Chapter Text
<<< Jackie…
Sometimes I question myself about what is better—having you, or having lost you.
Having you would mean feeling small again, insignificant. A damp stain on a spotless couch, a piece of gum stuck beneath the sole of an old shoe. I would watch you shine and steal my light, draw every spotlight to yourself.
Losing you would mean reclaiming my longed-for independence. Becoming my own person, regaining the attention I deserve, and being valued for my own merits. At last, the light would fall on me, and I could take the reins of my own life.
Yet I cannot help but think of the collateral effects tied to both choices.
Having you, on the other hand, would also mean feeling your warmth. Seeing your smile and smiling in return. Holding your hands and listening to you butcher a perfectly respectable song with your off-key voice. Hearing you whisper sweet words in my ear when we are half asleep and you think I can’t hear. Feeling your heartbeat against the palm of my hand and wanting to tear it out so it can be mine. Mine, and mine alone.
Losing you would also mean feeling the void that drains me. Feeling like the hollow shell of the person I once was. Being lost and aimless, angry at life. Holding the reins yet only wanting to find you—again and again, in vain. Feeling your absence as a cynical cold, and madness embedding itself as my closest companion.
And so the question echoes, and the answers I once thought obvious slip through my fingers.
Jackie, what is worse—having you, or losing you?
Sometimes I wish there were an answer. >>>
---
The moment she set foot on the ground before the place she had once called home, a chill ran down her spine, forcing her to shake it off in an uneasy shudder. The grass sank beneath her feet with every step that followed, and her stomach turned into a hollow void that threatened to swallow all her organs. The backpack on her shoulders weighed heavily, and she felt out of place with her dirty hair and hospital clothes. There was a knot in her throat, though her sullen expression masked her anxious state perfectly. Her skin burned, and she had to suppress the primal instinct to turn and run back into the forest.
She looked around with nostalgia; not much had changed. The dull-colored structure greeted her, the curtains her mother had bought at the supermarket still concealing the interior perfectly. The small porch, with only a couple of steps and a simple railing, still held a pot of colorful flowers her mother tended patiently, a doormat that read Welcome, faded slightly by the inevitable passage of time, and a wind chime that tinkled when the breeze blew, as if greeting the neighbors. Through the garage window she could glimpse her car, its paint somewhat dulled but faithful, waiting for her return.
Each step toward the entrance was more hesitant than the last.
She ignored the authorities watching her from the van that had brought her and reached for the front door handle. It didn’t give. It remained closed, unmoved by brute force. Shifting her focus after the brief mental lapse and ignoring the mortification creeping up her neck, she pushed instead and entered the house without trouble. A growl escaped her throat.
Her mother was waiting for her, seated on the couch, eyes red and cheeks damp with tears that hadn’t yet dried. Who knew how long she had been sitting there in front of the television, one hand resting on the phone in case news arrived about her only daughter. The moment Shauna crossed the threshold and the creak of the hinges announced her presence, the woman rose, choking back a sob, and immediately pulled her into an embrace.
“Oh, Shauna,” she cried between hiccups, her hands clutching her coat. The young woman remained rigid, unsure how to respond, her hands hovering before timidly rubbing her mother’s back. “You’re here. You’re okay. You’re home.”
“Yes, I am,” she grimaced, her mother’s tears soaking into her shoulder.
“You came back.” Her body stopped shaking, and her grip loosened.
Shauna was painfully aware that this was a fallacy. The person her mother knew and loved had been lost forever in the forest. She had died in a painful birth alongside the baby of her sins. The person she had become—what she had turned into to survive—bore no resemblance to who she once was. But she couldn’t break the woman’s heart, not after all the damage she had already done.
So she simply allowed her to hold onto the memory of who Shauna Shipman once was.
“I came back,” she lied.
And her mother believed her.
She didn’t notice the gray beneath her wild eyes, the scar across the bridge of her nose, or the calluses on her rough hands. She didn’t notice the tremor in her fingers, or the hesitation in every glance searching for danger. Perhaps she chose to ignore the way her back curved beneath the weight she carried like a cross. She could only see the darkness of her eyes, the length of her dirty hair, and her tangible presence. Nothing else mattered. She was home, regardless of the condition she was in.
“I missed you so much,” she confessed, pulling back slightly but not letting go of her hands, as if afraid to release her again in case she slipped through her fingers.
The sentimentality—the tears and sugar-coated words—made Shauna uncomfortable. She shifted, forcing a smile that never reached her eyes. She thought that maybe if she pretended there was still goodness in her, she could become the girl she once was again (though, in truth, she wasn’t sure she wanted that).
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said softly, freeing herself from her mother’s grasp without being too abrupt.
She turned away at the exact moment her mother’s expression crumbled, choosing to ignore the sob she might have imagined. The familiarity that once accompanied her—the sense of safety she had felt in her home—was gone. She had to stay alert. She couldn’t let her guard down in case everything was temporary and she woke up from the dream she was certain had been induced.
She wasn’t sure this was her reality. She suspected she was hallucinating. It was too good to be true. So long longing to return to the town she had once dreamed of escaping. And yet it felt false. Uncertain. Like an alternate reality—something foreign and strange.
Still, despite having more doubts than certainties, there was one thing she knew for sure.
She may have returned to Wiskayok, but it no longer felt like home.
---
Shauna slid her clumsy fingers between the vine’s stems, clinging to them as if her life depended on it. The vegetation creaked under the force she exerted, giving slightly beneath the weight of her body. She grimaced when she felt gravity threaten to drag her down to the ground. Her lungs released the air they had been holding, her throat smothering a scream. She wedged her sneaker against one of the bricks in the wall and pushed herself upward, managing to grab onto the frame of the open window. Her nails dug into the wood, her knuckles turning white. A tingling sensation spread through her hands, and she almost let go when she tried to steady herself.
A blonde head popped into view, wearing an amused smile, apparently enjoying her friend’s predicament. She leaned beside the window, looking down at her with clear superiority. Shauna felt her brows knit together instinctively at the sight. Her irritation grew with every second she was blinded by the shine of Jackie’s perfect teeth.
“Need some help down there, Shaunie?”
“Don’t call me that,” she panted, her fingers burning from the strain.
She was fully aware that she never should have given in to the ghost’s excitement about watching the tape. She shouldn’t have caved to those bright eyes and that hopeful smile that spread like a sunrise. And yet, there she was—hanging from a window while Jackie amused herself at her expense. Her stomach growled with animal ferocity, and she probably smelled awful (when had she last taken a shower, anyway? It was hard to tell). It shouldn’t have surprised her that even after death, Shauna still couldn’t say no to her best friend’s whims.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Jackie said with a giggle that made her words sound like mockery. “I just wanted to help.”
“Stop laughing, damn it,” Shauna snapped, using the last of her strength to haul herself into the room. Her muscles burned, then felt relief when she stumbled inside. She passed Jackie in a huff. “I don’t need your stupid help.”
“Are you sure? I think you do. If I remember correctly, I was the one who helped you get into the police station. And just now you seemed to be struggling to climb—”
“Just shut up, will you? You’re annoying. I just had a little trouble climbing, that’s all. But I did it. And without help.”
“Jeff climbed up just fine,” Jackie followed, unoffended, deciding to push her simply for fun.
Something stung inside her at the comment. Something twisted and burned like paper soaked in ethyl alcohol. She tried not to react with every atom of her being. She clenched her hands into fists in a naïve attempt to trap the words there, but it was useless. Her body vibrated, and suddenly the only thing she wanted was to touch Jackie’s skin and prove to her, in a primitive act, that she was infinitely better than Jeff Sadecki.
Had Jeff Sadecki kissed Jackie Taylor the way Shauna Shipman did? Did he know the sound of pleasure that escaped her lips when her teeth grazed the flesh of her mouth a little too hard? Did he know the way her head fell back to give her access to the most sensitive area of her bare neck? Did he know the way she tried to coordinate their ragged breaths, panting from the skin-to-skin contact?
Well, Shauna wasn’t sure that he hadn’t experienced it, and that made her blood burn. It’s not as if she could ask Jackie whether that had happened. Half of her still resented her fiercely (the part that remained wounded by all those years of suffering), and the other half didn’t want to know the answer (because if it were yes, she wouldn’t be able to bear it).
“Well, he had practice,” Shauna growled, brushing dirt from her pants. She shot Jackie a sour look, then her lip curled into an arrogant smile. Her eyes gleamed with something dangerous. “Besides, I didn’t need to sneak in like I was doing something illegal. I could sleep in the same bed as you with your parents’ approval. Tell me—did Jeff have that kind of… privileges?”
Shauna hadn’t meant for the sen
tence to sound as suggestive as it did. But it was too late—the words escaped her mouth before she could reel them back in. For a brief moment she hoped the implication would be lost to ignorance, but the blush spreading from Jackie’s neck to her cheeks made it clear that understanding had been unavoidable.
“He didn’t—” Jackie cleared her throat and choked on her own words, her face growing redder by the second before she turned away and headed toward the television they used to binge movies on. “You know what? I’ll go get the player. Don’t touch anything, my mom will notice.”
“Sure. Yeah. Go ahead,” Shauna scoffed, rolling her eyes.
Jackie knelt in front of the TV, pushing her sweater sleeves up to her elbows. She picked up the infamous device with such care that Shauna nearly snorted, and extended her hand toward her with an arched brow. Shauna didn’t immediately understand what she was asking for. Her mind was still clouded with thoughts of Jeff and his nights with Jackie. His masculine hands sliding down her shorter skirt, his fingers tracing patterns and moving towards-
No. She didn’t need to go there.
“I’ll need the tape, genius.”
Mortification hit her square in the chest, and reluctantly she handed over the evidence against the stranger who had run Jeff over. Sulking, she moved to sit on Jackie’s bed. The ghost tried to insert the tape into the player carefully a couple of times before her patience wore thin.
<<< Boom! >>>
An exasperated growl tore from her throat. The sound of plastic being struck, then another growl that seemed to heat the room. Mutters of curses followed, more hits against the device. The scene quickly turned into an orchestra of frustration and other dangerously boiling emotions. One breath grew ragged, another caught somewhere deep. Then silence—defeat—ended the performance with a final flourish. No applause followed.
“Jackie,” Shauna called, having observed the entire breakdown closely. Her lips were pressed in judgment, her legs stretched out over the blonde’s comforter. “If you hit the player one more time, it won’t start working. You’ll draw your parents’ attention. And I’ll be the one who has to explain.”
Jackie shot her an angry look from the floor, still trying to force the tape into a machine she had used countless times to watch rented movies. She didn’t understand what was going wrong, and her irritation grew as she remembered all the times she had let Jeff handle the tapes. She huffed and stood up, attempting to strike the player again—only to miss as her hand passed straight through it.
“It’s supposed to work! I always use it! I don’t understand what’s happening!” she complained, stomping her foot against the floor in the most petulant way she could manage, her brow furrowed so tightly Shauna feared her face might crack.
Shauna slid over to her, crossing the room and stopping at her side. She extended her arm, expression firm.
“Let me try.”
“Honestly, I don’t feel like arguing, so just take it,” Jackie replied, handing it over without protest.
Shauna took the tape and examined it critically. “Strange, coming from you.”
“Don’t start.”
She didn’t know much about technology, but she was sure she’d heard Van talk about devices like this before—compatibility and connections, present and future. Words she never bothered to understand, sentences she preferred not to unpack. She never thought she’d have to deal with technology again before the frog worshippers found them. Everything had been simpler in the wilderness.
She tried forcing the tape into the player, and when it didn’t give, she gave up before it could break from brute force. Satisfied with her analysis, she turned back to Jackie with a blank expression that offered very little.
“The problem is that the tape and the player aren’t compatible,” she concluded, studying it closely. She slid the tape into her pocket and crossed her arms. “I don’t think we can watch it here. We need another plan.”
“This is stupid. I really wanted that popcorn,” Jackie sighed, genuinely disappointed, collapsing onto her bed. The mattress didn’t react to her ghostly weight.
Shauna’s restless mind didn’t stop. She blinked, thinking of a way to watch the recording properly. She pressed her lips together and ignored her best friend’s unnecessary (and thoroughly childish) complaints about missing the chance to cuddle under a blanket and listen to Shauna talk for hours about her theories. Their options were limited—and given the recent events surrounding the Yellowjackets, practically nonexistent. They had to be smart. Careful. But they couldn’t afford to pass up an opportunity like the tape, nor waste too much time.
Then, as if the solution had been in front of her all along, she remembered Van.
“We’re leaving,” Shauna announced, turning toward the door. “Now.”
“Where?” Jackie jumped to her feet, eyes wide as she watched Shauna grab the doorknob and pull. “What are you doing, Shauna?! Shauna! Damn it—can you slow down? Shauna Shipman!”
Shauna crossed the Taylor house without caring if anyone saw her, the ghost right on her heels.
Her mind had already devised the perfect plan.
---
When Shauna made the stupid decision to ignore the fact that the Taylors would start asking questions if they saw her inside their house without having seen her enter, Jackie thought she was just being the usual idiot she loved to be. However, when Shauna got into her car without waiting for her (the blonde had to run so she wouldn’t be left behind) and stopped in front of Van Palmer’s house, Jackie realized she might have underestimated just how idiotic her best friend could be. For a moment, she was tempted to roll her eyes and slam her head against the dashboard.
“Do you seriously think this is a good idea?”
“There’s no other option, Jackie.”
Shauna banged on the front door hard enough for the sound to echo, ignoring the blonde’s annoyed look. Jackie let out a tired sigh and tried to burn holes into the other girl’s profile with her stare.
“No other option? I’m sure there is one. Van is mixed up in Lottie’s cult, Shauna. We shouldn’t be here.”
“I’ve got everything under control.”
Before Jackie had the chance to argue back, the door flew open abruptly. On the other side, Van Palmer stared at Shauna with an unfriendly scowl. Her unruly hair and her damp-stained sci-fi movie T-shirt didn’t exactly scream social mood. The inside of the house gave off unpleasant smells; Shauna wrinkled her nose but kept her composure. The lightning-shaped scar gleamed under a stray ray of sunlight.
“What are you doing here?” Van asked suspiciously, gripping the wooden door as if to shield herself.
“Can’t a girl stop by to say hello to an old friend? I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Shauna replied dryly, raising an eyebrow, arms crossed beneath her chest.
“After the stunt you pulled the last time we saw each other? Oh yeah. I’m so happy I might explode like the damn Death Star.”
“Oh wow. She used a nerd reference—you’ve really pissed her off. That’s a record,” Jackie mocked, rolling her eyes as she leaned against the wall, bored, silently disapproving of every decision that had led Shauna here.
“Is there anyone else in the house?” Shauna asked, trying to look past her, but Van easily blocked her, stepping in the way.
“Why?” Her voice trembled with suspicion.
“I want to talk in private about something important.”
“We can talk here.”
“Van, is there anyone in the house? I won’t ask again.” Shauna was growing impatient, hot air flaring from her nose.
Jackie sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. The simple gesture made Shauna’s skin burn, her anger bubbling to the surface—jaw tight, gaze as sharp as her favorite knife. Van noticed the shift in the air and pushed the door further closed.
“You don’t need to know that to talk. Just say what you came to say,” she swallowed, trying to sound tough.
Shauna wasn’t about to waste time on a tug-of-war, so she made her displeasure clear with a low growl rising from deep in her throat. She turned toward Jackie—out of Van’s line of sight—and pointed inside with an irritated look.
“Tell me if there’s anyone in there.”
Jackie took a moment to realize Shauna was talking to her. When the silence became obvious, she frowned in confusion.
“I’m not your employee,” she scoffed.
“Just do it.”
“I don’t hear the magic word.”
Shauna’s teeth ground together with an audible creak. Her hands clenched into fists, knuckles whitening.
“Please,” she said at last, the word sounding painful, as if it had been torn out of her.
“Fine,” Jackie relented, rolling her eyes as she pushed off the wall and phased through it effortlessly. “But you owe me one. And that makes several, Shaun.”
Unable to react to the new nickname due to Jackie’s sudden disappearance, Shauna simply pressed her lips together and resisted the urge to tear out her own eardrums. She steadied her breathing and looked at Van, who leaned forward to peer toward where Jackie had been, placing a foot in the doorframe so it wouldn’t shut.
Van searched for a familiar face, and when she found none, her frown deepened in confusion. “Who are you talking to?”
“To Jackie,” Shauna shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets with forced boredom.
Van’s expression slipped from confused to unsettled.
“So? Are you done?” Shauna asked flatly.
It was too late when Van tried to slam the door shut, panic finally catching up to her. Shauna’s foot stopped it just in time, her face twisting at the impact. Behind her, Jackie reappeared with a thumbs-up.
“No one inside, Shon-shon!”
That was all the confirmation Shauna needed. Her lips curled into a smile full of intent. Van blinked—and a knife slid against her neck before she could process what was happening. She staggered back as Shauna forced her inside, the blade held with expert precision.
“We could’ve done this the easy way,” Shauna said with mock disappointment, nudging her farther in and shutting the door behind them with a click. “But no. You chose the hard way. What can I expect from Van Palmer, right?”
“Shauna, stop!” Jackie shouted, eyes wide—but she was ignored.
The metal gleamed under the yellow light of Van’s living room. Cold to the touch, the blade pressed into the pale skin of Van’s neck until a thin line of blood proved how dangerous it was. Shauna applied just enough pressure to hurt, not enough to kill—though her fingers tightened around the handle, tempted.
“You’re insane,” Van spat bitterly, afraid to swallow.
“I wouldn’t call the person holding the knife insane,” Shauna taunted with a manic smile, feeling powerful as Van’s chest rose and fell. Just a little more pressure and—
“Shauna,” Jackie insisted, snapping her out of it. “We came for the tape, not to kill anyone!”
The words worked. Shauna’s chest deflated, her grip loosening slightly—though her resolve remained. She shoved Van onto the broken couch, still aiming the knife at her. Van hit her head against the backrest and looked up at her, equal parts angry and terrified. Jackie exhaled, offering Van an apologetic look that went unseen.
“What the hell is wrong with you, Shauna?! If you think I’m behind the Queen of Hearts crap, you’re wrong. I’ve done nothing but rot here watching old movies!”
“Oh, don’t worry. I believe you.” Shauna wrinkled her nose, surveying the room—empty pizza boxes piled in a corner, a crate full of DVDs, a blanket tossed aside. Stains of all shapes and colors marred the carpet. “That’s not why I’m here.”
“Is the dramatics really necessary, Shauna?” Jackie said, pitying the place. “Put the knife down. Look at Van, look at this pigsty. She’s not okay.”
“Shut up. I make the decisions now,” Shauna muttered, shooting her a warning glare.
Jackie crossed her arms, unimpressed.
“So this is how it’s going to be now? You’re just going to act like an idiot all the time?” she mocked. “What, are you going to point the knife at me too?”
Shauna turned on her, vein in her neck bulging, jaw clenched hard enough to do permanent damage.
“You don’t want to know what I’d do to you,” she growled.
Jackie met her stare with strange intensity—chin high, arrogant as she’d always been walking through school hallways. Something dangerous hung in the air, but Shauna could see through her: the uneven breathing, the way her eyes never strayed past Shauna, afraid of what they might find.
“Oh my God. You’ve completely lost it.”
The spell broke at Van’s terrified voice. Shauna turned back to her, bored, knife still trained on her.
“If you think I’ve lost my mind, then you know I’m perfectly capable of killing you if you don’t do what I say,” she said seriously. “Now I need you to find a way to play this tape. If you value your life, you won’t try anything funny.”
She tossed the tape from her pocket. Van caught it midair, turned it over, studying it with confused interest.
“I’ve got the right player—perfectly compatible,” Van said after a moment. “But it’s in the attic. I’ll have to get it.”
“Sure,” Shauna scoffed, gripping her arm and forcing her to stand. “Lead the way. I’ll come with you.”
Van muttered under her breath until the knife pressed into her back and she shut up. Jackie followed out of sheer curiosity, unwilling to miss a second of their interaction. They moved through a narrow hallway to a ladder leading up, Van embarrassed by the mess around them.
The attic was no different—dirty, cluttered, filled with labeled cardboard boxes. Old planners, magazines, Christmas and Halloween decorations. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling. Van quickly found what she was looking for in an already-open box. Shauna watched carefully.
“This place stinks. What happened here?” Jackie said, eyeing a cockroach. “Gross. I want out.”
“Then leave,” Shauna shrugged.
“What?” Van frowned.
“I wasn’t talking to you. Hurry up. I’m losing patience.”
Van sighed, shook her head, and handed over the player. Shauna pressed it to her chest, knife still raised.
“You could’ve asked nicely. You didn’t need to show up with a fucking knife.”
“Exactly,” Jackie sighed.
“And where’s the fun in that?”
“You’re so weird,” Van said with a bitter laugh. “Must be why you and Taissa got along so well.”
Jackie’s jaw dropped. She caught what Shauna missed—the pain in the way Taissa’s name was spoken.
“Oh wow. Full name, Shau,” Jackie murmured. “And no pictures of them anywhere. That tone? I smell drama.”
Shauna ignored her, motioning Van toward the exit. Van raised her hands and obeyed. The floorboards creaked as they descended, Jackie following closely now, newly intrigued.
“Is Tai the reason your life’s a mess?” Shauna asked once they were back in the living room.
Van froze, then slowly sank onto the couch, studying Shauna’s face. Finding no malice—only curiosity—she sighed.
“You’re really delicate with complex topics, huh?”
“Hard not to be when your living room looks like this.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Van laughed again, her voice cracking.
But Shauna raised the knife slightly.
“You do. Because I have this.”
“Shauna!” Jackie snapped. “You let people open up—you don’t threaten them into it!”
Van paused, weighing her options.
“My mom died,” she said finally. “When we came back… she was already gone. The house was empty. My aunt was trying to sell it before I returned.”
“Shit,” Jackie murmured.
A gloomy silence filled the room.
“I’m sorry,” Shauna said—and surprised herself by meaning it.
“Taissa broke up with me the second we got back to Wiskayok. Said she was leaving for college, that we couldn’t keep going.” Van curled in on herself. “I have no one, Shauna. So forgive me if your threats don’t mean much.”
Jackie tried to comfort her, hand passing uselessly through her back. Shauna felt an unexpected tug of sympathy—and quickly shoved it away.
“I’m taking the player,” she said, heading for the door.
“Fine.”
“I’ll stay,” Jackie added, hugging Van. “I won’t leave her alone.”
Shauna rolled her eyes.
“Whatever.”
The door slammed shut.
And if the entire walk home she thought about Jackie’s hands running gently through Van’s hair as she cried—well, that was her problem. And no one else’s.
---
The screen had been on for hours, the television beginning to overheat from constant use. Darkness surrounded the room, battling the light emitted by the device in front of the couch. There was a strange noise—one that had little to do with the recording itself. Shauna scoffed for the thousandth time since leaving Van’s house. She straightened up to avoid slouching, her back cracking in protest. Fatigue was starting to weigh on her eyelids.
She decided to take a sip of the cold coffee she held in a porcelain mug. She let the liquid slide down her throat, disgusted but too lazy to get up. She grimaced when the video cut out again at the exact moment the car responsible for the accident began its criminal motion, and she replayed the scene once more until her eyes glassed over from exhaustion. Her determined expression diluted with every passing minute she struggled to stay focused on some detail she might be missing.
Jackie arrived not long after, making her footsteps audible so Shauna would recognize her presence behind her. She stopped a few feet from the couch, judging the empty cups beside her best friend. She sighed deeply and shook her head in reproach. Shauna didn’t turn around, even though she knew she was there.
“I can hear you. It’s annoying.”
“I know,” the blonde said, circling the furniture to sit beside the dark-haired girl. “I wanted you to hear me.”
There was only a small distance between them. Jackie sat cross-legged, her feet resting on the cushion. Shauna’s thighs nearly brushed Jackie’s knees—any slight movement could have ended in contact neither of them was ready for. Even registering that precise distance out of the corner of her eye irritated Shauna Shipman in unimaginable ways. She forced herself to remain still, despite her treacherous subconscious that cataloged every inch.
Jackie’s blonde hair fell over her shoulders like curtains framing her face. The television’s glow illuminated her angelic features. Had Shauna been paying closer attention, she might have noticed the way Jackie forced herself not to turn and face her tragic gaze—her profile fixed on the screen, and only the screen.
“Why are you here?” Shauna asked, trying to make her stare heavy enough to push her away. “I’m pretty sure I can handle this on my own. Why don’t you go back to Van? Maybe she wants another girlfriend.”
Jackie turned to her with a deep frown, lips pressed into that particular shape born of extreme anger—an expression Shauna had only seen a handful of times, usually after everything had already gone to hell.
“Are you serious? Van is suffering. What is wrong with you?”
“Yeah, well. We’re all suffering. So what?” She let out a bitter laugh and crossed her arms, turning her attention back to the screen.
“You…?” Jackie shook her head in disbelief, stopping short when something caught her eye. The television claimed her full attention, sudden and sharp. “Is that Coach Martinez’s car?”
At Jackie’s words, Shauna completely forgot her anger and paused the recording instantly.
On the screen was a perfect frame of Jeff crossing the street, frozen with his back to the camera. From his confident posture, it was obvious he wasn’t expecting what would happen moments later. In one corner of the image, distant and blurry, was the vehicle responsible. It lingered before committing its malicious act, watching the blond boy from afar—almost deliberately.
“You mean that car?” Shauna pointed at the blur on the screen, surprised Jackie had recognized it.
“Yes,” Jackie nodded, certain. “I remember it. Jeff and his friends were planning to vandalize it once the year was over.”
Shauna blinked, digesting the information. Her brain spun a thousand theories per second. She leaned over the back of the couch, a thrill blooming at the discovery.
“Then we have a suspect.”
“Travis?” Jackie shook her head. “Do you really think it could’ve been him?”
“I think it could’ve been anyone, Jackie.” Shauna stood, her neck cracking as she stretched. “And if what you’re saying is true, then Travis could be working with Lottie. They were close in the wilderness.”
“Or I could be wrong,” Jackie insisted, rubbing her eyes as she focused on the blur in the corner of the screen. She gave up quickly, shoulders slumping. “I’m not so sure anymore that it’s that car. What if it’s Miss White’s? They had the same model.”
“What sense would it make for Miss White to know everything that happened in the wilderness?” Shauna snapped. “The only thing that fits is that Travis ran Jeff over.”
“There has to be a mistake,” Jackie said, searching her mind for any excuse to absolve Travis. “He’s not evil.”
“Why are you so insistent on defending that idiot?” Shauna growled, scowling at her. “He’s done nothing but act like a fool.”
“Because he’s our friend!” Jackie threw her hands up, then let them fall.
“Just a friend? Are you sure about that?” Shauna scoffed, incredulous, posture sharpening to strike where it hurt most. “Because I’m pretty sure friends don’t fuck.”
Jackie opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, cheeks flushing with mortification.
“Can you stop doing that?!” she snapped.
“Doing what? Telling the truth?” Shauna lifted her chin arrogantly.
“Making me want to punch you in the face for being a complete idiot!”
“Then stop victimizing Van and Travis. They deserve everything that happened to them.” Shauna turned back to the screen, stepping forward to grab the tape and slip it into her pocket.
She moved across the living room toward the stairs, trying to avoid the confrontation she knew was coming. She was painfully aware that this wouldn’t end well if she didn’t leave immediately. Her body vibrated with a violence she knew too well—every molecule desperate to spill blood.
“What about you?” Jackie called after her, arms crossed in an aggressive stance, her words laced with fire. “Are you ever going to stop victimizing yourself? Are you going to take responsibility for your mistakes? Are you going to admit that what happened was, in large part, your fault?”
Shauna stopped in the darkness without turning around. In the silence she could feel Jackie’s heavy breathing, could picture the rise and fall of her chest with restrained fury. Her skin burned, set alight by her best friend’s intent. Her insides twisted as she recognized something she had never been able to say out loud—something that had lived only as a sleepless thought during her longest nights.
“I deserve everything that happened to me, Jackie,” she said over her shoulder, voice low. “That’s why you’re dead.”
She climbed the stairs. The ghost stayed where she was, not following.
Each step felt so heavy she had to force herself to keep going until she reached her room.
Some truths were simply better left unspoken.
Others were destined to die without ever being said.
---
In a town like Wiskayok, news traveled as fast as a plane about to crash.
Shauna was researching in the town library, searching for information that might help her recover the original recording that had been ruined. Books lay scattered across her table, open to random pages. Silence filled the space, and the scent of old paper made her want to breathe deeply. Her head rested on her open palm while her eyes followed the lines that formed sentences.
Moving with complete freedom, Jackie wandered the shelves in boredom. She ran a hand along the spines of the books and peeked at what other people were reading. She had insisted it was a waste of time, but—as always since adopting her ghostly form—the blonde was brutally ignored. They hadn’t been there long before Jackie began complaining childishly, much to Shauna’s displeasure.
“Can we go back? This is pointless. We’re wasting time. We could just ask Travis directly! That way you’ll see he’s innocent!”
“Shut up, I’m trying to read,” Shauna hissed, earning a few curious glances.
Jackie rolled her eyes, searching for something to entertain herself, when she noticed a row of computers a few meters away. She smiled when someone sat down to use one and hurried over, eager to uncover the dirtiest secrets of the mustached, balding stranger. Shauna had a few minutes of peace—until Jackie returned, eyes wide and terror written across her face.
“Melissa died,” she said.
At first, Shauna didn’t react. She remained still, tasting the words before lifting her head toward the blonde. Indifference turned into concern when she found no trace of a joke.
“What?”
“Melissa died,” Jackie repeated, still shaken. “I just read it on the computer. It’s national news.”
The dark-haired girl stood abruptly, pushing the chair back with a loud scrape. She abandoned her research and rushed toward the computer Jackie had mentioned.
“Hey!” the man exclaimed, still seated, as Shauna took control of the mouse and scrolled through the article.
“Tragedy in New Jersey: Survivor of the Yellowjackets soccer team accident dies.
Authorities have confirmed the death of Melissa, 18, a former member of the youth soccer team known as the Yellowjackets. According to official sources, the young woman died by suicide. No additional details were released, and the investigation remains ongoing.
Melissa had returned to the state following the group’s rescue in 1996, an episode that deeply marked the community. Family and friends remembered her as a reserved young woman who was trying to rebuild her life after a traumatic experience.
In a brief statement, authorities asked for respect for the family’s privacy and emphasized the importance of seeking help during times of crisis. A private memorial will be held in the coming days…”
Shauna stared at the screen in panic, Jackie’s voice fading into the distance. Her surroundings blurred, and a crushing pressure slammed into her chest, stealing the air from her lungs. Nausea overtook her, and the sensation of drowning became unbearable. Her insides churned uncomfortably, and the place became too small.
The Queen of Hearts had returned.
And she had taken one of them as a sacrifice.