by Jeyn Roberts
“I think we should go somewhere,” Claudette says. “You and me. For a drive. We need to talk things over.”
“I think we’ve talked enough,” Tatum says.
“But I have things to say to you.”
Claudette’s arm shoots out, grabs hold of Tatum’s. Tatum tries to pull back, but she’s still got her hand in her pocket. Claudette pushes Tatum down, yanks her hair. Tatum lands hard on her knees, tearing a hole in her jeans. Her teeth clamp down hard as Claudette manages a sharp jab against the side of her ear.
“Back off,” Scott yells. He moves in to help Tatum, and suddenly he’s lying on the ground.
Tatum manages to pull herself away and rushes to Scott’s side. He gets to his hands and knees, dazed, blinking at the ground beneath him. Tatum looks up and sees that Graham is holding some kind of bat.
“What have you done?” Tatum screams.
“Going to do the same thing to you if you don’t get in the car,” Claudette purrs. “Now move.”
She’s being kidnapped in broad daylight on her own street. And not by some crazy guy offering her candy in a battered old van. Graham holds up the bat again as if he’s going to take another shot. Whether he’s aiming for Scott’s head or hers, she’s unsure. Tatum instinctively holds up her hands in defense. That allows Claudette to grab more handfuls of hair. She yanks hard, throwing Tatum off balance, and she tumbles onto her side. Tatum tries to fight her off, but she’s pushed farther down to the point where she’s practically crawling on her knees. Her scalp is on fire; it feels like every strand is being yanked out, one by one.
When the hell did Claudette get so strong? This is a girl who failed gym class because she couldn’t even bench-press ten pounds. She’s the one who always got Tatum to open jars of peanut butter when the lids were screwed on too tightly. Now she’s managed to get Tatum into a hold that would make any pro wrestler envious.
It doesn’t take her long to get Tatum pushed up against the SUV. Levi gets out and opens the door. He helps Claudette shove Tatum in. Her head smacks against the frame, and she sees stars.
“Bring the dweeb, too,” Claudette says.
Tatum watches through watery eyes as Graham grabs Scott and drags him to his feet. She’s not sure if Scott’s conscious or not. He doesn’t put up a fight, but instead leans on Graham, who half carries him to the SUV. Graham tosses him down beside Tatum. She crawls over to him, puts her hands against his face, calling his name. Scott groans. There’s a large welt on the back of his head, and blood has soaked the back of his jacket. Head wounds always bleed the most; that’s what her mother taught her. All she needs to do is apply pressure. Tatum spots a tissue box crumpled half under the passenger seat. She grabs handfuls and presses them against the back of Scott’s head to try and stop the bleeding.
He might have a concussion. She can’t remember what to do about that. Don’t let him fall asleep, right? That’s looking to be an impossible task considering his eyes have just rolled into the back of his head, showing only white.
“Come on,” she whispers. “Don’t pass out.”
Scott mumbles something incoherent back.
Doors slam, and Tatum is stuck in the back with an almost-unconscious Scott on one side and Graham and his bat on the other. Claudette and Levi get into the front, and he starts the SUV. He hits the gas and they peel out quickly.
The whole thing takes only a few minutes. No adults yelled out or came over to ask questions. No one saw anything.
Tatum finds her phone and pulls it out, but Graham is too quick. He snatches it from her and tosses it over to Claudette. She waves the phone in front of Tatum, mocking her by keeping it just beyond Tatum’s reach. After Tatum makes a halfhearted grab for it, Claudette simply rolls down the window and throws it out.
At least Scott still has his phone. Tatum knows it’s in his back pocket. Unless Graham tossed it as he was lifting Scott into the SUV. Tatum doesn’t dare look. She doesn’t want to throw that little bit of hope away.
They continue to drive.
After a few turns, Tatum realizes they’re heading toward Frog Road. Levi has a heavy foot; they’re going at least twenty over the speed limit. There’s always the possibility that a police officer might pull them over. Tatum isn’t being hopeful. With her luck, the cop would just smile and wave as they pass by.
The houses grow more infrequent as they head out of town. Levi turns a corner much too fast. Scott’s semiconscious body is pushed against Tatum, and blood splashes against her shirt. She grabs more tissue, wondering how much fluid someone can lose before they simply bleed to death. The backseat has a large dark stain beneath Scott’s head, but somehow she doesn’t think Levi is too concerned about his upholstery. Maybe the SUV is stolen. She doesn’t remember Levi having a car.
If they kill them, the SUV will be evidence. Tatum carefully yanks at the silver chain around her neck and breaks the clasp. She lowers it down on the floor without the others noticing. There. Now if something does happen, the police will know for sure that Tatum was there. The others are leaving evidence all over the place. No one is wearing gloves or trying to cover their tracks.
They’re now on Frog Road. The houses are gone, replaced by trees and fields. The sidewalks are gone too; if Tatum were to jump from the SUV, she’d land in the soft ditch. But at the speed they’re going, she’d more than likely break something. Levi would just pull over, and they’d drag her back inside. Even if she were to get free, there’s no way she could take Scott with her. Considering Tatum is the only reason Scott is here, she can’t leave him.
Tatum decides it’s best to wait till they get where they’re going. Even though her imagination keeps picturing herself dead in a gutter or buried in a shallow grave, she pushes the thoughts away. No matter how intense the situation is, she still wants to believe that Claudette isn’t the type who will go that far.
* * *
“Get out.”
They’ve arrived.
They drove past the train bridge, past the place where Tatum almost got her first kiss from Scott. A mile or so later, Levi slows the SUV down and pulls over onto a private dirt road. They drive farther through the trees until they come to a field.
Off to the side is a dilapidated barn. Once it probably stood in the middle of a field, but trees and undergrowth have pushed their way around it, slowly reclaiming the building, one bush at a time. Red paint peels off the outer walls. The doors are crooked and slightly off their hinges. A tree has grown its way through the termite-damaged wood. Green leaves stick out of a hole in the rafters. The building looks like it’s been around forever.
Tatum recognizes it instantly from the newspaper clippings Scott got from his grandmother.
This is where Molly died.
How does Claudette even know about this place? As far as Tatum knows, Claudette’s experiences with Frog Road are limited. Tatum never told her about the times she drives down here. And she doesn’t think she’s ever been followed. The traffic is so nonexistent, she’d have seen if there were other cars behind her. With her paranoia mounting, she’s spent a great deal of time watching her back in the past few months. Were Graham and Levi out scouting places to party and they found the barn? Are they aware of the murder? Does Claudette somehow know about Tatum’s relationship with Molly? Maybe she found a way to hack Tatum’s computer and look at her browser history. She found all the ghost stuff and put two and two together. This can’t be random, can it?
A multitude of questions slip and slide around her brain, each more ridiculous and unlikely than the next, and before she knows it, Graham and Claudette are out of the SUV and opening the back doors. There might have been a short window there where Tatum could have jumped from the car and run for the bushes. She curses silently, wishing she’d been smarter and paid more attention to her limited chances to get free.
Claudette is losing patience. She reaches in to grab Tatum, but Tatum swats her away. If she’s going to get out, she’ll do it on her own. She�
�s lost enough hair already. She checks Scott one more time. The bleeding seems to have stopped for now, but his face is completely drained of color. His eyes are open, but dazed. He seems to be staring at the spot right in front of his nose. She’s still not sure he’s conscious.
“Scott?”
“Now!” Claudette hisses.
As Tatum climbs out, she hears the roar of an engine. Hope floods through her, but it’s quickly diminished when she recognizes the car pulling up behind them. Juniper is at the wheel, and there are a few others with her. Kids from school who used to be her friends but have long since sided with Claudette. Girls who like to wear red lipstick. Guys who play football with Graham.
“We’re having a party,” Claudette says. “You’re the guest of honor. Time to have some fun.”
Then she pulls her arm back and slams her fist right into Tatum’s nose. Stars explode around her, her legs turn to rubber, and Tatum finds herself falling. Her head hits the ground, and she barely has time to recognize the shoe as it makes contact with the side of her face.
Things get hazy after that. Tatum can’t seem to gain control of her senses. Thoughts are foggy, and thinking takes too much effort. Someone picks her up by her arms and drags her away from the cars. She can hear Claudette and Juniper laughing, but they seem far away. Voices are muffled, and she can only pick out words in the conversation.
The smell of smoke brings her back. Opening her eyes, she can see that someone has started a bonfire. One of the guys from school is tossing firewood into the flames. She knows this guy. He sits next to her in English class. He borrowed her notes a few weeks ago. And the girl behind him used to come over to Tatum’s house when they were younger. They played Barbies together.
Slowly the fog lifts, and Tatum is able to process her surroundings. There have got to be at least forty or fifty kids standing around. Claudette must have invited the whole damn school. Some of them are drinking beers and chatting with each other. Juniper lights a cigarette and flicks ashes into an empty Coke can. She’s chatting to Claudette about the biology test they took last week. She apparently failed it.
Tatum wants to look for Scott, but moving too much will only make them notice. It’s better that everyone still think she’s unconscious. Somehow she gets the feeling they’re waiting until she wakes up. Then the party will really begin.
Tatum starts to take inventory of her wounds. Her nose hurts. Horribly. Claudette must have broken it. Wetness settles at the base of her septum, clogging her sinuses and giving her a strong urge to sniffle or sneeze. The pain has traveled up her entire face to settle in at her temples. Her stomach churns nervously. There are dried tears itching at her eyelids, but Tatum doesn’t dare scratch them away. A branch is poking her in the side, making her want to shift, but even the slightest movement might give her away. Better to play possum for now.
She needs to get to Scott’s phone and try to call for help. But that’s impossible; she has no idea if Scott is lying behind her or if they dragged him into the barn. He could be bleeding to death inside the SUV for all she knows. But the phone is her lifeline, the only way she can let the outside world know where she is. Just as when Molly died decades ago, this barn is not going to be the first place the police check when her parents finally get around to calling in a missing-person report.
And that could take days. Isn’t there something about teenagers? That parents can’t officially consider them missing until after forty-eight hours? Will they just think she ran away? Oh God, what if Dad refuses to go looking for her? Maybe he’ll be secretly happy she’s gone and consider it a blessing in disguise.
The phone.
Tatum scans the crowd. It’s getting darker. The sun has almost sunk into the hills now. Soon it’ll be full-blown night. Good. Maybe a farmer will see the fire and come investigate.
All this hope is useless. There are too many variables, too many ways things can go wrong.
She’s got to do something and do it soon. She can’t just sit still and wait until it’s too late.
Turning as slowly as she dares, she closes her eyes, trying to make it look like she’s just rolling over in her unconscious state. Tatum counts to twenty before opening her eyes a crack.
Scott lies on the other side of the fire. His back is to her, and he’s not moving.
“Wakey, wakey!”
Hands reach down and tighten on Tatum’s shoulders. Graham’s face appears, inches away from her own. Tatum shrinks back.
“Finally!” Claudette comes bouncing over. Shadows dance across her face, making her smile look grotesque. She’s grinning from ear to ear. But not in a happy way. More of an I’m going to tear the skin off your back with my bare fingers sort of way. Tatum closes her eyes before Claudette decides to poke them out with a stick. Claudette nudges Tatum’s side with her foot. “Come on, faker. We know you’re awake.”
“Time to get this show started,” Graham says. “You’re on trial, Tatum. We, the people, have decided it’s time you pay for your crimes.”
“Guilty,” Juniper giggles through a mouthful of beer.
“No,” Graham says. “She’s innocent until proven guilty. We have to have the trial first.”
There are several shouts as people chime in with their opinions. Claudette slaps Tatum across her face, bringing a whole new wave of pain along the bridge of her nose. This time Tatum can’t keep quiet. She cries out and the crowd cheers. Someone throws a beer at her head. The can slams into her ear, sending icy fluid down the side of her neck, soaking her jacket.
“I’m the victim,” Claudette announces. “I say she’s guilty.”
“And her punishment?”
“Death.”
Graham is suddenly behind her, grabbing her arms and pinning them to her sides. Tatum struggles hard; she won’t make this easy on them. She still believes that if she can get free, she can bolt into the woods. It’s dark and she’s wearing her black jacket. It won’t be easy to spot her, if only she can get a bit of a head start. But Claudette is putting her hands around Tatum’s throat and starting to squeeze. Tatum takes a deep last breath before her air is cut off.
Somewhere in the distance, a voice calls out loudly. A voice Tatum recognizes.
“Parker!”
She’s here. Molly. Tatum searches through the crowd. Some of the kids have spread out, moving toward the barn, where a commotion has begun. Tatum momentarily sees Parker as he’s jumped by the boy in her English class. He goes down, but he’s fighting hard.
Claudette’s hands disappear from Tatum’s throat, and Molly is reaching down to help Tatum up. Tatum inhales loudly, pain shooting through her nose, making her sound like she’s breathing underwater.
“You’re here,” Tatum whispers hoarsely.
“We have to get you out,” Molly says.
MOLLY
Someone tackles me and shoves me down, but I manage to throw her off. A red-haired girl tries to smash a beer can against my face, but it’s empty and I barely feel it. With sharp fingernails, she tries to claw at my skin. I manage to bat her hands away before they do any serious damage.
“Welcome to the party,” she trills. She’s giggling like crazy, and I can’t help but think she’s put away several beers. She sways unsteadily on her feet, blurred eyes studying me. “Who the hell are you? You don’t go to our school.”
“I’m from out of town,” I say.
“You shouldn’t be here. I think you should leave,” the girl says in that singsong voice. I dodge her claws again and push her straight into another kid. They both go down in a heap of flailing limbs.
And the cold wind pushes into me.
Parker! Just as I spin around to try and find him, he appears by my side, grabbing my arm protectively.
They’re here. Remnants. It’s not hard to spot them among the group of drunk teenagers. They’ve been waiting for Parker and me to come back. Somehow they’ve known that I would return to save Tatum. I wonder briefly which one is Mary, but that seems pointles
s. Whoever Mary is now, she’s no longer the woman I once knew. She’s not going to sit down with me and talk about corsets and whiskey. No, she’s going to try and destroy my soul.
A Remnant appears before me, its arms stretching freakishly long, reaching out to grab my hair. Parker yanks me back, putting himself between the soul-sucking monster and me. The red-haired girl stares at me as if I’ve sprouted horns, and I instantly understand. She can’t see the Remnants. To her, Parker and I must look like we’re arguing with the night air.
I couldn’t care less. Let her think I’m crazy. It might just give me the leverage I need to save Tatum.
“Parker!” I shout.
“I’ve got it!” he yells back, shoving his attacker against a tree, narrowly avoiding its energy as it stretches out, like semi-invisible worms trying to get free from a dead body. “Go get Tatum.”
I spot Tatum over by the fire, lying on her back. The girl with the brown curly hair is straddling her, knees pinning Tatum down. It’s dark, but the fire gives off enough light for me to see that Tatum is covered in blood. I see Scott, too, crumpled to the ground, and he’s not moving. I run toward them both, praying that I’m not too late.
I grab Claudette by the back of her jacket and shove her straight toward the fire. She’s momentarily distracted when her pant leg starts smoking.
“They’ve gone crazy,” Tatum says. She tugs at my arm in a desperate attempt to get my full attention. “Claudette. She’s lost her mind. She’s not like this. She’s not that mean.”
“Looks to me like she is,” I say, tempted to add I told you so.
Tatum looks at me blankly. “I think she really wants to kill me. Why would she do this? She’s supposed to be my friend. Friends don’t do that. They don’t hurt each other.”
“We’ve got to get you to a safe place. The Remnants, they’re here. I don’t know how much time I have.”