"A penny for my thoughts; I'll sell them for a dollar. They're worth so much more after I'm a goner. And maybe then you'll hear the words I've been singing. Funny when you're dead how people start listening." –If I Die Young by The Band Perry

Zachary Templeton's house was a place that didn't look like it belonged in Leighton Fields. A one-storey stucco dwelling framed by rosebushes and palm trees, it had been kept neat and tidy, but compared to the colonial mansions I'd grown up visiting and partying at, it looked a little... small.

I shut off the engine of my car and turned to look out of the window, drumming my fingers on the wheel and trying to muster up the courage to walk up the drive and face Cam's boyfriend. I had hardly ever spoken to him beyond polite pleasantries or when interacting with Cam, but from what I could determine of the blonde-haired, green-eyed jock, he was a nice guy out of place in the world of Leighton Fields. He always treated Camila sweetly, and me with respect. He was always laughing, extremely handsome, and had a smart and sensible head on his shoulders. He'd been a good influence for Cam, and with him I knew she'd always been happy. They'd had an extremely strange relationship, but considering my tumultuous relations with pretty much everyone, I was in no place to judge.

I slipped out of the car and rubbed my arms vigorously, hoping to dispel the chill creeping into my arms. I ducked my head and walked up the drive, which was wet and slippery with ice. I couldn't remember the last time winter had been this cold, but it was only fitting, I supposed.

I knocked on the door and took in a few deep breaths. I was no longer Perrie Donovan, scared little girl. I had to be strong and confident like Camila, and now I had enough ammunition to start a war, I knew I could be.

The door opened to reveal a kind older lady with shiny hair, pressed pants and an open face. "May I help you?" she asked in a sweet voice that sounded like wind chimes.

I smiled. "I hope so. I'm looking for Zach."

She frowned. "Are you a friend of his?"

"A friend of Camila's, actually," I said quietly. "I wanted to ask him a few questions."

Her face fell. "Oh. I'm sorry for your loss. He's not home at the moment, but he's practicing at the football fields if you'd like to go see him."

"Thank you, ma'am. Have a nice night."

I turned to leave, and was halfway down the porch stairs when her voice stopped me. "You're Perrie Donovan, aren't you? I've heard about you. You and Camila were quite close."

I nodded. "She was like a sister to me."

"I'm so sorry," she told me, and I could tell she honestly meant it.

"I appreciate that," I told her, bidding her adieu and starting for the car. The drive to the fields was slow, and I felt my stomach twist with nervousness over seeing Zach again. I hadn't seen him since the funeral.

It had been a long and hard day, filled with tears and apologies and crumpled tissues. The sky had been dark, and snow had continued to fall as if reflecting our moods. Mrs. Stryker had fallen into her husband's arms, a mess of tearful sobs. Zach had stood there with his jaw set, eyes rimmed in red. I had been far too sober for the circumstances, a mess of trembling tears and breathy sobs.

Zach had shoved his hands into his pants pockets and loped slowly over to me. He stood next to me and brought me into the tightest bear hug I'd ever been given. He buried his face in my neck and inhaled a shaking breath. I shut my eyes and tried not to let any more tears fall. I had to be strong for her. For Cam.

"I'm sorry, Perrie," he whispered, which seemed to be all anyone could say.

"Me, too," I told him. He pulled back and I feebly wiped away a tear. "You really loved her, huh?"

He looked back as they readied the machine to lower the coffin into the neat rectangle. It was a deep white oak, and seemed far too small. "With everything I had," he admitted grudgingly. "I don't think I... I don't think I ever got to tell her."

"She was Camila," I replied, grabbing his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "Believe me, Zach, she knew."

The machine whirred, and I watched with hitched breaths as the coffin began to lower. A few people wiped tears away, and everyone stood solemnly with hands clasped before them. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt more tears fall. I was surprised I had anything left to cry.

Zach kept a tight hold on my hand, and as the coffin disappeared from our eyesight, I turned to look at him and saw one lone tear fall down his tanned cheek and drip onto the collar of his starched shirt.

Her parents stumbled to the priest and grabbed a handful of waxy rose petals, and she let out a hysterical sob as they sprinkled the flowers into the hole. Zach's hand continued to hold mine as we followed their footsteps and grabbed another handful. The petals were wet and cold in my hands, and I walked over to the hole, seeing compacted dirt and the stark white of the coffin. I held out my hand and let the petals fall from my fingers. Like doves, they gracefully glided down and landed softly on the coffin. I couldn't believe she was inside there. My friend. A beautiful girl so full of life. Gone.

As we stumbled back to our places, Zach wrapped his arm comfortingly around my shoulder, and I rested my head against him, listening to the soft beat of his heart against my ear. He'd been the best support I had that day, because he understood the grief I was going through.

I pulled into the football field and forced myself out of the reverie. On the green grass I saw boys in matching football uniforms darting across the field. Even though it was in the off-season, the coach liked to keep them fit and trained. I stepped out of the car and onto the field, rubbing my hands together.

I looked at each boy, trying to find Zach in the crowd. The coach stood on the sideline, shouting crass orders at the boys, who were slipping on the muddy ground. Why anyone would willingly do that to themselves was beyond me.

I walked over to the coach and stood beside him, clearing my throat. The coach, who had a metal whistle around his neck and a clipboard in his hand, turned to me and arched a bushy eyebrow. "Perrie Donovan?"

"I need to speak with Zach," I said in a quiet voice as someone got tackled. The coach, momentarily distracted, turned around and blew his whistle hard. The shrill noise pierced through the late afternoon.

"Boys! What do you call that? We're going to run the play again, and this time act like you actually give a damn. Johnson, you're in. Templeton, you've got a visitor."

I saw one of the lean figures turn around, and he slowly jogged off the field as a burly man took his place. Coach turned back to me. "You have five minutes."

Zach pulled off his helmet and pushed back a lank of sweaty blonde hair. "Perrie? You all right?"

I gestured for him to follow me to somewhere a little more quiet, and we walked over to the bleachers. He grabbed me by the arm. "Hey, what's going on?"

"When was the last time you saw Cam?" I asked him, crossing my arms over my chest and turning to him.

He frowned. "What?"

"I'm trying to figure out where Cam was the day she died. Did you see her?"

"Don't do this, Perrie," he told me, shaking his head. "I've thought about doing the same thing. Trying to figure out what happened to her and avenge her. But it's not going to work. You'll only get bitter. We have to let the police handle it."

"The police have given me no good reason to trust in them," I replied. "I can figure out who did this. I'm just gonna need a little help on your end."

"Look, someone killed Camila, okay?" he said, lowering his voice. "This isn't a game. This is real life. You could get hurt."

"Zach, I'm going to need you to trust me," I replied in a quiet voice. "Do you think you can do that?"

He sighed and looked away, though I could tell he was a man of easy compliance. I grabbed his hand and stared into his eyes imploringly. "Zach, please. I'm not asking you to help me track down the killer. Just tell me the last time you saw her."

"I saw her the day she died," he told me. "She was waiting for me when I got home from school that afternoon. She was being cryptic; started talking about lies and rumors. Told me she was a bad person, and that she wanted me to trust her because I was going to hear rumors about her in the next few days."

"Did she tell you why she thought she was a bad person? What kind of rumors you'd hear about her?"

He shook his head, forehead pinched in thought. "No. She said she had some stuff to sort out, and then she'd tell me everything. She left right after that, but I don't know where she went."

"What time did you get home?"

"About four. She was there until about four-thirty."

"I found her at five-thirty," I replied, thinking of the sinking sun and the quiet coo of cicadas in the trees. "Do you know what that means?"

"What?"

I looked up at him. "It means you were the last person to see her alive."

~ * ~

I never thought I'd willingly walk back into Leighton Fields police station, but that was where I found myself that afternoon. The sky was overcast and the day gloomy, with most of the town's residents choosing to seek cover inside their vast mansions. But not me. No. I rarely went home now. I would only be faced by a mother who stared at me with so much pity I felt like a pathetic little girl. Not to mention my distant father. I barely found solace anywhere in town, except in drugs and Jeremy.

Inside the station was warm, and I walked to the desk slowly. An officer typed on his computer and sipped coffee, and another was over putting paper into the fax machine. For such a serene town, there always seemed to be a flurry in the station. Perhaps it was just a mirage; an illusion of productivity.

"Perrie?"

I dragged my eyes over to the officer standing in front of me, and found the caring brown eyes of Jake. I forced a smile. "Hey. I was wondering if Officer Holden was in?"

"Sure. I'll get him now for you. How you holding up?"

"I'll get there," I told him.

He nodded and disappeared off somewhere in the building. It smelled of fresh paint and plaster, and I was reminded suddenly of the fact this building had burned down in recent years, and had only just found its standing again.

Jake appeared with Officer Holden in tow, and he seemed surprised to see me there. "Miss Donovan," he said formally, surprised. "Is everything all right?"

I darted my eyes around, choosing my words and actions carefully. "I need to speak with you."

He nodded and made his way out from behind the desk and into the reception area. "Of course. Follow me."

Once again he led me into the interview room, and I felt myself shivering despite the warm temperature. He pulled back a seat for me, before pulling up another chair. "What's going on? Have you remembered something?"

"No," I replied. "My statement still stands. However, I do have a few questions for you, Officer Holden."

Behind him, as if from thin air, her beautiful and lithe body appeared, taking my breath away. Her hair fell in soft brown cascades around her face, and that familiar smirk took over her features. "Oh, this oughta be good."

"Cam?" I whispered breathlessly, feeling my whole body seize. She seemed so real and alive, with glowing skin and shiny hair.

Holden frowned and turned around. "What's wrong, ma'am? Is something bothering you?"

"Yeah, Per, what's wrong?" Camila asked, stepping around the table and leaning against it. Judging by Holden's vacant but confused expression, I could tell I was the only one seeing this right now. "Got something to confess?"

"You're not real," I whispered to myself, squeezing my fists shut. The pain of my fingernails in my flesh was enough to drag me into the present. Camila disappeared in a wisp of thin air, and we were once again alone.

"Perrie? Is everything okay?" Officer Holden asked, and I could tell he was considering sending me to the loony bin.

I cleared my throat. I had come here for a reason, and I was going to make my visit worthwhile. "I want to know about Cam's murder. What do you have on it so far? Do you have any suspects? Any evidence?"

He clasped his hands on the metal tabletop. "I'm sorry, Miss Donovan. I'm afraid that's classified information."

"Bullshit," I replied, leaning forward and fixing him with a cold stare. "I found her body. She was like a sister to me. I want some answers."

"And we would like to give them to you," he replied calmly. "At an appropriate time in an appropriate manner. But I'm afraid as it's still an open investigation I can't disclose any classified information."

"Here's the thing, Holden," I told him. "That's not good enough for me anymore, and I have a feeling you're lying. Do you even have any information on her murder? Or are you just hoping that if you lie eventually someone will step forward and confess? Maybe if you knew how to do your jobs you wouldn't need someone to do it for you."

He cleared his throat. "I think we're done here."

He made to stand up, and a bolt of uncontrollable anger shot through me. "Sit the hell down!" I yelled, and he slowly sunk back into the chair.

"That's right, you tell him," Cam whispered saucily in my ear. I jumped and spun around, but was faced with emptiness.

I smoothed down my hair and turned back to the police officer. "I happen to know some very bad things about you, Holden. Like that little trip to the swinger's club with your wife in August. Last I checked, that place had no permits, nor was it legal. You could lose your job over that."

"How do you know that?" he asked, turning an odd shade of red. "The only person who knew that was—"

"Camila?" I replied. "Well, she's not calling the shots anymore. I am. Now, tell me everything you know about her murder."

"I like this side to you, Per," Camila told me, examining her nails as she leaned casually against the opposite wall. Holden remained oblivious. "Not a flawless delivery, but an effective one. You know the problem, though? You're too ruled by emotions. We don't have time for that."

"Look, there's not much to tell," Holden replied, fretting. "We have a few suspects, but nothing to hold them down. We're pulling people in for questioning and checking for alibis, but it's a slow process. She's a priority for us, but we're not just going to go out into the woods and find the killer. It takes time."

"You hear that, Per?" Camila chimed in. "I'm a priority!"

"This isn't a joke!" I yelled at her.

"I don't think it is!" Holden replied peevishly.

"Not you!" I snapped unthinkingly.

He looked around the room. "Then who? Perrie, I'm just trying to do my job here, and I know it's going to be hard for you, but you're just going to have to sit back and let me do it. If you don't mind, I'm off to go and look for more evidence. If you don't mind."

"We're done, anyway," I replied, standing up. Camila whistled to herself and followed us out the door. I was so caught up in my fear and anger, I didn't even see Jake as I left—I was too caught up in my own thoughts.

Needing fresh air and a place to think calmly, I walked around into the alleyway and leaned against the brick wall, rubbing my eyes.

"Well, I think that went well, don't you?"

I jumped and opened my eyes to reveal Cam still standing there, wearing the same smarmy smirk. Like usual, she had her best devil-may-care attitude on, and she looked so real and alive.

I shook my head at her. "You're not real. You're not."

"I know," she replied. "I'm dead, remember? I'm not really here. I'm just a figment of your imagination." She tapped her temple for emphasis. "Boy, is it twisted up here."

"If you were really here, you could've really helped me with this, you know?" I said to myself.

"You're right, that was a bit of a train wreck," she replied, nodding along. "But what did I tell you? You rule with your heart, not with your head. You let your emotions get the better of you. You need to rule with an iron fist, not with a soft heart."

"I'm not you, Cam," I replied. "I can't just turn off my emotions."

"Then you're never going to get to the bottom of this," she told me, shrugging. "But what do I care? I'm already dead." She shrugged and pulled herself off the wall. "Just remember, Perrie: Spin your web of lies long enough, and eventually you'll get caught up in it."

She disappeared around the corner before I could say anything, and I sighed and slid down the wall. Maybe my constant drug use was finally getting the better of my judgment and I was losing it. That was the only explanation for suddenly seeing Cam. Ghosts weren't real. Maybe it was a drug-addled hallucination.

"You look like you're having a tough day."

I looked up at the sudden intrusion to see Jake standing above me, looking much more tall and authoritative than I remembered. He'd always been a buff jock, but something about this new persona was oddly attractive.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked.

"When you made the great escape, I decided to check on you." He gestured to the free seat next to me. "May I?"

"Why not?" I replied, and he sat down beside me. His long, lean legs awkwardly curled up in front of him, and I couldn't help the smile on my face. "You look so different in that uniform, you know. I always figured you more as the bad guy than the good cop."

He let out a deep chuckle. "Me, too. I don't know... I just got to college and realized I didn't want to spend the rest of my life playing football. I wanted to make a difference. Police academy just called out for me."

"You used to be the troublemaker," I remembered.

He laughed. "And I wouldn't trade that for the world. Remember that time we got caught by that crabby old substitute in Mrs. Lebowitz's classroom?"

I leaned my head back and laughed; the first genuine laugh I'd uttered in a long time. "God, I forgot about that. She was so traumatized!"

He laughed as well, and it was silent when we finally sobered up. "We had some good times together, huh, Per?"

"The best," I agreed. Back when everything was simple, and I was a good, unassuming girl with no problems. "And then you broke my heart."

"I never was a smart guy," he replied. "The minute you left I knew I made the biggest mistake of my life. But I didn't know what else to do. I was leaving, and you were staying behind. I didn't want to stay with you and have you held back because you were dating some college guy."

"We could've made it," I told him. "Even if you were at Montana. We could've fought for what we had."

"After we broke up, I did try to fight for what we had," he replied. "You wouldn't return my calls all summer."

It had been one wild summer after that, fueled by partying and excessive drinking and a lot of Cam telling me not to answer the phone. "Maybe if I had things would be different," I murmured.

"I'm back now," he replied, turning to me. "And you're here, too. Unless you're dating that Quagmire kid. At least that's what word on the street is."

"I don't know what street you're getting your information from, but we're not dating," I told him solemnly. "We're just friends."

"Is that the new slang for drug dealer now?"

My eyes widened comically, and I was so surprised that my head turned to him so fast I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash. "What?"

"You think I don't see it?" he replied, reaching out and twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. "Pale skin, bags under the eyes, sallow and gaunt... you scream junkie."

"Well, this talk has been lovely," I said uncomfortably, making to stand up. "But I really must be going."

He grabbed my wrist. "Hey, I'm not gonna tell anyone, okay? I wanna help you through it."

"And why would you do that?" I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. Slowly he stood until we were eye-to-eye, and it was hard to ignore the old feelings of longing over him that came rushing back. "Now that you're a police officer you've developed some kind of savior complex?"

He laughed. The rich timbre sent butterflies ricocheting through my stomach. "No. Because I have to do it for the Perrie I knew. The fun, beautiful, outgoing, sober one. I wanna help you find her again."

"She's still in here," I replied. "She just left the day you broke up with me."

"And then you met Cam, right? Is that when you started taking drugs?"

"Hey, that's my best friend you're talking about," I replied. "A dead one, might I add. Watch your mouth."

He looked away and ran a hand through his shiny brown locks. In a flash of nostalgia, I remembered countless make-out sessions between us where I'd had the privilege of running my fingers through those gorgeous, tousled waves. I blinked it away.

"I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry," he told me. "I guess I didn't realize how much had changed since I was last here."

"A lot has," I replied. "Look, I gotta go, Jake. I'll see you later."

I left then without waiting for a reply for him. I had no idea if he waited for me or watched as he left.

All I knew was there was now an ache in my chest and a hole in my heart.

~       *       ~

Merry Christmas, everyone! I couldn't work Christmas into this chapter, but I did make it an extra long one, so there is that!

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