Forcing myself through that door was one of the hardest things I’d ever done. I did it though, and now I make my way back through the forest to the river. I call out to Sam, panic twisting my stomach. When he appears from behind a tree I’m relieved at first. He’s still here. But when he comes closer my heart falls. He is more faded than when I saw him a half hour ago. The difference is barely noticeable, but I know Sam, I know every inch of him. “You’re still fading.” I say.

            “Only a little at a time.” His smile is pained. “You’ve been crying.” He embraces me, holding me tightly, and I lay my head on his shoulder, finally allowing myself to fall apart. I’m only standing because of his arms around me. I’m suddenly sobbing so hard I can’t speak, can’t breath. It’s like my heart has finally shattered into a million fragile pieces and the jagged edges are piercing every part of me. All the hate and rage is washing away now, being replaced by  deep sadness.  A grief so intense it’s nearly tangible. Sam holds me tightly, stroking my hair and murmuring. His words are too soft to hear over my ragged breathing, but they’re comforting nonetheless, and slowly I began to feel myself calm down. My breathing becomes slow and even bit by bit.  Tears dry on my cheeks, making my skin feel tight. I wish I could just melt into his arms and let him make everything alright.

I look up at him, and he smiles gently. “Go to Nakia now,” he says. “Then we’ll go together. Everything will be all right.”

            Everything will be all right. I tell myself he’s right, pulling back from his arms reluctantly. “Okay. I’ll be right back.” I head through the woods, gliding silently, only looking back once. Sam is a solitary figure outlined in golds and reds by the rising sun, standing by the river with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, looking after me. Waiting.

            Caleb is the first person I see upon entering the house. I don’t want to see him before I leave, I don’t want the intense hatred and anger to come flooding back, so I’m about to ignore him and just glide past him on my way to Nakia’s bedroom, when his phone rings. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pause before entering the hallway. Caleb jams his fingers into his jeans pocket, lifting his hips off the couch slightly to get into his tight jeans. The phone he pulls out isn’t his. It’s pink, with little diamond stickers on the back. Nakia’s phone. Panic shoots through me as I remember the conversation my parents just had. The police were going to call Nakia in for questioning alone. But she would never get the call, would she? Caleb would.

            He holds the phone in the palm of his hand, watching it ring for a few minutes. After awhile the phone stops ringing, then buzzes violently. A message. They left a message. He flips the phone open and punches in the pass code, then holds the phone up to his ear. I can hear the tinny sounding voice of Officer Love on the other end. Caleb’s face becomes grimmer and grimmer as it goes on. At last he punches the off button violently and stands up, placing the phone on the coffee table. “Nakia,” he calls down the hall past me, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. What’s he planning on doing? It’s not like she did anything wrong. The bedroom door down the hall opens slowly, and Nakia peers out. “Yeah?” Her voice is higher then usual, and she’s obviously trying her best not to sounds scared.

            “Come out here for a second.”

            There’s a pause, silence, and then Nakia slowly emerges, dread written all over her face. My stomach churns and my nails bite into my palms. I’m scared for her. She walks down the hall toward him on shaky legs. “What? What’s wrong?”

            Caleb leans against the wall, his face casual. “Heard from the police lately?”

            “No, you have my phone.” She frowns.

            “They haven’t approached you at school or work or anything?”

            “No,” she says nervously.

            “They just called your phone.” His face is grim.

            She shrugs. “So, what did they want?”

            “They want to question you. Alone.”

            Nakia bites her lip. “Oh…I...”

            “We need to plan out a story. You need to memorize it. I need to be sure you won’t crack under the pressure and tell them anything.”

            To my surprise she pushes past him and walks into the kitchen. She opens the fridge and grabs a beer bottle out. Again her face is blank, totally devoid of any emotion. I frown in confusion, trying to remember the last time I’d seen her drink a beer. Nakia hates beer, she only drinks girly drinks. Martinis and Bellinis, all sugar and hardly any alcohol. “I’m tired of this Caleb. I don’t want anything to do with this.”

            “Tough shit,” he says angrily. “You’re in it up to your neck.”

            Nakia narrows her eyes at him. “What if I tell them?” Her voice is harsh. “What if I go tell them what you did? Are you going to kill me, Caleb? Are you going to add another murder to your record? I’m sick of living like this!”

            Alarm shoots through me as Caleb stalks forward, fists clenched at his sides. He’s clearly furious. “What are you talking about? You’re not going to tell them. You’ll go to jail too, you psycho!”

            “No I won’t,” snaps Nakia. “You shot her, not me. You threw her body in the river, not me. I just didn’t say anything because you’ve gone crazy, Caleb. I don’t know if you just turned into a monster, or you were always like this and I was too stupid to see it, but I’m done with this. I’m done with you. I’m breaking up, I’m moving out. I’ll move back with my parents if I have to! They’re pathetic drunken losers, but at least they aren’t murderers!”

            Caleb is barely containing his rage, his breath is coming in sharp gasps, his chest rising and falling as he stands there, his face growing red. “Let’s just pretend you never said any of the shit you just said. For your sake. Tomorrow, you’ll go to the police station and recite exactly what I tell you to. And if you do a good job, I’ll pretend you never said anything of this.”

            “Screw you,” Nakia says in a perfectly even voice, and I’m proud of her, and terrified for her at the same time. Caleb moves toward her suddenly, growling like an enraged animal, grabbing for her throat. Nakia grips the bottle by the neck and swings it at him, it glances off the side of his head with a crack, and Caleb falls back against the wall with a strangled cry.

            The words rip out of my throat, “Run, Nakia!” and she bolts for the kitchen door. Caleb staggers to his feet, head bleeding and darts one hand out, snagging her shirt and pulling her back so hard she falls onto her backside on the kitchen tiles. The beer bottle flies out of her hands, smashing onto the ground at Caleb’s feet. He dodges the broken glass, still keeping a firm grip on Nakia’s shirt, and she tries to back away, her feet scrabbling for purchase on the slippery tiles. She’s screaming at him the entire time, calling him horrible names. Caleb grunts in pain as he steps on one of the shards of glass. He hauls Nakia up roughly, and she nearly slips and falls on the crimson trail his foot is leaving behind. He howls in pain as Nakia claws at him frantically, scoring his arms and face with thin red marks. I gasp as he slams her violently against the door frame, knocking the wind out of her. She doubles over, gasping, and he grabs a handful of blonde hair and yanks her back up, dragging her over to the door to the basement.

            I’m helpless. The old anger isn’t flooding through me like it used to, only shock and pain. I throw myself at him again and again, clawing at his face, shrieking obscenities. But I slip through him again and again. Caleb yanks open the basement door and drags Nakia to the edge of the stairs.

“You did this,” he pants. “We were so good together, and you had to go ruin it all.”  

He plants both hands in the middle of her back and shoves her. Nakia screams, legs and arms flailing, trying to stop her fall. Her head strikes the banister more than once on the way down, and when she hits the last few steps she’s completely limp. I stand behind Caleb and we stare at the limp form at the bottom of the stairs. Her blonde hair covers her face, but I can see a thin trickle of blood leaking onto the basement floor, and her right arm is at an awkward angle. Is it broken? Is she dead? My hand is pressed so hard to my mouth that I’m actually crushing my bottom lip into my teeth, and the coppery taste of blood spreads across my tongue.

            Caleb shakes his head. “Damnit.” He slams the door shut and twists the handle, locking it. He stomps out into the living room. I can hear him punching buttons on his phone and a moment later the low murmur of his voice reaches me. He’s asking someone to come over. Larry, obviously. The “go to” guy to get rid of dead bodies. I collapse to the floor and stare at the kitchen tiles through watery eyes, protected by a dark curtain of hair that hangs in front of my face. Now Caleb has murdered twice, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

            Scrabbling noises make me sit up sharply. Little scraping noises coming from the other side of the door, a faint grunt of pain. Nakia!

            “You’re alive!” I scoot over to the door on my hands and knees, pushing my head and shoulders through the door, effectively cutting myself in half. It’s a disgusting feeling, but when I see Nakia struggling to climb the stairs on her hands and knees my heart flutters wildly. She looks awful. There’s a bruise already forming on her forehead, and blood stains one shoulder of her blouse. Her black liner has run, mingling with tears, giving her an undead look. Her entire body shakes as she drags herself up the stairs, a look of agonized determination on her face. I have to help her! How can I help her? I drag myself the rest of the way though the door, crouching on the top step.

            “Nakia,” I whisper. “I’m going to get you out of here. I won’t let him do this again. It’s going to be okay.” I have to find someway to stop him. Turning, I melt through the door again.

            Caleb is in the living room, still talking to Larry on the phone. “Yes,” he’s saying, his face is calm now.  Like he didn’t just try to kill someone. “All right, cool. Yeah, come over now. That’s great, thanks. See you soon.”

            He hangs up the phone and slouches onto the couch. I flit back and forth anxiously, pacing, trying to figure out what I can do. Can I attack him physically? Drive him out of the house? If he thinks Nakia is dead, then he won’t try to hurt her. The rage comes easily to me, and I’m just gliding forward, my hands reaching for his throat, when there’s a sharp thud from the kitchen, and his head jerks up, eyes widening. We both listen, frozen. Nakia has started thumping on the basement door. Shit, now he knows she’s alive. I can’t attack him if he has that to hold over me, he’ll probably actually kill her if he knocks her around again. Caleb just narrows his eyes in the direction of the kitchen and looks unhappy. I can guess what’s going on in his mind. He was hoping she was dead. Now he’ll actually have to kill her. Or he’ll make Larry do his dirty work.

            I’m still wracking my brains trying to think of what to do when the doorbell rings.

The boys are here. They’re here to kill Nakia.

My pacing becomes more frantic as Caleb gets up and answers the door. I’ll have to just attack them all if they go for her, taking out whoever I can and hoping that she gets a chance to run. I’ll smash things and push people over and try my best to cause a huge distraction and maybe she’ll be able to get away. I plant my feet on the floor and put my hands on my hips, taking a deep calming breath as Caleb opens the door and the boys file in. I’ll do whatever I have to to protect my friend. I’m ready.

But when Larry comes in he doesn’t head for the kitchen at all. In fact, he looks totally at ease, not worried about anything. He pats Caleb on the arm and laughs. “Relax, man. You need to just chill out.” He lifts up one hand to show Caleb that he’s carrying a cardboard case of beer, the bottles clinking together musically. He grins. “She's locked in the basement, right?”

Caleb hesitates. “Yeah…”

“Well then, let’s just all chill out and have a few beers. You just need to calm down or everything can go to shit. Let’s play a few rounds of poker, have some lunch and just relax. We have to wait till it gets dark anyways.”

Caleb looks dismayed. “But that’s hours away!”

“It’s not like she’s going anywhere.” Larry shrugs. “Come on, let’s go into the den and get set up.”

I trail after them, not sure what to do. My plan was to go in swinging, but they don’t seem like they’re about to do anything at all. Larry, Ben and Derrek slump into chairs around the poker table, none of them look the slightest bit worried. They’re either used to this kind of thing, or they hide it really well. I drift closer to them, catching a flicker of something cross Ben’s face. All right, maybe they weren’t all as calm as they were acting. Larry shoves back his chair and leaves the room, the bathroom door slams, and Derrek and Ben both lean forward suddenly like hunting dogs on a scent.

“So,” Derrek says, “Larry says you’ve had trouble with a ghost.” He grins like an idiot at Caleb, who glares back at him and grunts in the affirmative.       

“What’d she do?” Ben leans forward, and his face is a mixture of fear and fascination. “Like, push stuff over and stuff, or make the walls bleed?”

Derrek says scornfully, “Bitch, please. This isn’t the Amityville horror.”

“Just flicking lights on and off and stuff.” Caleb leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest, clearly trying to act like it’s no big deal. “But we came to an understanding. She won’t be bothering us.” He sounds confident, but doubt flickers across his face. He’s thinking the same thing I am. If he kills Nakia, then he no longer has any leverage over me. I would be free to exact my revenge in any way I felt like. I’m guessing he plans to book it out of here as soon as the job is done.

“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Larry says loudly from the doorway.

Ben and Derrek jump, guilt written all over their faces. Caleb looks both pissed off and wary, the conflicting emotions are obviously too much for him, because he clamps his lips together tightly and leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

Larry directs a sneer in Caleb’s direction. “What I do believe in, is people that don’t have enough balls to handle stuff like this, and end up cracking under the pressure. PTSD can mess you up, man. And what did I say about this?” He shoots a look at all of them now. “We don’t discuss this any more than we discuss fairy dust and unicorns. Because it isn’t real.”

“It attacked a priest,” Caleb snaps, he throws his cards down angrily, not carrying that half of them land face up. “And my mother saw it too. It’s not just me.”

“You called your mom?” Larry jeers. “Come on, Caleb. I didn’t think you’d cracked that bad…”

“Screw you,” Caleb spits. “Just shut up. You didn’t see it. It damn well near killed me one night. Choked me half to death. You have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

Ben looks nervous, trying to change the subject. “So how’d you make it stop? “

Caleb shrugs. “Told it to quit it. It can’t touch me.” He leans back in his chair and smirks, and my teeth grind together so loudly it’s a wonder they can’t hear the noise. He’d be wise not to act so damn confident about it.

Apparently it’s ghost story time, because Derrek leans forward eagerly and says, “Did you ever see her? What did she look like? Did she look…all dead and stuff?” He looks suddenly uncomfortable at the thought. Obviously a few unpleasant mental images are cropping up in his imagination right now. Good, I wish him the worse kind of nightmares.

Larry rolls his eyes. “Oh hell, is it story time? Tell us the one about the magic dragon named puff. That’s the only fairy story I’m interested in.”

Caleb smirks again, apparently pleased the others are ignoring Larry’s warning, because he starts talking in a low, spooky voice, like they’re a bunch of boy scouts around a campfire swapping tall tales. “She’s nasty looking. Big black eyes that stare at nothing and a ripped and bloody shirt. Her hair hanging lank and greasy…”

I touch my hair, feeling offended. It is not greasy!  I look down at my sweater.  It is the same one I was wearing the night I was killed, but there’s no rips in it, no blood. It looks as white as the day I put it on. Liar.