The Lola Chronicles (Book 1): A Night Without Stars

by Jillian Eaton

  Everett and I both hit our stride early on. We figured out the political game of high school before anyone else, and we’d already decided who we were going to be while the other kids were still trying to choose what teacher to take for basic algebra.

  We weren’t popular. Not like Barbie Bitch and her small army of blonde clones. But we were Untouchable, and that was just as good. Better, since it meant I didn’t have to wear polo shirts.

  No one shoved our faces into lockers. No one laughed behind our backs. They left us alone because they were scared of us, and – more importantly – they envied us. They envied our poise and our confidence and our don’t-give-a-shit attitudes, never imagining that when real life came they would rise and we would fall, stuck in a town that didn’t give a damn about us.

  So no, I didn’t particularly like Everett James. But when Travis became big and I turned small, he was all I would have left.

  “I did. I said porn.” I stood up, took a long, deliberate lick of what remained of my ice cream and tossed it in a trash bin next to the bench. Travis remained sitting, his mouth a firm, flat line of disapproval.

  “Those are the conversations I like to walk into.” Everett chuckled; a low, husky sound he’d achieved from smoking two packs of cigarettes a day since he was fourteen. He lit one up now and took a slow drag before offering it to me. I shook my head.

  “Smoking kills.”

  His blue eyes rolled. “So what? We’re all going to die of something sooner or later.”

  If only he knew how right he was.

  “A couple of us are going down to the quarry for a quick swim.” His teeth flashed, surprisingly white given his nasty habit. He reached out to trail a fingertip down my bare arm. “What do you think, Lola? You up for a quick skinny dip?”

  “Yeah, sure, why not?” I agreed not because I wanted to, but because it was what was expected of me. “What about you, Travis? Want to do a little naked swimming?” My grin was mischievous; only Travis would recognize the strain at the corners.

  “No,” he muttered under his breath. “I, uh, need to go to the bookstore. To find a book.”

  “Nerdy wants a booky book,” Everett crowed.

  I turned neatly so I was standing beside him, drew my elbow up, and plowed it back into his stomach. “Leave him alone, asshole.”

  Everett grunted and doubled over. “I was just giving him some shit. Christ, Lola.” But when he straightened up his eyes gleamed and I knew, as disgusting as it was, that the physical violence had turned him on.

  I should have told him to screw off then and there, but I didn’t. I didn’t because when it came down to it, I knew where I really belonged. And it wasn’t in a bookstore pouring through the young-adult section next to a guy who was sitting on an ivy league scholarship.

  I slung my arm around Everett’s shoulders. Leaned in and pressed a smacking kiss to his cheek. “Let’s go.”

  When we were halfway down the block I snuck a glance back to the bench. Travis was still sitting on it, calmly finishing his cone. For the briefest of moments our gazes caught, and the furious black rage I saw burning in his eyes took my breath away.

  “Everett, wait.” I dug in my heels. Twisted out of his grasp.

  “Lola, what the—”

  I looked at Travis again. This time he grimaced, but his brown eyes were soft and gentle. The anger was gone, as though it had never been there at all. Be careful, he mouthed.

  Everything is fine, I assured myself.

  Everything is normal…

  The quarry was an old gravel pit two miles out of town that had been created – and quickly abandoned – in the late seventies. Nature had swallowed it back up, but the path leading down to the jump off point was well worn and easily navigated by those who knew it was there, myself included.

  Through the trees I could hear Everett’s friends yelling as they leaped out into oblivion, their enthusiastic whoops followed seconds later by loud splashes as they hit the still, dark water below.

  Orange signs, faded with age and covered with suggestive remarks, warned trespassers to stay out (for good reason). What we were doing was strictly illegal and more than a little dangerous, which only made it that much more enticing.

  “You ready?” Everett hooked his thumbs under the hem of his black t-shirt and peeled it off, revealing a painfully white chest and what could have been abs, or just a trick of light and shadow. It was hard to tell.

  We’d stopped about twenty feet out from the jumping point in a small grove of pine trees. Last summer someone managed to get their truck back here and dropped off a picnic table. It was littered haphazardly with clothes, and I pushed aside a pair of green shorts so I could perch on the edge. Above us tiny sparrows twittered furiously as they hopped from tree branch to tree branch, no doubt annoyed their sanctuary had been invaded by a bunch of loud, reckless teenagers.

  I stood up and mimicked Everett’s actions, yanking the skull tank top over my head and tossing it towards the end of the picnic table.

  “You’re wearing a sports bra,” he complained.

  “But my panties match.” Before I could lose my nerve I popped open the button on my jeans and slid out of them one leg at a time, revealing a no-nonsense pair of black cotton underwear that did, indeed, match my bra. If Everett had been hoping to catch me in a thong, he was definitely going to be disappointed.

  Besides being stupidly uncomfortable – would you want a string poking up the middle of your ass? – thongs were also ridiculously expensive. Why get one piece of fancy lingerie when you could buy a twelve pack of wedgie free underwear at K-Mart for ten bucks? Who cared if they weren’t fancy. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, least of all Everett James.

  My bare feet sank into a carpet of pine needles as I walked out to the edge of the quarry. It spread out below me in an uneven circle, a man-made lake cut from the earth itself.

  Staying a healthy distance away from the thirty-foot drop, I shaded my eyes against the sun and did a quick count. There were four boys in the water. Two navigating the steep climb back up to the jump point. One on the verge of leaping. He was naked except for a pair of navy blue briefs, and he yelled something unintelligible before he flipped over the edge and disappeared.

  I could feel Everett’s gaze on my ass, but when he tried to replace his eyes with his hand I slapped it away.

  “Skinny dipping,” I said. “Not skinny touching.”

  “You’re such a tease, Lola.”

  My tangled braid whipped over my shoulder as I spun to face him. My smile was razor sharp. My adrenaline high. “And you’re a dick.”

  There wasn’t any heat in my voice. I couldn’t be mad at Everett. Not really. Yeah, he was obnoxious. Yeah, he was a sexist pig. But I knew he was an obnoxious sexist pig, and I’d come out to the quarry with him anyway. Don’t play with fire unless you’re willing to get burned. Wasn’t that the saying?

  I faced the water and stepped up to the edge. My bare toes clung to the rocky surface and I swept my arms out to the side to balance myself, like a bird preparing to take flight. “It’s a long way down.”

  “Same as it was the last time you did it.” Everett moved up beside me and studied the water. Our bare shoulders touched. “You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I think you’re the only girl who’s ever done it.”

  “Done what?”

  “Jumped.”

  Despite the heat, I felt a shiver race down my spine and goose bumps broke out on my arms. “It’s not that hard.”

  His dark eyes serious, he said, “A kid died here a few years ago, you know. He hit the water wrong and snapped his own neck.”

  I couldn’t help it. I faltered back a step, and Everett chuckled.

  “Dick,” I growled.

  “Relax, Lola. You’re all hyped up today. What’s your deal?”

  My deal? My deal was last night Travis disappeared into a house with a complete stranger, I had a dream that could have easily put me in a psyche ward, and I was about
to jump off a thirty foot cliff to impress some guy I didn’t even like..

  Jesus. What was wrong with me?

  The scream took us both by surprise. It began as a gargled yell, rising in pitch and intensity until it was cut off with an abruptness that chilled me to the bone.

  “That sounded like Ferguson!” Everett leaned over the edge, searching the water. “Yo,” he called down, cupping his mouth with his hands. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Ferg saw a snake,” one of his buddies shouted up at us, splashing water as he heaved himself up on a rock. “No big deal. You coming in or what?”

  “Everett, wait.” I had my hand wrapped around his wrist before I knew what I was doing. He glanced down at my fingers. Up at my face.

  “If you want to jump in together just say the word, baby. I’ll hold you all the way down.”

  “No, I don’t want…gross. That’s just gross.” Forcing that disgusting image out of my mind, I did another quick count. There were four guys in the water and one on the rock. Five in total, when before there had been six. “Something is wrong. There should be six.”

  Everett regarded me with a lazy smile. “Six what, babe?”

  “Guys! Six guys, you idiot!”

  “Whatever. If you’re too chicken to jump in, just admit it.” He pulled his arm free from my grasp and bent his knees. “LOOK OUT BELOW BOYS!”

  My pulse roared in my ears. My tongue felt dry, like I’d swallowed cotton. I didn’t know why or how I knew something terrible was about to happen, I just did. “Hold on a second, I think we—”

  But with one final whoop he pushed off the ledge and soared into the air with effortless grace. Arching his body, he dove head first into the water and disappeared with barely a splash.

  In hindsight, if I had known that would be the last time I saw Everett James alive, I probably wouldn’t have called him an idiot.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hacked

  Call it gut instinct. Call it self-preservation. Call it whatever the hell you want, but the second Everett hit the water I was out of there.

  Grabbing my clothes off the picnic table I dressed as I ran, not even stopping to twist my shirt around when I put it on backwards. I burst from the tree line out of breath and on the verge of a full-blown anxiety attack the likes of which I hadn’t suffered since Mom walked out the door.

  Doubling over, I braced my hands on my knees and took deep, calming breaths; a technique the shrink had told me about on our very first visit.

  They’re fine, I told myself. Nothing is going to happen to them. They’re just boys, screwing around. They go to the quarry all the time.

  Except this time… This time had been different.

  The moment I heard that awful scream I was brought back to the Livingston’s house, and I knew something was wrong. A boy didn’t scream like that because of a snake. A boy didn’t vanish because of a snake. I didn’t count incorrectly. There were five. There should have been six. Something happened to Ferguson. In the dark, murky depths of the water something happened to him, and even though I didn’t know what it was, I knew I was helpless to stop it.

  I took the long way home. It would have been quicker to cut through the heart of town, but I kept to the edges, following the train tracks until I could hop over and race across a small, litter-strewn field to the apartment complex.

  The smell of stale beer and reheated chicken wings made my nose tingle when I walked into the living room. A plate filled with tiny bones and bits of congealed fat sat on the coffee table, surrounded by a ring of beer cans. I left the plate and cans where they were and went into the kitchen. Picking up the phone and cradling it against my ear, I dialed the three numbers every child is told to memorize by heart.

  “9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

  My knees wobbled and I sagged against the counter. I think I even laughed, which probably isn’t the best thing to do when you’re calling 9-1-1, but I was so relieved to hear an actual human voice I couldn’t help myself. Abruptly remembering the reason I’d called, I tightened my fingers around the receiver and said, “Uh, yes, I’ve never done this before but, um, I would like to report something.”

  “Can I please have your name and location, ma’am?”

  “No,” I blurted out. “I mean, can’t I be, like, anonymous or something?”

  “Are you reporting an incident?”

  “Sort of. I mean, I guess I am. I think.” I knew I sounded like an idiot. I suppose that’s what happens when a girl raised on e-mails and text messages attempts to make the most serious phone call of her life. I focused hard on a chipped piece of linoleum tile on the floor and took a deep breath. “There are boys down at the quarry. Six of them. No, seven,” I corrected, not wanting to exclude Everett. “I think they may be in trouble.”

  “What sort of trouble, ma’am?”

  “I don’t know. They’re not supposed to be there, right? I mean, the quarry is off limits. Shouldn’t you send an officer out to check on them?”

  “Of course,” the operator said smoothly. “Thank you for reporting the trespassing.”

  “You’re welcome.” I smiled, feeling better already. Sure, the guys would get in trouble when the cops showed up, but at least they wouldn’t wind up with broken necks. As far as Ferguson… Well, he’d probably just been hiding behind a rock or something. After all, I hadn’t really looked that hard.

  “Oh, and Lola dear?”

  I froze. “How – how do you know my name? I didn’t give you my name. This was supposed to be anonymous.”

  A soft, familiar chuckle purred through the receiver. “We know everyone, Lola. Don’t worry. They’ll be coming for you soon enough.”

  The line went dead a second before I flung the phone across the kitchen. It slammed into the fridge, knocking two magnets down. The plastic mouthpiece popped off and skittered under one of the cabinets. Breathing hard, unable to believe what I’d just heard, I sank slowly down to the floor and dropped my head between my knees.

  They’ll be coming for you soon enough.

  It wasn’t my imagination. I wasn’t being paranoid. Either something was happening, or I was going crazy. Not surprisingly, neither scenario looked that great to me.

  Was I having some kind of weird mental break? Had the pressure finally gotten to be too much? I always tried to release it in little ways when it began to build up, letting off steam here and there to keep…well, to keep something exactly like this from happening. Yet here I was, curled up on the kitchen floor while images of silver teeth and serpents and the sound of a woman’s soft laughter echoed in my head.

  When the phone started to ring I jumped so hard I hit the back of my skull on a cabinet. Gritting my teeth against the pain and blinking the sudden spark of tears from my eyes I belly flopped across the linoleum to grab the phone, for once not caring about the sticky layer of grime that coated the floor.

  What was a little dirt when you were hearing voices?

  I glanced under the lip of the cabinets, searching for the mouthpiece, but it must have slid under the fridge. The phone continued to ring and in the silence the sound was blaring and offensive. I picked it up gingerly, holding it away from my face, and clicked the ‘talk’ button.

  “Hi, is Lola there?”

  Travis. His familiar voice, so calm and steady, sent a wave of relief crashing through me. I staggered to my feet, ignored the crumbs of food clinging to my shirt, and took the phone into the living room.

  “Travis, it’s me.”

  “Lola?”

  “Yeah. What’s up?” How normal I sounded. How sane. It made me think of a documentary on serial killers I’d watched once on TV.

  They had been interviewing a guy who had murdered over fifteen women. He slept with them, strangled them, and dumped their bodies in a pit two miles away from his house. The authorities said he would have kept getting away with it if not for the neighbor’s dog who dragged home an arm one day with two rings still attached to the decompo
sing fingers.

  They asked the guy what he did after he killed the women. Looking straight into the camera he said, “Well, usually I made myself a snack and watched some football.”

  Just like that. Like it was no big deal.

  Lola, what did you do after the 9-1-1 operator called you by name and threatened your life?

  Oh, you know. Just had a little chat with my best friend. Made some dinner. Watched a movie. Nothing special.

  The idea of it all was so absurd I laughed, except it wasn’t a normal laugh. More of a high pitched I-think-I’m-going-out-of-my-mind sort of laugh.

  “Lola, are you okay?” Travis sounded concerned.

  Good, I thought. He should be.

  Sitting on the edge of the sofa, I tucked up one leg and rested my chin on my bent knee. “Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe. I… Have you noticed anything strange going on?”

  “That’s sort of why I called you.”

  “It is?” Had the crazy 9-1-1 women been calling him too?

  “Yeah.” Travis huffed out a breath. “I noticed it last night when I got home. At first I thought it was a glitch in the system, but it’s been getting worse since this morning. The average person wouldn’t notice anything, but if you try to run original HTML code through the server it bounces back at you. Nothing new can be entered. It’s running on one long loop, processing the same stuff over and over again.”

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and groaned. “You know I don’t understand you when you start talking Computer Geek. English, Travis. Speak English.”

  “They’ve hacked the Internet, Lola.” He must have taken my silence for exactly what it was – dumbfounded amazement – because he continued after only the tiniest of pauses. “It’s sort of genius, actually. People have managed to get parts of the system down before, but they always give themselves away. This hack is different. Whoever did it, they’re not destroying anything. They’re just freezing what’s already there.”

  “I don’t… I don’t understand.” I had never been much of a technology whiz. Not like Travis. The kid was a certifiable nut when it came to computers. He knew everything about them. How they worked, how they operated and, apparently, how they could be broken.