Her heart was beating loud like a church bell.

She looked around the shops, keeping her eyes away from her companion. On shoe stores, dress stores, stands and even on suits for men. She kept Georgia's pace, although sometimes it occurred to her that maybe it was Georgia who had to speed up to match the pace with h e r.

In order not to reveal anything, she tried to keep the conversation going, even when it turned into a monologue.

"I have to find a dress for the festival."

"I thought you were going in a two-piece." Georgia's voice was low and lacking any sort of interest. Her eyes wandered into space in front of them. She watched the shoppers pass by as if they were interesting enough.

She was right, but she couldn't have tripped. Not that day.

She shrugged, masking the tension.

"I forgot you had one a year ago. I don't want people to think I'm a copycat." She took a chance and checked from the corner of her eye how did Georgia receive this version of events.

She didn't seem to receive it at all.

She was looking instead at the homemade bandages on her hands. Because they didn't look like the ones a doctor would normally put on. They weren't thick or wrapped all over the place, but they definitely caught the eye.

Especially when the hand wrapped in them was slapping someone's coffee, spilling it all over the school hallway.

She was about to start another, daily topic, when on the left side of Georgia, a child walking in the opposite direction threw a bottle of water high above him. Unfortunately for them, the bottle was unscrewed, and the water spilled all over the place.

Including Georgia.

It was not a complete drenching, but a large number of stains was enough to make the girl stand still, suddenly frozen. Georgia tensed in a second. Eyes closed, breathing deep, and hands motionlessly spread to the sides.

That sight made her stomach shrink.

It was terrible.

The mother of the child wanted to apologize and almost put her hand on Georgia's shoulder, but she rejected her and at the speed of light moved towards the exit. As usual, it was followed by a paralyzing chill.

She knew she should have done something.

But she didn't do anything.

She didn't say a word...


Seeing the screenshot sent to her by Estera, she felt dark clouds gathering over her head. Over
the heads of everyone involved. All over the globe.

She put the twisted strand behind her ear, grabbing the phone in both hands. Green painted nails hung over the screen. She sat on the bed again, forgetting about her pajamas. She was supposed to go to the bathroom and wash off another fake day, but the news changed everything.

And the certainty was given to her by another, with the address of a well-known club in their city. The biggest and most frequently seen by her until a few months ago. She remembered, oddly enough, most of the parties and who she was with on most of them.

That's why, despite all the fears and voices in her head, she grabbed the phone.

She wanted to do something.

That one time.

I haven't had this much makeup on my face in a long time.

When I saw the address message minutes ago, I knew I couldn't go in there in my usual clothes. I didn't recognize my attitude. Well, the whole prep thing was annoying, and I didn't want to dress up.

I just wanted to get it over with. Pack up my problems and fix what else I could.

I finished the black line on the eyelid, and, annoyingly, I knew the techniques that made it perfect. I've wasted too much time on this in my life. I took my eyes off the reflection, and then I got up and went to the closet. Dark, like most of the furniture in the room, which I happened to occupy in the past.

Despite my long absence, some of the clothes that were not in the apartment landed and were still in this place. I opened the heavy door to see shiny, provocative clothes. Intact. I felt a tightness in my chest.

As the closet opened, something hit my feet. A piece of brand shopping bag.

Suddenly, the sound of my phone dramatically cut the room's silence. I pulled it out of my pants, and I saw an unsaved number on the screen. But it was no stranger to me.

I remembered the first digits. The same ones I recently deleted from my contact history, wishing they'd never appear on the screen again.

I looked up from my cell phone and took another look at the bag.


Getting home, the only relief was the absence of parents. They were still at work, so I boldly went to the room to change clothes any dry. I was so angry that when I was at the bed, I threw new clothes in a bag across the room.

When the bag hit the wall, I took a deep breath full of irritation. I grabbed my head, tilting my body forward. The world began to spin. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out. Control. Breathe in, breathe out.

I straightened up after good few minutes, and when my eyes fell on the bag, all the pieces of the puzzle formed a whole. They jumped into their place unexpectedly and violently.

Clothes.

She was wearing the same clothes in the evening and in the morning the next day.

Rita never wore the same clothes twice. Unless she didn't have time to change by morning.

Just like after every party.

The party.

And I already knew. I knew it. And all the pictures around have ceased to have any value.

If I was angry before, then I felt a real fury.


I held down the lock button and waited for the phone to stop glowing. When it was completely turned off, and there was nothing on the screen but darkness, I threw it on the bed behind me. Then I turned firmly to the closet and chose the one thing that didn't discourage me right away with its appearance.

I chose, feeling a fluid determination in my veins.

I was in my own city.

I stopped running.

She spun on the bar stool perfectly at the drop of the song. The vibrations of the sounds went through the entire seat, giving the impression of rhythmically pulsating particles waking up in her body. She smiled when she saw the colors flickering as she turned. Her hands swayed gracefully in unison with the music.

Chucks and Tristan had escaped early, either to the dance floor or outside, to smoke and inhale a bit of substances. In the case of Chucks, she was more convinced by the second option. Tristan, though... Well. The dance floor was his second home, and the people on it were his second family.

Valentia and the other five were the third. The order was important.

In other news, Kendrick just got back to town, so he was gonna be at the club any minute. Britt was lurching between the tables, leaving Valentia alone literally every other minute. The Latina could have enjoyed Yvette's company if it weren't for the fact that her friend got sick and was currently dying, buried deep under the bedsheets.

Overall, the fun was through the roof.

When, after a spin, Valentia grabbed the counter, feeling that her head was already denying her this sort of fun, she saw the phone ringing. It was the only work phone, and it had obviously gone through thick and thin. The old model and the cracked, dirty screen spoke for themselves. Seeing that, uniquely, there was no one to pick it up, Valentia leaned over the bar and grabbed the device.

Unknown number.

She frowned with her thick eyebrows, answering the call. A small alcohol percentage in her veins only enhanced her spontaneity.

"At the moment there is no service available," she threw out of herself, not waiting for a voice on the other side. In addition, she noticed Britt approaching, so she also did not give time for an answer. "Oh, no! One of them just came in. Please hold!"

Britt, overwhelmed by trays, was surprised to see a familiar cell phone in the hands of a friend. She quickly made her way around the bar, laying down the dishes on the way. She smoothly took the phone and instantly led the conversation. It was not without a punch in the shoulder from the Latina, who went from a smile into a lightning anger. However, she remained silent.

"Are you sure this is about our club?"

The girls exchanged glances full of misunderstanding. One caused by new, incomplete information, and the other by the complete lack thereof. Plus, the music was distracting.

Britt nodded at the next door, and Valentia got up from the bar stool and went with her friend to the designated spot.

"Give me a minute." After these words, Britt put her phone to her chest and pushed away the reflective colored light material, colliding with the coolness of the evening. Valentia stood next to her, a few meters from the exit.

Then Britt put the stranger on speaker and put the phone between herself and her friend. The friend, on the other hand, had her eyebrows drawn down to the middle of her forehead all that time. Apparently, the stimulus was too much. Fortunately, Britt put her suffering behind her and resumed the conversation.

"Okay, can I hear that name again?"

"Peirce-Blythe. Georgia Peirce-Blythe." The voice on the other side was young and, oddly enough, seemed familiar to Britt.

She corrected her beanie while crossing her gaze with her friend. It just got more complicated. They were both equally confused.

"I'm sorry, but I don't know anyone like that..."

"I called her once and another employee picked up her phone. Or anyone else at the club. I think she was on the night shift..."

Suddenly Britt's mind went back to a very familiar moment.


"There you are," Britt said, suddenly appearing behind Kendrick. She was missing someone in the middle of the party. She passed him, standing next to him, and that's when she saw Glass. She frowned, seeing them together in a bad mood. She looked at the girl, then at the boy. "Did something... happen?"

There was a harsh silence between the two. The atmosphere was... heavy. They exchanged one last, cool look, and then Glass turned to Britt.

"I was just leaving. Like you asked me to," she replied, already taking a step towards the forest path.

Britt, distracted by the situation, almost forgot what she had in her hand.

"You left your phone!"

When she turned around, impatient and suddenly way more conscious at the same time, she noticed the girl actually held the said thing in her small hand.

"Plus, someone called you." Britt got closed to Glass and handed her the cell phone. She took it strangely slowly, stiffly. Even for someone with an injured hand. "A strange number, some girl, but it turned out to be a mistake."

Even though she already had her property, she kept a close eye on Britt.

"Did she introduce herself?" she asked suspiciously.

"As far as I can remember, her name was..."

"Rita," Britt said suddenly, embedded in the ground. "I remember now. I was the one who answered the phone. I'm Britt."

Valentia hit her on the shoulder, demanding attention. She wanted an explanation. Britt answered with her finger on her lips, silently asking her to stay quiet. She didn't know much herself.

"Are you friends? Or maybe you know someone who's been around her longer?"

The girl looked at Valentia, answering:

"You can say that. We worked together."

Then her friend literally opened her mouth in shock.

"Georgia's back in the city, and she's going to meet some of the worst people in here in a few hours. I'm not gonna do anything by myself, and if anything happens..."

Valentia snatched Britt's phone.

"Who are these people? How do you know that?"

"We were friends in high school. Georgia has a big piece of reputation, and it's not the best. No one will greet her warmly, so to sum up: someone has to take her."

The girls exchanged glances once again. Britt had her hand on her head, walking back and forth. Valentia held the phone to her mouth, which she squeezed into a tight line. Their minds were in total chaos.

After a moment of heavy silence, the Latina asked the last question.

"Why should we believe you? Maybe..." she wanted to say "Glass", but stopped herself at the last minute. "Georgia told you to call us and tell us all about it. Or anyone else. We need proof."

They heard a helpless sigh.

"I called her a couple of times before I called the club number. She rejected my call once, and the next time, her phone was off. Knowing her, she doesn't plan on turning it on until the next day." She paused for a moment, letting the information sink in. It was heavy, suffocating. "She can't stay there. She just can't."

And then she hung up, making the music in the club in no way match the force of the sudden silence.

Valentia ran her hand through her hair, handing the office phone over to Britt. Then she rubbed her face with her hand, sighing.

"I knew it all would end up like this. I felt it from the beginning."

Britt hid the device and took out her phone, dialing Georgia's number. That name didn't sound right even in her head. She needed more time to absorb all these discoveries. Despite these truths and lies at the same time, she wanted to see if the girl would answer. She also felt remorse.


"I'm gonna take my problems back where they started."


Georgia, or Glass, could have been in danger. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. That was why she put the phone to her ear when she heard the first beep.

And Valentia didn't object.

After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Britt pulled the phone away, ending the call. She kept staring at the screen.

Rita was right.

The phone was off.

"What now?"

She looked up at her friend, but the girl was already shaking her head. She looked like someone was trying to get her to jump off a bridge. And she had an incredible fear of heights.

"I don't know, Britt. I don't know if it really means anything or if it's some kind of stupid manipulation..." She was breathing faster and faster without realizing it.

Britt put her hand on her shoulder, bringing her to the ground. The girl, however, refused to make eye contact. So, she spoke to her in as calm a voice as she could. At times like this, she wished Yvette were with them.

"She's not Lorelei. You know that, right?"

It took Valentia away from this strange, full of panic space. She managed to calm down a bit, and even forced a slight smile. Her eyes hung in nothingness as she said:

"Glass told me pretty much the same thing."

Britt returned the smile. Just as weak.

"We have to help her."

Valentia hesitated for a moment in her dark eyes, but she finally nodded.

"You go back behind the bar. I'll take Chucks. Maybe he hasn't had a drink yet. And Tristan stays." And she was already walking along the club, towards the path.

Britt, full of fear, went to the aforementioned bar. She asked her the last question:

"What about Kendrick?"

"Keep him here until the end of the shift, then take him with you," she replied, without turning around. She walked quickly and confidently, as if the alcohol was working in her favor.

Britt allowed herself one sigh of relief. It had to work.

There was little left of that relief when, crossing the threshold of the club, she almost ran into Kendrick, who was just leaving it. The boy jumped off at the same time as her, scared. Britt pressed her hand to her chest.

"God, Kendrick, you want me to have a heart attack?"

"I was just looking for any of you." He put his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Speaking of, have you seen Valentia? Or Chucks?"

The girl bypassed him, mentally preparing for the necessary conversation. She made it to the bar, discreetly dropping her work phone on the way. Her hands were sweaty with nerves.

"They must have left earlier."

She had no idea how she could start.

Kendrick nodded, sitting down at the bar and taking a half-drunk beer in his hand. Britt, seeing this, instantly relaxed. If he was drinking, he couldn't drive. Sometimes she was driving everyone home on the way back, since she could not drink at work anyway, and the rest stayed until the end of her shift.

Apparently, Kendrick took advantage of it, for which the girl thanked the world in her mind.

There was a message on the work phone from an unknown number. There was an address in it, that's all she could see. She quickly grabbed the device and sent Valentia's number and hers first. Then she wrote to her friend, telling her about it and sending her the address in the message.

In the end, she deleted all messages from the club cell.

"How often do you use two phones at the same time?"

She looked up at Kendrick, who was both smiling with half of his face and frowning in incomprehension with the other. He took a sip of beer, and the glass flashed with the lights of the party. He put the bottle down, spinning it on the counter.

That was the moment.

"A few minutes ago, a friend of Glass's called the club."

The spinning stopped. So did the smiling.

All that was left was the frown.

"What?" he asked, suddenly less relaxed.

Another tense exhalation.

She knew she had contradicted her own requests from a few hours ago. She felt what Kendrick was being exposed to, and she didn't want it to hurt him in any way. The whole discussion on the same day, just before Glass left, became pointless.

Because she was going to get her friend involved in probably the worst case of all.

"She said Glass was going to confront someone... dangerous. She asked us for help."

Kendrick, even more tense, leaned forward. There was more understanding in his eyes than shock. It was weirder for Britt than any other potential reaction on his part.

"Tell me exactly what she told you."

And she did. With every word she said, Kendrick seemed to get better at putting the pieces together. His thoughts must have been racing like crazy. And when the girl was done, the boy straightened up, grabbed his jacket on the chair and got up from his seat.

Britt could have sworn Kendrick already knew everything.

And he wasn't happy about it.

"We have to go there." He looked at her with conviction.

The girl bit her lip, nervously tapping her foot. She looked at the time on her phone. She's got half an hour left on her shift. There were maybe two or three bartenders at the bar. People, as every day, were filling up the party. The vice-manager could have barged into the club at any second.

But those 30 minutes could have made a difference. On a much larger scale.

She grabbed her things while putting on her blouse.

"They should fire me anyway..."

She matched her pace with Kendrick and left the club with him, falling into the darkness of the night.

She felt in her heart that the night wouldn't end well.