Dorian Matthews was not comfortable with Miss Wilson's request to meet at such a late hour. Shadows gathered in the corners of mahogany shelves, obscuring their contents and adding an extra layer of anxiety to the already vexing ambiance. Miss Wilson sat in her leather chair opposite him, her wrinkled features carved deeper by the orange glow of her brass, antique desk lamp.

"The girl is already trouble," she stated with a stiff frown.

"I'm telling you, I haven't noticed anything strange," Dorian replied. Although he had to admit, he hadn't really been looking. His attention was preoccupied with nightmares and with memories of his twin brother. Now, Rayne mentioned there may be more similarities between herself and his twin brother, Daniel?

What else could there be?

And why couldn't he stop thinking about it?

"Mr. Matthews," the headteacher began curtly, "you are privy to this information, because I have entrusted you with this task. If you cannot perform the most simple of—"

"I'm sorry, I'm confused," he said, lifting his hand to silence her. "Is the task to keep an eye on her, or to catch her doing something wrong? Because it sounds to me like you already believe she's guilty of something."

"She does not . . . belong here, Mr. Matthews, and I want her gone as soon as possible."

He scoffed. "Well, that's not what I signed up for."

"Hmm . . ." Dipping her hand into the right-hand desk drawer, Miss Wilson retrieved a bundle of documents. "Perhaps I was wrong then," she began quietly, sliding paperwork towards him, "to place my trust in you."

Dorian leaned forward.

The first line of the letter stated, "It is with great enthusiasm that the Maria J. Westwood Board of Educators offers you—"

"Whoa, wait a minute." He stopped reading and snapped, "What is this? Some sort of bribe?"

Her expression was grave. "It is an offer letter, Mr. Matthews. To become a part of the school board."

"Jesus, Veronica." He leaned back in the chair. "Why do you want her out of here so badly?"

"Mr. Matthews—"

"No, forget it." He flicked the offer letter back toward her like a Frisbee, and the headteacher seemed surprised, scrambling to catch the paper when it hit her chest and fell to her lap. Dorian said, "Miss Wilson, for your sake, I'll pretend I never saw this. Good night."

He stormed out of the office and into the dim marbled hallway, nearly doubling over to take a deep breath. Slowly, Dorian regained his composure, meeting his own eyes in the long, beveled mirror that lined the long passage. That damned mirror. His glacial blue irises appeared to glow, as though illumined by a stray moonbeam, but there was no moonlight peering through any windows.

Dorian swiftly blinked away the image of Daniel that began to flicker across the forefront of his mind.

Stop it, he told himself. Don't get yourself all worked up.

He shook his head, rushed around the corner, entered the stairwell, hurried to the second floor, and entered the staff's living quarters. Dorian was just about to reach his room when he stopped in the middle of the hall.

Just five doors down, the History teacher, Vincent Davenport, stood at the entrance to his own room wearing jeans and a white button-down shirt. Dorian could not see much, but as he tilted his head, Dorian could tell that just inside the open door, a young strawberry blonde had her lips locked with the History instructor's. Dorian nearly gasped. He was certain by the color of her tresses alone that the female could not have been another staff member.

He had to admit, it was clever. Hide the girl in plain sight. There were no cameras in the staff's living quarters, and all Vincent would have needed to do was give the girl his key card to let her do the dirty work and sneak right on in. How she had managed to sneak by security, however, was beyond Dorian's comprehension.

Dorian had been suspicious of this for quite some time. Finally, he was about to have his proof. Fury surged through him, and Dorian purposefully swiped the key card to his dorm. The loud ding preceding the clacking of locks unhinging startled the girl down the hall. She visibly jumped and peeked her head out of the open door. Mr. Davenport tried to push her back into the room, but Dorian could already see that it was Miss Hillary Berkshire. Her eyes widened when they met Dorian's, and she spun around, sprinting toward the stairwell at the other end of the hall.

Vincent Davenport stood still, turning only to glare in Dorian's direction. He wrinkled his nose, ran a hand through his dark blonde hair, and looked around the hall just once before making his way toward Dorian. Suddenly, he began to chuckle. "Dorian, Dorian, Dorian," he said slowly, stepping closer. "Look, I don't know what you think you just saw—"

"Pretty sure I just saw you kiss your tenure goodbye," said Dorian, and Vincent's lip twitched backwards, like a dog baring its teeth. That animosity bled into his stride as he took one cutting step into Dorian's personal space. Nearly nose to nose, Dorian shook his head and chuckled. "Sure you wanna do this, asshole?"

"Are you?" Vincent countered, giving him a disdainful once-over. "Like you haven't been sneaking around with little miss psychopath . . ."

"Excuse me?"

Vincent raised a brow and smiled. "Amateur, really . . ." He stepped backward. "I mean, in the middle of the Dining Hall, in front of so many people . . . Oh, and don't get me started on your private little lunch-ins. You're just begging for a lawsuit, aren't you? Tell me, just what exactly are you doing out so late, Matthews? Curfew was three hours ago."

It took Dorian a moment to comprehend the man's accusations. "If you're implying what I think—"

"Well, it takes one to know one, doesn't it?" Vincent surmised. "Ah, but with Charlotte Du Pont's niece of all people?" He tsked three times. "My, my. Such poor taste."

"I'm not like you, Vincent."

"Maybe so . . . but the accusation alone would ruin you, wouldn't it."

It was not a question. And that was terrifying.

Pure, unadulterated rage began pumping through Dorian's chest.

Vincent continued: "All it takes is one allegation to throw your entire career into a tailspin. The investigation, the watchful eyes . . . You're so close with all your students. You could never really interact with any of them the same way ever again, could you? And do you really think the parents of these rich little pricks give a damn? Right or wrong, they'll crucify you in a heartbeat, and they'll—"

"Get to the point, Vincent."

"It's simple . . ." Vincent took a step forward, closing the space between them once more. "If you tell . . . I'll tell."

The man's ensuing smirk was enraging, and Dorian stood motionless as Vincent cocked his head and burst into laughter, aware of his triumph. As the man ambled back to his dorm room, Dorian simply stared at the floor.

Bribed and blackmailed . . . all in the same night.

◢✥◣

Rayne Foster studied David as he paced the short corners of the shack with a restless stride. His boyfriend, Spencer, seemed rife with uncertainty. He had just revealed that he, too, could see the shadow people, which meant that Rayne and Lucas were not alone.

Who else could see them?

Spencer shook his head. "You two are really lucky that we found you and not Pierce."

David stopped pacing. "Wouldn't call them 'lucky' just yet." It wasn't hard to tell he had difficulty believing their story, but Spencer's admission had put him into a tricky position. "This whole thing is ridiculous."

"Was it Nikki?" Rayne suddenly inquired.

"Who?" Spencer asked.

"The girl you saw outside the window. Was it Nicole Livingston? The girl who was murdered?"

"I don't know who she is."

Lucas folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the wooden planks. "Well, we have the footage." In response to Spencer's raised brow, he said, "The security footage from the night of the murder ten years ago."

David's arms fell to his sides, his eyes widening in a furious, disbelieving daze. "You have got to be kidding me. You're all insane."

Spencer raised his shoulders, shielding himself from his boyfriend's glare, and Rayne returned David's glower. "That may be true," she said, "but at least we're not alone."

From the opposite end of the shack, Lucas offered a small smile. Rayne nearly smiled with him, until his gesture turned into a grimace as the movement triggered bloodfall from his broken lip. Rayne eyed it for only a second before maintaining her frown and trying not to pay attention to it at all.

"Spence," she said, addressing the frightened red-head, "you've got the hookup for everything, right?"

Spencer looked to his boyfriend, only to whip away from his lingering scowl. Staring bullets into the wooden floorboards, he muttered, "I have a system. Yes."

"Well, do you think you could hook us up with a laptop? One with a DVD port?"

"Rayne," David began, raising his voice and stomping toward her, "if you and Luke wanna get expelled, then, by all means, have at it, but you leave Spencer out of this, you got it?" Once he was close enough to whisper, he said, "You have no idea how dangerous this is—validating his hallucinations—"

Rayne couldn't help but yell, "He is not hallucinating, Sheppard!"

"He has schizophrenia!" David hollered back, and Spencer, trying not to cry, lowered his head. David softened his voice, ran his hand over his shaved scalp, and seemed remorseful for outing his lover. "Look, it's . . . it's nothing to be ashamed of, but . . . b-but this is a lifelong battle, and what you're doing here is . . . It is so dangerous, Rayne. Whatever high you and Lucas are on, you need to leave Spencer out of it. Please, for his sake."

Rayne faltered. "I don't know what to tell you, Shep. They're real. This is happening, and—"

Fed up, David lurched toward her, but before he could reach her, Lucas positioned himself between them. Like lions ready to dive into a death match, David and Lucas stared at one another until Rayne jumped to her feet as well.

"We don't have time for this," she fumed. Lucas kept trying to protect her. From the shadows, from Mr. Matthews, from herself, and now, from David Sheppard. Maybe it should have flattered her, but it only pissed her off. She glared at him. "Sit down and stop it. Both of you." To Spencer, Rayne said, "Kid, can you get us a laptop or not?"

"I can try," he answered quietly. "But after Lucas got busted with the booze, there's still too much heat. Gotta wait a few weeks . . ."

"Okay, then we wait." Rayne looked around. "In the meantime, you have any other ideas? Anyone on campus have anything we can use?"

Spencer shrugged. "I think Jackie might. Got her a laptop last year. You can see if she still has it."

With a huff and a scowl, David and Lucas shrugged off their frustration and walked to opposite ends of the shack. David sat down, placing his head in his hands. Meanwhile, Lucas ran his fingers through his hair, leaned back against the wall, and appeared to be searching the ceiling for some sort of answer. He closed his eyes.

Still sitting on the floor, Spencer periodically looked out the window, but he was also trying not to look that way, his eyes flickering upward and hastily flickering back down. Rayne looked toward the window herself, seeing nothing but shadowed leaves rustling in the wind.

A thought occurred to her.

Rayne took a seat on the floor beside him. "Hey," she began quietly.

"Hey," Spencer returned, keeping his eyes on the floor.

Rayne bit her lip. "Spencer, can you still see her?"

He lifted his gaze toward the window, only to drop it once more. "Y-y-yeah . . ."

From the corner of the shack, David growled, "Rayne, I mean it. Drop it."

"This is different, David," Spencer insisted. To Rayne, he explained, "Part of my diagnosis is hallucinations. Ever since I was young, I've always seen things, but . . . my visions were always the same." He shuddered. "Bugs . . . They were always bugs. Everywhere. On the walls, in my ears, under my skin, in . . . my mom's mouth . . ." He looked at his boyfriend. "But I haven't seen them in a long time. I take my medication, and I'm okay. This is new, these shadows are new." He smiled, small and sad. "This is real."

David looked as though he might cry. "Spencer . . ."

"It is real," Rayne whispered, looking at the window again.

But then again . . . if this was real, then why couldn't Rayne see the girl in the window? She was furious to discover that she still couldn't see anything other than wind billowing the trees.

"Talk to her," Rayne suddenly snapped, turning to the boy. "You have to talk to her for us. Please. Ask her questions."

"What?" Spencer visibly recoiled. "N-n-no. I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't? I used to talk to her all the time. Just do it."

"No, you don't understand," he said, shaking his head. "I—I can't. I don't talk to her when she's like this."

"When she's like what?"

Spencer looked up, and immediately closed his eyes.

"When she's like what, Spence?"

A tear slipped down his cheek.

Rayne looked down. The little red hairs on Spencer's arms stood to attention, and as a chill swept the room, Rayne began shivering alongside him. She surveyed the air before him. The unforgiving tremor that quaked his tiny, bony frame. Suddenly, and without knowing how or why, she understood what was happening.

"Oh, God," she gasped. "She's . . . in front of you right now . . . isn't she?"

Spencer's tears were silent but streaming like waterfalls. Still quivering, he nodded his head, and David suddenly became aware of his boyfriend's distress.

"What are you doing to him?" David snapped, pushing Rayne aside. He wrapped his arms around Spencer, who instinctively curled into his chest and began burying his sobs there. "Rayne, I don't know what's going on here, but you seriously need to get out of my sight. Like, now."

"Come on, Rayne," Lucas whispered. He pushed himself away from the wall and placed a hand on her shoulder. David scoffed, and Lucas dropped his hand. "Rayne," he uttered on exhale, "why don't we . . . give them some space?"

Spencer cried, "Sh-sh-she . . . she won't stop sc-screaming."

"What?" David asked, lowering his voice to a whisper. He rubbed Spencer's arm. "Baby, what do you mean? Who's screaming?" When his boyfriend said nothing, David glared at Rayne. "He hasn't had a fit like this in months. What did you do to him?"

"I didn't do anything." She staggered backward, and when she stumbled over a rumpled blanket on the floor, Lucas gently caught her, placing his palm in the base of her spine. "I—I . . . I didn't—"

"Rayne," Luke whispered.

"But I didn't do anything," she said again. As Rayne looked into Lucas's eyes, it was the genuine concern gazing back at her that caused her to realize she was now crying, too. "I didn't . . . I didn't do anything."

"I know," Luke replied. "I know. It's okay."

"It is not okay!" David hollered.

Closing his eyes, or perhaps withholding an eyeroll, Lucas said, "Shep, I think you need to take Spencer to see Doctor MacGowen. Right now."

"What?" Rayne stepped away from him. "No! Lucas, you can't!" First, Lucas began to doubt Mr. Matthews, and now, he was pushing for a psychiatric visit?

"Rayne—"

"No! Red's just gonna drug him up on some shit he doesn't need!"

David shook his head. "I . . . I hate to say this, but . . . I agree with Rayne. No doctors. What if they expel him for being out past curfew?"

"They'll understand, Shep. No one needs to know we were in the woods," Lucas pressed, nodding to the boy who was now rocking back and forth in David's arms. "Besides, Spence does worse things on a day-to-day basis, and right now, he seriously needs some sort of sedative." Lucas turned toward Rayne. "You know it's true, Rayne. Think about the last time you saw that girl, how horrible it was . . ."

Against her will, Rayne did just that. She closed her eyes, propelling herself back into a memory in the Maria J. Westwood library. Nikki had screamed at Rayne back then too, and it was more than just the horrifying vision of her ashy, dead skin or the blood pooling from the girl's eyes—it was the stench, a bite of rot to the nostrils that caused Rayne to wrinkle her nose now and pull away with the just the recollection of its odor alone.

"Exactly," Lucas uttered, "and that only lasted a few seconds. Spencer is still with her right now, Rayne. We need to . . . knock him out."

Rayne's eyes snapped open, and she rushed the boy. "David, this is for the best."

David did not have time to blink or ask questions when Rayne pulled her fist back.

"Sorry, Spence," she whispered, just before hurling a punch into the poor boy's face.