It's rather outlandish. What happen--you use up all your magic?"
Witch?
The woman grinned.
"How is it do you think I found you?"
Antonio leered at the woman.
"Then what are you waiting for? Clearly you have the means to kill me."
The woman quickly glanced at Charles and Mali, then back at the dead walker and fired another shot, this time hitting him in the leg.
Again, Antonio wailed in pain, as his wound emitted a hissing sound.
She pointed the gun at his head.
"Okay, okay, wait," Antonio said, raising his hands. "I didn't think you had it in you. Clearly you do. . . . You don't want to kill me."
The woman narrowed her eyes, but didn't respond.
"The person that I told you I was searching for--he's none other than Benjamin Crawford. I suspect he's here in Sancova. And trust me when I say you're going to need my help to subdue him."
The name "Benjamin Crawford" seemed to have sparked something in the woman. Her eyes stretched and her jaw dropped.
"Benjamin Crawford?" she whispered. "I don't believe you."
"Can't you perform a truth spell? While it won't confirm Benjamin's whereabouts, at least you'll know I'm being sincere."
The woman hesitated.
Antonio grinned.
"Can . . . you do a truth spell?"
"Adduco Dolor!" the woman roared, pointing a finger at Antonio, which caused him to wail and twitch in what looked like excruciating pain.
"Oh my God," Mali gasped, her eyes fixated on the twitching dead walker.
"Wh-Who . . . who is Benjamin Crawford?" Charles whispered.
"Only the most-wanted undead man in the world," Antonio grunted, as his twitching seemed to recede. "Th-That guy tore through c-countless bodies. Ripped apart entire f-families. And he's who's been ravaging your sweet little town."
A burning sensation erupted in Charles' chest.
"This Benjamin is who's been murdering our people?" He turned to the woman. "Then we gotta stop him!"
"I'm all for alliance," Antonio panted, as he continued to twitch sporadically. He looked at the silver blonde woman. "Do we have the witch's cooperation?"
"Why are you doing this?" the woman asked? "Why do you want to help us?"
"Does it matter?" Antonio responded, sitting up. He lifted his shirt and pulled an ivory bullet from his chest wound. "You have an ally."
"It matters, because I don't trust you."
"Well, you should," Antonio said, now pulling a bullet from his leg wound. "I haven't done anything for you not to trust me. I haven't killed anyone since I've been here. Like I said, I just want to find Benjamin and be about my merry way."
"And then what?"
Antonio shrugged.
"And then you'll never see me again."
"What about Benjamin?"
Antonio grinned.
"I can assure you that you'd never see him again, either."
"You know, I can't," the woman whispered. Her aim grew unsteady. Her hand, shaky. Antonio noticed this.
"You don't have the heart for the indoctrinated lifestyle of a witch," he said. "Put the gun down and use some sense--"
"I have slayed countless of your kind!" the woman shrieked. "You don't know who I am or what I can do!"
"When was the last time you killed a dead walker?" Antonio asked.
The woman hesitated.
"Two years ago?" Antonio continued. "Five years ago? Ten?"
The woman said nothing.
"Fifteen years? . . . No? More?"
She lowered her weapon, trembling uncontrollably.
Antonio finally climbed to his feet.
"You should be somewhere enjoying your golden years, lady," he said. "Not out here . . . doing what ever the hell you think you're doing. Go home. I'll take care of Crawford. Sancova's in good hands."
In a split second, Antonio was out of sight. There was a long moment of silence before Mali spoke.
"What the hell just happened?"
* * *
(Play song now.)
Wednesday mornings. The peak of the week. The most exhausting part of the mountainous climb towards the weekend. Unlike Take-It-Easy Thursdays or Fake-It-Til-You-Make-It Fridays, you still had to work.
Lainey wanted to throw her cellphone on the floor and stomp on it until it was a small pile of debris. Anything to stop the incessant alarm.
"Alright, alright! I'm up, I'm up!" she groaned as she snatched up her phone and turned off the alarm. "Jeez."
She stumbled out of bed and into the shower. When she finished, she got out and wiped the mist off the medicine cabinet mirror with her hand and stared into the eyes of the young woman staring at her. Her eyes no longer had the innocent shine it had just a week before.
Her eyes had opened. Hardened.
Hollowed.
As much as she wished she could, she can't ever take back the strange new realities of her world. She can't ever go back to being plain ol' Lainey Sullivan, living in the small and boring town of Sancova, Oregon.
In just a week, those days were long gone. Never to return.
Still, there was a faint smile on Lainey's face. She was alive. With everything that had happened to her this past week, she was still breathing. And Mom was alive. She thought she was going to lose her, but she hadn't. Mom's heart was still beating. And Fawn was alive. Everybody she cared about was still with her.
And she got her job back!
After school she would return to working at The Roosting Nest Cafe. Lainey missed Amy, Freddy and even Chloe. She couldn't wait to see them all again. Things were finally beginning to look up again. Her smile was more than justified.
Lainey drew a smiley face in a corner of the mirror that was still covered in mist. With everything that had happened, she believed better times await her in the future. She could feel it. Things will get better. She'll be graduating from high school soon after all. How could things not get better? They have to, right? Out of the three hundred and sixty-five days of the year, there are at least three days that should, by law, guarantee happiness. Everyone deserves a happy birthday, a happy Christmas and a happy graduation. It's just right.
Lainey inhaled deeply and exhaled, staring into defiant green eyes.
"Better times await you, Lainey. You just gotta be patient. This all didn't happen for nothing. Everything happens for a reason. . . . Time for school."
Math class would have ended on a less stressful note had the bell rang two minutes earlier. Mr. Webb decided to collect everyone's math homework at the very end of class.
"Crap!" Lainey whispered to Fawn, staring at her nearly blank homework sheets. "I just remembered I didn't finish my math homework! I-I must've fallen asleep while doing it last night. What am I going to do?"
She looked at Fawn who sat in the row of seats to her left. Fawn shrugged. And then smiled.
"Relax, Lainey," she whispered back. "You had a rough week. I'm sure he'll understand."
Once again, Fawn's reassurance was all Lainey needed to lower her blood pressure. But that only lasted as long as it took for Mr. Webb to reach her desk.
"Homework," he said, not a hint of emotion in his voice.
Or on his face.
It was as if he'd somehow banish Lainey's soul to the deepest depths of the underworld had she not turned in her homework.
Her blood freezing under the gaze of the large man, Lainey hesitated, trying to decide if she should even hand in the severely incomplete homework sheets.
"I-I didn't . . . finish," Lainey said quietly, feeling every one of her classmates' eyes land on her.
Mr. Webb grunted and shifted his thick frames, a sure sign that Lainey was about to get "Webbed".
"You didn't finish your homework?" he repeated, his thick Eastern-European accent echoing through the classroom.
"N-No, sir."
"Do you want to pass my class, Sullivan?"
"Yes, sir. Of course."
"Well this proposes a problem." He snatched Lainey's homework sheets from her hand. "BECAUSE THIS ISN'T HELPING YOU PASS MY CLASS!"
Lainey couldn't tell if it was the class' absolute silence or Mr. Webb's yelling that caused the ringing in her ears. Embarrassment swept over her like a giant wave.
"Sorry," she squeaked.
The ogre of a man knelt before Lainey's desk, the size of his eyes magnified behind his lenses.
"I'd rather you be assiduous than sorry," Mr. Webb said, the foul stench of coffee riding on his breath. "Then maybe you wouldn't be such an incompetent student."
"Oh, Jeez! Give her a break!"
Lainey quickly turned to her left where she saw Fawn standing, giving Mr. Webb a menacing glare. But there was something different about her. It was her eyes.
They were . . . glowing?
Her irises were glowing an intense golden color. And her pupils had become two thin slits. It reminded Lainey of cat eyes.
Lainey blinked a few to make sure she wasn't just seeing things. Some seconds later, Fawn's eyes quickly returned to their normal olive-colored splendor.
"Wright, have a seat," Mr. Webb said flatly, his eyes still on Lainey.
"I will when you leave Lainey alone," Fawn responded through gritted teeth.
Mr. Webb finally turned his attention to Fawn. He stood and made his way over to her.
"This. Doesn't. Concern. You," Mr. Webb said to Fawn, enunciating each word with irritation.
The lights in the classroom began to flicker, much to many of the students' discomfort.
"I'm not going to just sit here while you bully my best friend," Fawn said.
A strong gust of wind suddenly blew through the slightly opened windows, scattering every homework sheet Mr. Webb held in his hand and causing commotion in the class.
"Alright, everyone," Mr. Webb yelled through the fierce gust, making his way toward the windows. "Settle down, it's just a little wind." He shut each window and turned to face the class, red-faced. "Now," he said breathlessly, fixing his white comb-over, "everyone grab your homework sheets and put it on my desk."
The bell rang and most of the students seemed to have decided that going through the pile of papers on the floor wasn't worth it.
"Come on, Lainey," Fawn said, taking her hand and essentially dragging her into the crowd of students exiting Mr. Webb's classroom. They made their way out into the hallway and into the girls' room to avoid the after-class rush.
"What was that about?" Lainey said to Fawn.
"What? He was being a dick," Fawn said, leaning against one of the sinks.
"Fawn . . . thank you. I mean it. But . . . I don't want to be responsible for you failing Mr. Webb's class because of my irresponsibility. It's not right."
"He can't fail me," Fawn said confidently. "I'm one of his top students. Besides, someone had to put Webb in his place sooner or later."
Lainey smiled.
"I admit. It was pretty badass." Lainey narrowed her eyes. "Hey, Fawn . . . ?"
"Yeah?"
"I saw something. While you were . . . being all badass and stuff. It was your eyes. They glowed."
Fawn's eyes stretched.
"What? No way. No, it . . . must've been . . . the sun or something."
"Okay . . . but then your pupils constricted. It sorta reminded me of, like . . . cat eyes."
Fawn shook her head, laughing.
"Lainey, I love you, but you're crazy. No way my eyes glowed or . . . turned into cat eyes. I'm sorry, it's just insane."
"Yeah. Yeah . . . it is pretty crazy, huh? . . . Like the lights acting all trippy and the weird gust of wind that came out of nowhere soon after."
Fawn leered at Lainey for a few moments without a word.
"Just a weird coincidence," she finally said dismissively. After a few seconds, Fawn's brows furrowed as she looked past Lainey. "Hey, who's that?" she asked.
Lainey spun around to see a missing person notice taped to the wall. The photo on the notice was of a cheerful-looking blonde girl wearing pigtails.
"I've never seen her before," Lainey said. "It says here that her name's Helena Mitchell. I don't think she goes to Sancova High."
"I didn't think so," Fawn said. The bell rang. "Time for class."
***
Antonio strolled through the crowds of students spilling out of Sancova High. He had read that many of the Grisly Murder victims were students. If he was lucky, he'd spot Benjamin amidst the crowd.
"Hey, don't forget we got practice tomorrow. Try to lay off the strong stuff, will you?"
Antonio turned to see a group of jocks approaching him.
"Don't worry," said one guy with curly, black hair. "I can handle it. Always do. See you guys tomorrow."
He seperated from the group and approached Antonio. As he got closer, he grew timid. He glanced down at his vial necklace, then up at Antonio.
"Holy shit," he whispered. "You're one of them. A dead walker. Oh . . . my . . . freaking Je--I knew the undead were real! Ho-ly shit!"
Antonio narrowed his eyes, staring at the dying plant in the student's vial necklace.
"Now that is genius!" he said. "Where'd you learn that, kid?"
"Th-The Internet," the slightly trembling kid said.
"Of course you did."
"There's this website, an online community for dead hunters--n-not that I'm a dead hunter, I-I just follow anything that has to do with the undead. I just think you guys are fucking awesome. I mean, immortality--it has to be amazing . . . right?"
"It has its moments," Antonio said, grinning.
"I always keep anemone plants on me," the kid said. "Ever since I learned they whither in the presence of the undead."
Antonio smiled.
"These dead hunters have certainly been doing their research," he said, stepping toward the kid, his true form taking over. "Now, I can't be too careful. You say you aren't a dead hunter, but I'd rather not take any chances."
"Please--no!" the student pleaded. "I'm not a dead hunter--I swear. T-Turn me. Please, turn me."
The student's pleas caught Antonio off guard.
"What?"
"Turn me!" the student said again. "Wouldn't that prove that I'm not a dead hunter? . . . And not only that--I've always wanted to be a dead walker. So, please, turn me."
Antonio stared at the trembling jock. He could hear his heart beating accelerate. The kid wasn't scared, he was excited.
"What's your name, kid?"
"J-Jason, sir. . . . But everyone calls me Retro."
---
To be continued in Chapter 40...