The night of my 18th birthday, I can't sleep.

I'm tossing and turning the whole night, even though I have my windows open with the intent of filtering in a cool autumn breeze. Instead, it feels like I'm swathed in flames and I can't get free.

Once I'm able to drift off, dreams tear through me like riptides, carrying me further into the white-water rush of my subconscious. I see glimpses of faces I don't recognize and ones I do. Places and figures and shadows swirl past me so quickly it's almost like these aren't dreams but memories.

At one point, there's a hazy image of a woman with lily white skin and blood so red it's nearly black staining up her arms like a pair of satin gloves, and she's smiling at me. Her teeth seem sharpened like fangs, but just as she's reaching her bloody hands towards me, I'm flashed somewhere else.

I don't recognize the halls of the mansion I'm walking through, but they're gilded and ornate, as if someone went to a lot of trouble to keep every inch of the place gleaming. It isn't until I turn a corner into the grand foyer, complete with a double marble staircase and glistening chandelier, when I realize the whole place--walls, carpet, stairs--is splattered with blood. I look up through the tall windows filtering light into the foyer and I'm whisked away, this time to my dad's study.

Somehow, this is the most haunting thing of them all. The last time I was in my dad's study was the day of his death, when I'd first noticed he was actually, truly dead. Since then, the only person who's gone in has been my mom, desperate for answers. Her longing for the truth made her reckless; mine made me wary.

I walk through the study in my dream, amazed at just how detailed everything is. I'm lost in a daze when a book falls open from one of the disheveled shelves. I turn around to see its pages flutter open, and then darkness begins leaking from the book itself, as if the ink is running right off the parchment. It's just pooling on the worn hardwood like blood when the sound of sprinting footsteps up my driveway rips me awake.

I sit straight up in bed, footsteps still rattling through my ears, when I come to realize that it's morning, and the only thing blaring on repeat is the sound of my alarm.

I take a breath, reaching over and turning off the alarm on my phone. For a few minutes, I just sit there, gauging what just happened. They'd been just dreams, but there was still something so...unnerving about everything I'd seen. I half expected to look in the mirror and find myself covered in blood.

"Stella!"

Evie's impatient voice is what drags me out of bed. I open my bedroom door just wide enough to shout back, "What?"

There's a pause. "Did you just get up?"

"What's it to you?" I call back, leaning against the door. My alarm goes off with enough time to let me get a few extra minutes of sleep, get ready, and leave without being late so I don't know why she's griping.

I can practically feel Evie's withering glare of disdain even without seeing her. I'm about to call back to her when I hear a voice that does not belong in our house, at least this early in the morning.

"Hi, Stella." Nick's voice floats up the staircase, jolting me awake. Suddenly, I'm at a loss for words. If Nick is here, then...

I race back to my nightstand where my phone is sitting. The time reads 7:15--school starts in less than twenty minutes, and the traffic of the senior parking lot necessitates at least that.

I curse loud enough that Nick coughs out a single laugh downstairs, and I fly around my bedroom. In less than five minutes, I've traded my pajamas for jeans and a blouse, yanked a brush through my layered brown hair, and done just about every beauty and hygiene task I normally do in twenty.

Once I've skidded down the stairs, I point a finger at Nick, who's stifling a laugh. "Don't you dare."

Nick only puts his hands up in mock surrender and follows me as I storm into the kitchen. Despite my rush, I'm halted when I see the single cupcake with a candle piercing its violet frosting on the island, flanked by Evie and Mom on either side.

Oh, right. Between the nightmares and the whole being late thing, I'd forgotten it was my birthday.

"Happy birthday, Stel!" Mom beams. Her gray eyes are practically beacons for how absolutely luminous her expression is.

A smile tugs at my lips. "Thanks, Mom."

Evie mirrors my half-smile, plucking the cupcake off the island with one hand and handing me my backpack with the other. "Happy birthday, kid. Now you better get going if you're going to make the warning bell."

I roll my eyes but accept the cupcake and backpack. "Gee, thanks."

Evie's eyes glint with that familiar impish sparkle that comes from banter between siblings. She nods her head towards the door. "Go!"

"Going!" I hurry towards the door, Nick in my wake as I manage an awkward half-hug with my mom before darting out into the corridor.

"How's it feel being eighteen?" Nick asks as we head towards the front door.

As I slip into my boots, I shoot him a look. "You've been eighteen for two months."

Nick gives me a look as if to say your point is...?

I roll my eyes and we head out the door, into the dewey sunlight of September.

"I for sure thought you were going to be late," Nick drawls as we start hustling down the sidewalk towards his car. "I almost left without you."

"So benevolent you are, Williams," I quip as I tug open the passenger side-door.

Nick presses a hand to his heart as if he's flattered. "Aren't I?"

I scoff, sliding into the seat and resting my head back against it. "Please tell me there's nothing pressing to deal with today."

"Unless you count one of Ronaldo's exams peaceful," Nick begins. "Then yeah, it's a totally simple day."

My eyes fly open just as Nick starts the car. "You're kidding."

"Happy birthday, Stel."

I don't waste time wincing at the sudden blow to my mood. Instead, I'm racing back out of the car and back up to my house.

Nick calls, "Good look cramming for this one!" but I don't turn around to acknowledge it.

I skid through the front door and back into the kitchen where I'd last left my AP Euro textbook, only to freeze when I don't see it. My mom and Evie are sitting at the kitchen table, watching me with questions in their gray eyes and arched brows.

"Yes?" Evie asks.

"My history textbook," I manage to say. "Where is it?"

Evie squints as if trying to see where it is. "Hm, not sure."

"Evie!"

"Stella," Mom scolds. She nods her head out towards the foyer. "End table by the stairs. I thought you would have caught it on your way down."

I clasp my hands in a prayer of thanks before racing out to the foyer. The end table sits against the banister of the staircase, and sure enough, my textbook is sitting right there. I grab it and twirl around, victory on my mind, when I'm jolted at what I see.

The door to my dad's study.

Suddenly, I'm not eighteen and in a rush to get to school. I'm ten and wondering what's wrong with my dad, why he came home so late that night. And the answers could very well be behind that door.

The images of my dream float back to the forefront of my mind. The woman, the book, the blood--

The sound of Nick's car horn blaring into the house like some kind of strangled goose snaps me out of my reverie, and I shuffle back towards the front door. It isn't until I'm back in Nick's car and he's zoomed out of the neighborhood when I realize the door to the study, normally sealed shut, was ajar for the first time in eight years.