Chapter Text
<<< My dear Jackie... >>>
<<< Dear Jackie... >>>
<<< Jackie...
Why does monotony feel empty?
Why does moving forward mean forgetting?
Why is sleep synonymous with panic?
Why are there no answers?
Why wasn’t me?
Maybe if...
I’m fine. I must be.
I hate you for leaving me.
I hate myself because I could have stopped it.
I’m fine.
Why does it feel like I left something behind?
But I’m fine.
I promise.
I'm fine.
Fuck you. >>>
---
The lights flickered at the end of the hallway as if the owner hadn’t paid the electricity bill. The smell of floor cleaner mixed with air freshener, creating a strange combination. Not repulsive, but still odd in a way that was hard to explain. Not pleasant enough, not unpleasant enough. There was a faint background noise, voices too muffled to understand. It came from a small TV on the counter, likely meant to keep awake the poor soul working minimum wage behind it.
Shauna moved through the store with familiarity, almost on autopilot. She shuffled her feet to the furthest shelf of the first aisle, her back hunched from insomnia. The squeaking of her slippers would’ve been funny if she still had the capacity to find anything funny in the first place. She reached out blindly, ignoring the blurred price tag hanging from a sign, and grabbed three large jars of instant coffee. She didn’t bother looking for a brand or deal. She just grabbed the first thing she found and hugged it against her worn T-shirt from some forgotten band she used as pajamas.
That’s how Shauna Shipman’s life had been since she discovered the 24-hour store three weeks ago. Every night that insomnia struck, she’d drive the half kilometer from her house. She’d take the keys to her secondhand car and head to the store’s parking lot. She’d buy something—anything. That part depended on her mood. Then, she’d head back home (though, did she even have a home, really?).
That Tuesday night was no different. Why would it be? She was alone again, since her mother had taken another night job at a high-end bar. And, as every time loneliness caught her off guard, she had to run. She had to drown her thoughts in whatever she could find. Because if they caught up to her—God forbid in public—then everything that had happened in the wilderness would become real.
So she staggered toward the counter, eyelids heavy with sleep. Her clumsy movements cost her an energy she no longer possessed. She dropped the jars onto the cold counter and let her hands rest in the pockets of her gray sweatpants. Her brow slightly furrowed from the irritation of insomnia, and her hair a messy dark tangle.
The man behind the counter looked at her, recognizing her. He was young. Probably in his thirties, Shauna guessed. He had a few days' worth of scruffy beard and curious eyes. Too light for her taste. They hadn’t talked much since she first saw him two days ago. Shauna didn’t care where the talkative guy from her first visit had gone—the one who tried to get her number every time she shopped. This guy was quiet, and for that alone, he had earned her respect.
“Anything else?” he asked in a deep voice, doing his job with mechanical efficiency—or maybe trying to upsell to impress his boss. Whatever was the reason, Shauna nodded.
“Cigarettes,” she replied in a hoarse voice that sounded unfamiliar even to herself. She cleared her throat and repeated without meeting his eyes: “Cigarettes.”
The man, who had heard her the first time, reached behind the glass and grabbed a pack. Shauna noticed he remembered her usual. She appreciated the gesture in silence.
“That’ll be fifty dollars.”
“Fine,” she sighed, anxious to leave, her fingertips tingling.
She reached into her pocket under the cashier’s sharp gaze. But something stopped her when she caught sight of a white chocolate bar out of the corner of her eye.
She froze, hand midway, staring at that small bar. Time seemed to stop as she debated whether or not to buy something she didn’t need. Her stomach turned with a feeling she couldn’t name, and before she could think about it more, she reached out and added it to her pile.
“I’ll take this too.”
The man watched her, as if analyzing her. Then he nodded without protest. Maybe he saw the exhaustion in the bags under her eyes, maybe he was just eager to nap once she left. “That’s three more dollars.”
Shauna slapped a crumpled, likely sweaty bill onto the counter. She grabbed her things and walked as far from that store as she could.
She thought she heard a dry goodbye, but ignored it. She preferred keeping people at a distance. Otherwise, they might start asking questions. Simple ones at first, like: What’s your favorite food? But one thing leads to another, and before she knew it, someone would ask about the accident. The hunting. The death. The blood on her hands. Until, eventually, the truth came out.
No, Shauna couldn’t allow that. So she didn’t say goodbye.
She started the car and drove off.
Wouldn’t want him asking about her favorite brand of cigarettes.
---
Once inside her home, silence greeted her like an old friend. The chill of loneliness embraced her, and she allowed it to seep beneath her skin. Everything was familiar since she returned six months ago. Familiar because she’d lived there her entire life—the walls still bore crayon marks hidden behind posters or photographs, and her knees still carried scars from the front sidewalk. Yet distant. Distant because she wasn’t the same person since everything happened.
Before going up to her room, she made a steaming mug of coffee. The hot porcelain burned her skin, but it made her feel something. So she let it burn, wearing it like a punishment. She tucked the pack of cigarettes into her pocket and entered her sanctuary feeling a mix of drowsiness and nostalgia.
Her bed remained unmade, as it did every day. She saw no point in straightening it each morning—many things had lost their meaning. So she let it stay as it was. Her desk wasn’t any neater. Nor was her closet, filled with wrinkled clothes she threw in without a second glance. Her room was a rat’s nest, according to her mother. But Shauna preferred to think of it as organized chaos that only she could decipher.
She slid her free hand into the other pocket, the one holding the white chocolate bar, and tossed it onto her desk. It landed among a pile of other bars of the same white chocolate, scribbled graphite papers full of anger, empty cups, and hair ties in every color. Her acceptance letter to Brown lay forgotten at the bottom drawer. Her journal lay open, pages blank.
Shauna searched under her mattress for the lighter she kept hidden from her mother and cracked open the window as she lit a cigarette. A shiver ran through her, as it always did when she gave in to the bad habit, but she blamed it on the night breeze and let the smoke fill her lungs. Her eyelids fought to close, her muscles craving rest. The familiar anxiety faded away with the smoke.
She looked at the early morning sky, coffee in one hand and cigarette in the other. Time slipped away with each drag. Each self-destructive inhale, each hopeless exhale. She gazed upward at the lonely moon. It wasn’t a starry night. It was sad, desperate. A perfect dawn for cowardice.
On nights like these, Shauna let herself ignore the pain stabbing at her chest—pain triggered whenever some distant star’s disappearing spark reminded her of Jackie’s bright eyes. She let herself forget, even if just for a moment, that the guilt had been destroying her even when Jackie was alive. She didn’t know when it started. The lines blurred and overlapped like a child’s playful doodle. She just knew that feeling had a distant origin, but always resided in her heart since then.
She wondered if Jackie could see her from wherever she was, smoking like a runaway steam engine. Shauna was nearly certain she’d be annoyed if she knew, just like when they partied not long ago. Her insides churned at the thought that maybe—just maybe—the only reason she returned to the habit was to provoke Jackie, to make her wrinkle her nose at the smell. Even if it was only in her head.
"Put that down, Shipman. It'll ruin your lungs, and we don’t have anyone on the team as fast as you," she’d say, a grimace flickering across her lips. The claim of a captain masking genuine concern. Her fingers reaching out to snatch the cigarette from her best friend.
Shauna would try to pull away, prompting Jackie to meet her gaze with defiance. Her pale fingers bringing the cigarette back to her full lips. She’d speak with it still between them, the corners of her mouth lifted in amusement: "I’ll be fine."
Then Jackie would respond, half-joking, half-serious. Finally prying the cigarette from her grasp, crushing it under her branded shoe. “You don’t need it to look like a tortured poet. You already do that pretty well on your own.”
Shauna shook her head, shaking off every gut-wrenching feeling tied to Jackie. She refused to be a cliché. She refused to be the same girl she was that winter when catastrophes struck one after another and her composure shattered. When she had lost everything she had and everything she ever could have had. It was dangerous to go back in time and remember those hard months.
Because remembering Jackie was one thing—everyone did it, even without mentioning her (it was something like a tacit rule). The Taylors kept insisting she visit them, whether their daughter was there or not (Shauna didn’t have the courage to meet their eyes or even answer their calls). When they returned from the wilderness, Shauna had so many funerals to attend she couldn’t distinguish one from another. The memories of Javi, Laura Lee, Ben, all those who lost their lives, still haunted that cursed town by its ghosts.
But going back to that winter—when she had lost something else. Something that never even got the chance to be. No, that was a place her mind would never wander willingly.
She was fine.
She was getting better.
The phone on the bedside table buzzed, snapping her out of focus. It vibrated with an incoming call, making that annoying sound. Shauna eyed it, cigarette between her fingers, smoke billowing out the window and settling in the room. She let it ring a moment, debating whether to answer or not.
The mug was empty, and the cigarette pack down to its last one. She realized once again how time had slipped away amid her lamentations. The sun had risen, and the clear blue sky greeted her mockingly. A bird sang somewhere, and the sound of the town waking up crept through the air. If she’d looked out the window more, she would’ve smelled dew-soaked grass.
The phone kept ringing.
Another day of misery awaited her—that much was certain. Each new day was simply one fewer day of life. Brown had stopped being an option when the plane never reached its destination, and Rutgers had never been in her plans. She’d lost the will to study once all she could write about was golden curls, hazel eyes, and a child’s cry that never came. Working felt too mundane, too energy-consuming for someone she hadn’t yet recovered. So her days consisted of watching the calendar pages turn and wishing they’d end soon.
Then, the ringing stopped abruptly.
Shauna scoffed, flicking the last bit of cigarette into the window frame. She thought maybe Mrs. Taylor was trying to invite her to a fancy breakfast she intended to decline, or maybe her mother was calling to say she’d stay late again at the bar. Whatever it was, she didn’t care in the slightest. She stood up, feeling her legs ache after hours in the same position, and placed the mug among dozens of others on her desk. She turned toward her door, ready to take a shower to wash the smoky stink off.
The phone rang again. This time, it sounded more desperate.
She froze, staring at the device crying out for her attention. She frowned, confused. Usually, her mother would give up after one try, and Mrs. Taylor wouldn’t insist (no matter how annoying Shauna found her concern). She let the doubt simmer until it exploded, tempted to hang up. In a few strides, she went to answer, holding it to her ear.
“Who’s there?” she snapped, no small talk. Her stomach tightened with anxiety.
“Hi, Shauna,” said a robotic voice—Lottie Matthews. A cold shiver slid down her spine, making her flinch. “How have you been? It’s been a while.”
If surprises were a thing, a call from Lottie would top the list. Mainly because she’d cut all contact with anyone from her soccer team who was involved in the accident. It had been the first thing she’d done when she came home: she deleted every number in her contacts, burned every team jacket, and punctured the ball that had been her fifteenth birthday gift.
Her former teammates either got the message loud and clear, or they’d decided to leave behind everything associated with the wilderness (and therefore, Shauna). Whatever the reason, they had no reason to break the tacit coldness pact.
“Don’t call this number again,” she growled. Then she hung up, not giving her a chance to protest.
She thought her brusque words would be enough to end the interaction. After all, it was Lottie. Lottie with deer-like eyes who, despite her height, couldn’t kill a fly. However, Shauna often erred by underestimating those around her.
The phone rang again—and this time Shauna didn’t hold back her rudeness.
“I’m not doing this right now. Forget me, Lottie. Delete this number and live a good life.”
“Shauna, w—”
She hung up again, enjoying the satisfaction of leaving Lottie mid-sentence. Knowing there was no chance of another unwanted call, she left the receiver off the hook.
A strange feeling overtook her, the itch of foreboding tickling the back of her mind. Just like with everything related to the Yellowjackets, she made the conscious decision to ignore it and pretend it didn’t exist.
It was easier than facing whatever it might be.
---
Shauna had a slight feeling that something wasn’t right.
Her day had started off normal—technically speaking (if you ignored Lottie’s call). She’d watched TV for hours like she did every day, had leftovers from the night before for lunch, and sat in front of a blank page in a useless attempt to summon her creativity back (Was it possible for talent to just vanish?).
Then, Jeff Sadecki knocked on her door.
His mere presence should’ve been a bad omen. The name had brought tragedies into Shauna’s life, changing it irreversibly. She blamed the man for every bad thing that had ever haunted her. How could she not? Because of him, she’d lost everything. And yet, he still had the nerve to show up at her door once a week, naively thinking that she’d eventually fall at his feet.
So when five knocks echoed through the living room, Shauna immediately knew who it was.
She was tempted to stay quiet and wait for him to leave, like always. However, she knew him well enough to know he’d be back the next day if he didn’t see her. So her only option was to make him wait out of sheer spite and answer the door five minutes later.
When she finally decided to open the door, the man was still standing there with the same determination he had arrived with. Flowers in hand and a shy smile on his lips. His stupid blond hair was tousled in that boyish way, and he wore a college-style jacket (even though Shauna knew he’d decided not to go to college). He gave her a soft look that wasn’t returned.
“Hi, Shauna. How are you? You look good.”
“Jeff,” she greeted curtly.
The guy shifted uncomfortably, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“I brought you something,” he said, unbothered by her obvious bad mood. Shauna looked at him with boredom as he extended the bouquet toward her.
Colorful tulips wrapped in newspaper, she noted. The moisture clung to the paper, wetting her hands. She wasn’t a big fan of flowers, but she knew a thing or two about them. After all, she hated being ignorant. She took them without a second glance.
“I’m not dead. You didn’t have to.”
He laughed nervously at her dark joke and scratched the back of his neck, hiding his damp hands in his pockets.
“Oh, well… you know, they say girls love flowers, and I thought—you’re a girl and, well...” He cleared his throat, moving his shoulders as if to gather himself. His smile faltered, and a devastating silence fell between them. “Um, I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go for a walk with me. The weather’s great, and there’s a new place I want to check out.”
“Sorry, but I’m busy,” she quickly clarified, faking a grimace she didn’t regret. “Maybe another time. Thanks for the flowers, though.”
Shauna pushed the door to close it, ready to shut the man out and waste the rest of her day listening to the radio’s static. But Jeff was faster. He placed his hand against the wood, stopping her.
“Your mom told me you’re not busy,” he said, not offended, just slightly concerned. For a brief moment, Shauna felt bad for lying. “She also mentioned you haven’t left the house lately.”
Of course her mother had to be involved in Jeff’s good guy act. She should’ve seen it coming. Her brief sympathy for the man evaporated instantly at the charade. Her blood bubbled with irritation she couldn’t hide.
“That’s none of your business,” she hissed defensively, pushing on the door.
“Of course it is,” he frowned, again using his strength to keep the door open. Shauna cursed under her breath. “I’m worried about you, Shauna. Can’t you see that? We all are. Your mom’s really upset.”
At the mention of her mother, Shauna faltered. She might’ve been angry at being put in that position, but she couldn’t help the bitter taste in her mouth when her mother worried in that raw, instinctive way only mothers could. Being in a plane crash had only made things worse, turning her mother overprotective. At first, she’d agreed with Shauna staying inside the safe walls of home—so what had changed?
“And you think a walk will help? Please, Jeff. Just go home,” she tried one last time, tired.
“I won’t leave until you walk with me, even if it’s just for a bit,” he insisted in that way some might find charming. Shauna just wanted to end the whole performance. “I promise I won’t talk too much.”
Shauna sighed dramatically, rubbing her temple. Her head had begun to throb from all the negative emotions simmering under her skin. The truth was, she didn’t owe him anything. It wasn’t her job to ease his guilt. But Jeff’s eyes softened the way they always did when he looked at her, and she couldn’t bring herself to say no. Hopefully, she could get rid of him before her favorite show started.
“Fine,” she said with resignation. Her shoulders slumped, her eyes tired.
“Really?” his eyes lit up.
“I won’t say it twice.”
Jeff beamed, stepping back. He offered his arm gallantly, his body vibrating with anticipation. Shauna set the flowers on a table, grabbed the keys hanging beside the door, shut it, and walked past him. He recovered from the surprise and took a big stride to catch up, trying to ignore the embarrassment burning his cheeks.
“You’re fast,” he said with a sly grin, adjusting to her steady pace. Shauna chose not to respond, letting the silence dampen her foul mood. “So, what’ve you been up to? Have you written anything lately?”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t talk.”
“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. Just a little small talk—it can’t hurt.”
Shauna had to take a deep breath not to turn around and go back home. She had to remind herself she was doing this to show her mom she was fine—not to ease Jeff’s guilt. She counted to five, and once calm, she answered.
“I’ve been writing a little,” she lied without shame. “Nothing major, really. What about you?”
The man’s face lit up suddenly, as if something clicked. A genuine smile spread across his lips. His eyes sparkled with disbelief, and the words stumbled out of his mouth in an avalanche. So predictable, he fell right into Shauna’s trap so easily it was pathetic.
“Me? I’ve been working on woodworking. My dad’s planning to start a furniture business, so we’re making prototypes. It’s actually pretty cool! You should come see them sometime.”
“Sure,” she murmured with fake enthusiasm. Though, she did think the business suited him. Boring, just like him.
Jeff kept talking about wood, carpentry, furniture, and potential business names. At some point, Shauna stopped listening. Mostly because she wasn’t interested in the slightest, but also because he had that way of telling stories that made her want to yawn. Truth be told, she felt a bit sorry for him. A mix of platonic affection, lingering anger, and tragedy tied itself into a knot inside her that she couldn’t untangle.
When it came to Jeff Sadecki, Shauna’s feelings were contradictory. How could they not be? Every time she looked at him, she remembered those hazel eyes filled with tears. The guy wasn’t a bad person. He had made mistakes—everyone knew that. He had apologized at least a million times since she came back. He was just a dumb teenager who’d ruined her life with his naïveté. Still, something inside Shauna couldn’t stop resenting him. She couldn’t accept that they’d both made mistakes, but only she carried the guilt like a cross.
She hated him for that.
“Look at this, Shauna!” Jeff, oblivious to her inner turmoil, bent down to grab something she couldn’t see. He lifted it high, proud. “A queen—just like you!”
That couldn’t be real.
It couldn’t be happening. It had to be a cruel joke.
Shauna went pale, staring wide-eyed at the dusty card in Jeff’s hand. Her heart pounded in her chest, desperate to flee. Desperate to run from whatever that card meant—or used to mean. Nausea hit her, and a cold sweat trickled down her back like mockery. Time seemed to freeze as she stared, wishing the object would disappear.
The Queen of Hearts stared back at her like it knew exactly what it meant. Like it was all a game and it was having fun at her expense. Shauna didn’t find that coincidence funny at all.
“Put that down! Don’t touch it!” she smacked his hand, making the card fall to the ground. Jeff looked at her, confused.
“It’s just a card,” he said, frowning, his face twisted in confusion. “I don’t get it. You didn’t like the compliment? If that’s it, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No, it’s not that. Just don’t touch it, okay? Didn’t your parents teach you not to pick things up off the ground?” she snapped nervously, her lame excuse slipping off her tongue before she could think. Her eyes darted around, avoiding his.
“Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I just wanted to cheer you up,” he raised his hands in surrender, his mood deflating a bit. “No more compliments, got it.”
They kept walking like nothing had happened. Shauna glanced around with growing paranoia, while Jeff let his hand hang near hers, hoping they might brush as they walked. The dark-haired girl didn’t notice—until his fingers intertwined with hers. Shauna jumped at the touch, pulling away. Her skin prickled with the instinct to flee.
“I’m cold,” she excused, stuffing her hands into her pants pockets. Jeff didn’t believe her, but this time, he got the hint. He didn’t try to hold her hand again for the rest of the walk, and his smile faded slightly.
An uncomfortable silence accompanied them until they reached a decent-looking café. It was strategically placed on a corner, offering a perfect view of the street for nosy people to peek inside. From the outside, it was clear the place had no real clientele—except for one grumpy old man seated in a far-off corner. As they approached, the scent of coffee beans and the warmth of the interior hit her.
“Give it a chance, it’s new,” Jeff said when he noticed her eyeing the place warily.
Shauna hummed a vague reply and stepped inside. Jeff opened the door for her, the ring of a bell announcing their presence. Not that it was needed—the café’s only employee had already seen them and walked over as they took a seat at one of the tables nearest the exit (a very deliberate choice).
“Hey, guys!” he greeted them, holding a chewed-up pencil and a notepad he used for sketching in his spare time. “How’s it going? Good to see you two together. What can I get you?”
“Randy?” Shauna’s wrinkled expression shifted from surprise to realization as she noticed the apron tied around his waist. “You work here?”
Randy Walsh stood in front of her, greasy hair and shiny skin from sweat. Honestly, Shauna wasn’t surprised at how his life had turned out. A guy who used to shove pencils up his nose for fun didn’t exactly scream “college material.” She’d always figured he’d end up working a minimum wage job, and she’d been right.
“Monday to Friday, every afternoon,” he said with a syrupy grin, pinching his chubby cheeks. “Didn’t Jeff mention it?”
Shauna turned to Jeff for answers, realizing his best friend must’ve been the reason he knew about the café’s opening. Jeff avoided eye contact, giving Randy warning glances.
“Just take our order, man. We’re in the middle of something.”
“Right, sorry. You’re right,” Randy laughed and prepped his hand to write. “Didn’t mean to ruin your date.”
Shauna’s muscles tensed at the word “date,” but she didn’t deny it. Her sharp eyes and defensive posture spoke volumes. Jeff seemed to misinterpret her silence, because his easy smile returned, and he sat up a little straighter.
“Two black coffees will be fine, right?” he asked Shauna, who nodded with discomfort.
“I’ll be back in five,” Randy winked awkwardly and shuffled off.
“Oh my God,” Shauna whispered, slumping in her seat like she wanted the ground to swallow her whole. She thought things couldn’t get worse. The man across from her didn’t notice her mood.
“Randy might’ve recommended the place for the date,” Jeff admitted with a sheepish grimace. “So if the coffee sucks, we can blame him.”
He was hoping for a lighthearted reaction to his lame joke—but he got the opposite. Shauna cringed, frowning deeply and crossing her arms.
“This isn’t a date,” she clarified with a cold, perhaps overly cold, tone. “You said it was just a walk.”
“Oh, right. You’re right—sorry. I should’ve mentioned that,” he smiled without showing teeth, trying to calm her obvious irritation. He scratched his head, completely unaware of the emotional storm brewing in front of him. He was trying to be charming, oblivious to the fact that it would never work on Shauna. “But it could be one, right?”
Shauna didn’t get the chance to respond. Jeff should’ve counted himself lucky for that. Randy returned just in time, wobbling over with two steaming cups of coffee on a flimsy plastic tray. Both heads turned toward him, letting the tension dissipate with his presence. The drinks smelled great, the aroma inviting.
“Two cups of coffee for my favorite customers,” Randy announced, lowering the tray to the table—but his clumsiness made it wobble wildly and spill both drinks all over Jeff’s torso and legs. “Shit, sorry!”
Jeff jumped at the burning sensation, grimacing in pain. He tried to pull his shirt away from his skin, but it was already soaked through. The mugs were shattered on the floor, coffee pooled across the tiles and Jeff’s seat.
“Jesus, Randy! I’m gonna kill you!” Jeff yelled, glaring at him. “Shit, it burns!”
“I’m sorry, dude! I swear I’ve done this a thousand times, this never happens!” Randy cringed, grabbing a wad of napkins from the table and pressing them to the coffee stains. Jeff batted his hands away and wiped the mess off himself. “I’ll grab something to clean this up. Next coffee’s on the house!”
Randy dashed off to find a mop, while Jeff muttered curses under his breath. Shauna, on the other hand, stayed silent, watching with concern and a strange flicker of suspicion. Her breathing changed—just slightly. She managed to steady it before anyone noticed.
She was starting to overthink again. It had just been an accident. Randy being Randy. Nothing weird about that. Her mind slowly reconnected with reality, and only then was she able to help Randy clean up the table.
But that was only the beginning.
And eventually, things would start to get even stranger.
---
By the time she returned home not long after (the mood had plummeted after the café accident), her mother was already there. She was still wearing the clothes she had worked in the night before, her eyes as tired as her daughter’s. She was drinking tea and eating toast, her movements slow (as if her limbs weighed her down). When she saw Shauna walk through the door, surprise was impossible to hide. A weak smile slowly spread across her face.
“You went out,” she hummed, satisfied. An obvious, yet powerful observation. “I thought you were in your room.”
“Let’s not make a big deal out of something so small,” Shauna shrugged, pretending her flushed cheeks weren’t from embarrassment. She walked past her mother, trying to avoid a possible interrogation. But it was too late—a pointed accusation made her freeze in place.
“There were flowers on the table. Were you with someone?”
Shauna turned to face her mother, nearly whining under the knowing look she was given. She tried to keep a stoic mask, to hide her real emotions, her expression blank. The calmness in her voice betrayed no sign of nerves.
“It’s not what you think.”
“So the flowers weren’t from Jeff?”
“That’s not what I said,” she dodged, neither confirming nor denying the accusation. Her mask was starting to crack.
“And you didn’t go out with him either,” her mother continued, raising an eyebrow.
“Well…” Shauna sighed dramatically, rubbing her face. Because of course, from her mother’s perspective, her relationship with Jeff looked romantic. “Look, I know how it seems. But I swear Jeff and I are just friends.”
“Does he know that?”
“Oh my God. I’m leaving right now if you don’t drop this. Since when do you care so much about my life?”
Her mother seemed to tense at those last words, a flicker of pain crossing her features. She sipped her tea calmly, then wiped her lips with a napkin. She looked at Shauna with dark eyes, piercing to her soul. The fun in teasing her daughter seemed to vanish, leaving behind an unsettling seriousness.
“You’re an adult, Shauna. You can do whatever you want with whoever you want,” she said gently, though it felt like a reprimand. “I just want to remind you that around here, everyone finds out everything. And you know very well that people will talk because of… you know.”
The words hung in the air, heavy. The unfinished sentence took on a power of its own. It sparked something that burned down every other thought. Shauna’s chest tightened like it always did when someone mentioned—directly or indirectly—her former best friend. Her mother pressed her lips together, unable to say her name out of fear of breaking her. As if walking on glass.
“I don’t care,” she lied like she always did. “I don’t owe anyone an explanation. Not even you.”
Shauna decided to put an end to the stupid, meaningless conversation, turning toward the door. It was dangerous to linger once her least favorite subject came up. She made her way to her room, her footsteps heavy on the stairs, the wood creaking beneath her soles. This time, her mother didn’t stop her.
She locked herself in with her cassette tapes, hiding from the world. Her explosive emotions warring within her. Anger and nostalgia burning in her bones. She had no specific target, and that made things worse. Because she was angry at her mother for implying she and Jeff might be more than grief companions, angry at Jeff for making their walk seem like more than it was, envious of her former teammates for moving on—but most of all, she hated that Jackie was the common denominator.
Because if Jackie hadn’t died, she wouldn’t feel the emptiness that came with loss. If she had survived that first winter night, Shauna was sure everything would be okay. Jeff wouldn’t be chasing after her, the Taylors wouldn’t invite her over every week out of pity (it wouldn’t be necessary, since she used to spend more time with Jackie than with her own family), the school group wouldn’t have fallen apart. Everything would be okay. That was something only Jackie could make her feel. There wouldn’t be a damn crack in her chest, or a lump in her throat made of words that never reached their destination. The hope for a better future had frozen alongside her best friend. How pathetic was she?
Shauna let herself sink into her misery, into her growing hatred. Her body shivering from the breeze coming through the window and the emotions she refused to accept. She lay back staring at the ceiling, while music filled the silence she preferred to ignore. Minutes turned into hours, her limbs numb. Her eyelids fought against sleep, her mind begging for rest. She fought tooth and nail to stay awake. Because if sleep took her—
Her mother burst into the room, throwing the door open. Shauna took off her headphones when she sensed the shift in the air, glaring at her.
“Is it so hard for you to respect my privacy and knock?” her voice was hoarse, her gestures drowsy.
“Mrs. Sadecki called,” she ignored the complaint, keeping her hand on the door and her body in the frame. “Apparently you weren’t answering. Now I see why.”
Shauna rolled her eyes, putting her headphones back on. Her mother moved toward the green phone her daughter had insisted on buying when Jackie got hers, and hung it up properly.
“I didn’t want anyone to bother me,” she excused herself. “Guess the phone wasn’t enough, should’ve closed the door too.”
Shauna was about to press play again when her mother caught her attention with what she said next.
“I thought you’d like to know Jeff is in the hospital,” her mother walked toward the open window, looking at Shauna before resting her hands on the frame. “A car hit him on his way home.”
Shauna froze, staring at her mother in dismay. Something began to ache in her chest, a bad feeling spreading. Sharp fear prickled at her neck.
It had to be a coincidence.
Bad luck.
It had to be.
Because if it wasn’t, she preferred to believe he was just… lost. At best.
“Is he okay?” her voice came out weak, almost vulnerable. She was terrified.
“He broke some bones, but he seems to be alright. Got lucky. Poor kid,” she shook her head as if shaking off a bitter feeling. “Maybe you should visit him tomorrow.”
The young woman looked out the still-open window, noticing that night was beginning to fall. Darkness was trying to claim the territory that belonged to a dull blue sky. Her head started to pound. Maybe from sleep deprivation, or maybe from the panic that had begun to bloom inside her. Maybe both.
“Yeah… maybe I should.”
Her mother was about to close the window when something caught her attention. She leaned toward the wooden frame, frowning.
“Shauna, what is this?” she growled, demanding an explanation. Shauna’s mind raced, imagining it was a cigarette butt. But when she got up and approached, what she found made her wish it had been something that simple.
Carved carefully into the wood was a symbol she’d only seen in nightmares since they came back. The symbol that had adorned trees in the woods—the one that could only mean tragedy, death, and spilled blood.
Shauna blinked, stumbling back. The lump in her throat itched, and she raised a hand to her neck to stop the feeling. But the air began to thin, and the room turned hot. Her clothes became overwhelming, too heavy. The room started to spin.
Was she hallucinating from exhaustion? Had insomnia twisted her body to the point her reaction was to relive trauma? How could she be sure it was real?
“I didn’t do this,” she tried to convince her mother. Her tone was shaky, afraid. A chill ran down her spine.
“Sure you didn’t,” her mother sighed in disappointment, not noticing the panic in her daughter’s eyes as she looked at the symbol with annoyance. “Sometimes I think I give you too much freedom. I told your father not to give you that knife, but he never listens. What is this supposed to be? Something from those bands you listen to?”
“I didn’t do it,” she repeated weakly, her body no longer responding.
Shauna’s mind could only think of the Queen of Hearts, staring straight into her soul. Alluring. Dangerous. Of the symbol linked to her. If the card was a coincidence, and Jeff’s accident was just bad luck, then the symbol meant something else. Something she had tried to ignore, even back in the wilderness.
But that was behind them.
Whatever had followed them—it stayed in the woods.
Though Shauna was becoming less and less sure of that.
---
Connecting the strange events she was experiencing to Lottie’s particular (and suspiciously convenient) call wasn’t hard. After her mother finished ranting at her while Shauna remained in a state of shock, she waited until she was asleep, then grabbed the car keys and drove through the empty streets with a cigarette in hand.
The smoke drifted out the open window, letting her anxiety about potential answers dissipate. The engine roared in that way Shauna hated (Jackie used to handle the radio for that reason), but this time she let the noise soothe her. The vibrations kept her grounded, connected to the reality of what was happening.
Shauna remembered exactly where Lottie’s mansion was—how could she not, when all the team’s year-end parties had taken place there? Her memory didn’t fail because she’d always stayed sober for those nights, being the designated driver. The house was on the edge of town, hidden among trees and vegetation. It took her less than twenty minutes to get there.
She stopped the car in front of the staircase that led to the large, outdated doors. The engine went quiet, and the silence of the night was broken only by a chirping cricket and the slam of the car door. The cool night breeze made her shiver, goosebumps covering her arms—she cursed herself for not bringing an emergency coat for nights like this. Her steps pounded on the ground as she marched up to the door and knocked violently.
“Lottie! You and I need to talk!” she shouted, not caring whether Lottie’s parents were home (they never were). “Open the damn door if you don’t want me to knock it down!”
The cruel silence that followed wasn’t surprising—just a disappointment that acted as fuel. Shauna pounded harder, the door vibrating under the force of her impulsiveness. Her fist paid the price. Still, no one answered her desperate call.
Shauna noticed that behind one of the many windows, light shone through the curtains, which looked better than they actually were. So, unwilling to leave with so many questions unanswered, she turned the doorknob. It opened without resistance, granting her direct access to the Matthews mansion. That alone confirmed someone was inside.
She followed her instincts, knowing the place almost as well as her own home. So many sleepovers, so many parties—it hadn’t been in vain. She had picked up a thing or two. She slipped through the dark, cold hallways, toward the faint sound of voices. The walls were gray, adorned with artwork that Lottie’s father had probably paid too much for. It was clear that even if Lottie lived there, familiarity had no place in that house. The stench of loneliness was nauseating, almost offensive.
The voices came from the living room—she figured that out quickly. She could recognize Lottie’s easily, like a guiding thread. Then, vaguely, she picked up Van’s (What was she doing there?). She knew there were more because they spoke in plural, choosing their words carefully.
She rushed to throw the door open wide, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room. Only a few candles lit the scene in a loose circle around the girls. Shauna’s mouth dropped, her brows furrowing in confusion and raw fury.
In front of her, Van, Melissa, and Mari turned their heads toward her like they’d been caught doing something illegal. Lottie kept her eyes on the board in front of her, like it held answers no one else could give. Her expression was so focused, it was unsettling. The group sat in a circle, hands on a Ouija board, trying to contact… something. Taissa watched from a safe corner, clearly disapproving of the scene (though the curiosity in her eyes gave her away).
“What the fuck is this?” Shauna growled, her body vibrating with rage. Her eyes darkened in the shadows, every inch of her losing control.
“What are you doing here?” Taissa asked suspiciously, ignoring her own involvement. She stood up, arms crossed.
Mari and Melissa stood too. Van simply stared at Shauna from the floor like a stunned deer, and Lottie frowned disapprovingly.
“We’re trying to contact whatever’s been messing with us,” Mari explained, as if it were obvious. Melissa stayed behind, clearly uncomfortable.
“Come back! We need to close the session,” Lottie’s voice was desperate, almost worried about what might happen if they didn’t say goodbye properly. “We don’t want to make it angry.”
“Wait… something happened to you too, right?” Van asked, raising her eyebrows.
Shauna took a step back, overwhelmed by the whole scene. Panic spread like a virus. Her chest rose and fell as she tried to breathe, but she quickly regained her composure to hide the weakness. Lottie noticed anyway.
“I only came to talk to Lottie because I assumed she’s behind this whole sick manipulation game,” she snapped, her expression hard as knives aimed at the girl with deer eyes. “I want you to stop it. Now.”
“I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but I’m not the one behind this,” Lottie replied with her usual unsettling calm. “I’m not the only one strange things are happening to—and you know that, Shauna. You know it came back with us.”
“Cut the crap,” Shauna growled, stepping forward. “This isn’t real! You’re just manipulating everyone like you did in the woods! Don’t you see? She’s crazy! None of this is real!”
“Mari saw a bear in town. When she called the authorities, they found nothing,” Melissa said timidly, staring at the floor. She didn’t dare look at Shauna. “One of the men who saved us died of a heart attack. I know because I’ve been speaking to his wife. She dreams about the symbol.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Shauna insisted, looking around, stubborn.
“Tai’s started sleepwalking again,” Van added. Taissa avoided eye contact, visibly ashamed.
“I spoke with Akilah—she’s studying veterinary medicine not far from here. Animals have been dying mysteriously,” Mari crossed her arms. “What do you say to that, idiot? Still mean nothing?”
“Lottie’s brainwashed you,” was all Shauna could say, a bead of cold sweat sliding down her spine.
Lottie was about to respond when her hands—and Van’s—began moving involuntarily, drawing everyone’s attention. Their expressions shifted to a mix of fear and awe. The room suddenly turned cold. Silence became funereal, expectant.
“This hasn’t happened before,” Mari’s tone betrayed her panic. Her face was pale.
“Who is with us?” Lottie asked calmly, her eyes glowing in the candlelight. A smile crept onto her lips, close to excitement.
No one moved a muscle. No one breathed. Tension could snap with the slightest mistake. The hands moved again—slower this time. With purpose. Air was held in lungs, some suppressing screams. They all watched anxiously as a word began to form.
J, A, C, K...
Shauna recognized where it was going before anyone else. The fury that had always burned in her veins but was usually held back overtook her. Pain mingled with it in a dangerous reaction. Before she could think, her legs moved on their own toward the board.
Then, she kicked it.
The move was wrong—she knew that well (Coach Ben used to remind her constantly). Her shoe slipped when she tried to plant her foot again, and she fell flat on her back. Her head hit the floor with a thud that froze the others. Her body didn’t respond. Pain spread through her.
Darkness took her.
In her delirious state, Shauna remembered all the times an injury had kept her off the field. She had always tried to act tough, like she was stronger than any broken bone. But the truth was, every time her ankle swelled from a minor sprain or her knee gave her too much trouble, panic would set in—a reminder that she was only human. But every single time, even if it was just a bump or a bruise, she always knew Jackie would be there. Probably holding an ice pack, or offering up the secret medications she’d stolen from her mother.
“She never even notices, Shipman. Just take it, I can see in your face it hurts like hell,” Jackie would say, shoving the pills toward her. Shauna would take them, because she could never say no to those eyes that saw straight into her soul.
And she’d hate her for caring. For pretending like Shauna mattered. Because even in moments like those, Jackie was perfect. She was better than any help Shauna could have asked for. Shauna longed for her. She didn’t want anyone else’s attention. Just Jackie. Jackie with her miracle hands, massaging her calves after a grueling practice. Jackie and her dumb jokes that no one else found funny, trying to make her laugh through recovery.
How could anyone compete with that?
How could Shauna compete with that?
When Shauna opened her eyes again, the faces of her former teammates hovered above her. Curious, worried eyes, glowing in her direction. Hands touched her head, searching for serious injuries. Her skull throbbed—felt like it would burst. Voices layered over each other, trying to speak to her. She ignored them all.
Because right in front of her, just as worried as the others, stood Jackie Taylor.
Jackie Taylor.
Her blonde hair falling in immaculate waves over her shoulders. A ridiculous sweater—the kind she used to love—pink checkered, with white pants that clung to her legs like a second skin. A bow hanging from one strand of hair, freckles splattered across the bridge of her nose (and partially on her cheeks). Her big eyes looked straight at Shauna, full of concern.
Jackie, her best friend.
The person she left to die in the snow.
Shauna fainted again.