A sharp cry of pain could barely be heard over the loud crack of gunshot. Like a scene from a movie, a young teenage boy clutched his bloodied chest and fell over backwards. As he hit the ground, a girl about the same age stepped from the shadows. She was clad in a black cat suit which made her blend into the night. Flashes of star shine glinted off the thick glasses she wore. She walked over and glanced down sadly at the lifeless body. “I’m sorry Joel,” she murmured. “But you really shouldn’t have ignored me like that.” Then she turned and walked away, the gun still in hand, until she was swallowed by the night, not even looking back as the blood pooled around Joel’s still form. A minute later, another shot echoed through the cool night air, then all was still.
* * *
The school bell hadn’t even stopped ringing when the class door was thrown open and a surge of rowdy teenagers, ranging from 16 to 17, emerged. Among them was Brad Liftridge. He had a muscular build, messy dirty-blonde hair and blue eyes that gleamed with mischief and laughter. He was also clearly the most popular guy there. Above the noise of teenagers preparing for a long weekend break, two voices could be distinctly heard. “Party at my house tomorrow evening, seven. Be there?” A high reedy voice called out. One, much deeper voice responded, “Who else you inviting, Christian?”
The first voice, Christian, didn’t yell back, but pushed through the crowd until he made himself visible. He was fairly skinny and middle-height with his left arm in a cast. He pushed through the throng, which was steadily headed towards a group of lockers, and headed towards the owner of the second voice, a short, rather plump boy with pimples sprinkled across his cheeks. Christian looked down at the other boy, a devious smile playing on his lips, and said, “Well Shawn, I was thinking of inviting Brad, Michael, Karen, Annie, Laura, Dave, Brandon, Kayla, James, and Dawn. Kent and Arik, too, of course.” Christian paused dramatically before adding, “And Rebecca.” Shawn drew in a breath quickly, then, comically puffing out his chest, he said, “Okay, cool, your parents won’t be there, will they?” Christian laughed, said that his parents would be gone, and muttered to his neighbor, loud enough for Shawn to overhear; something about 7 Minutes in Heaven and Spin the Bottle.
The boys got to the lockers and split apart to go their separate ways, Christian removed a skateboard and headed out the school doors, most of the group hard on his heels. Only Brad remained. Quickly, he grabbed his math book and prepared to slam the door, but stopped short when something caught his eye. Wedged into the corner of his locker was a small, folded paper, visible only because his text book had been shifted slightly. Brad picked it up, slammed and locked the locker, and headed out the school double doors. He gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the blinding afternoon sun, and then walked down the street, in the opposite direction of his friends, who could still be heard clearly even though they were half a block away.
Brad had walked a few steps before he remembered the note. He unfolded the paper, which was yellowed with age, and began to read, but after only a few seconds he had stopped dead, he might have stood there all afternoon gawping, were it not for the rather noisy arrival of two more boys. Brad hastily stuffed the paper into his front pocket and spun to meet his two best friends. Kent Greenwood was tall and thin, and his new braces gleamed in the sun. Arik Desman, a dark-skinned boy was only 15, and the shortest of all his friends. “Thought you were leaving without us, did ‘ya?” Kent asked in mock anger. Brad laughed and said “I didn’t know where you guys went, d’you expect me to hang around all day waiting just to find out ya went home early or somethin'?” Arik grinned. “Mrs. Bitch-acre held us after, somethin' about us not doin' our homework last night.” Mrs. Bisacre was their math teacher.
“Yeah,” Kent laughed. “Then somebody here had to try and get us off the hook by asking her if she would really punish us for somethin' we didn’t do. So now we have detention started when we come back next Thursday, all the way up till Wednesday.” He jerked his thumb at Arik when he said “somebody,” just in case Brad couldn’t figure out who he meant. The three boys shared a laugh for a moment, but then Kent stopped, very quickly, and stood completely straight, like a dog on bird point. Only one thing could make him look like that. Arik and Brad followed his gaze, just in time to see Karen Kelga, a tall, curvy, black-haired cheerleader from school, turn on to the street, arm-in-arm with Rebecca Mathews, shorter and thinner, but just as developed and her best friend, her wavy brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. They had chosen not to dress out of their cheerleader uniforms.
The boys deliberately slowed, giving the two girls no choice but to catch up. As soon as they did, Kent walked over to Karen, the only girl in school close to the same height as him, and put his arm over her shoulder. She casually removed his arm. She tossed the guys a look of disdain and crossed the street, her hips rolling smoothly. Becca rolled her eyes at them and laughed, then hurried after her friend. Brad, Kent, and Arik walked the girls all the way to their street before finally admitting defeat and heading instead for Christian’s house, which was just around the corner, to make plans for the party Saturday night.
Christian just pulled into his driveway on his skateboard as Brad, Kent, and Arik arrived. He waved them inside and to the living room, vacated until his parents return from their business trip next month, and ushered them on to the sofa. Kent disappeared into the kitchen. “Okay,” Christian said as Kent returned, holding a bag of chips and a cheddar dip. “We’re inviting Keren, Becca…” He listed names off for a few more seconds, before Brad cut him off. “So basically, there’s an ass load of people coming. We’ll need food and music mainly. And a large empty area, as well as a closet,” He smiled mischievously, “Just in case.” Christian laughed. “Okay, I’ve got the CD’s, we’ve got an area for any, games, that might happen, and an empty floor in case anyone wants to dance, we just gotta go buy food.”
At the mention of food, Kent and Arik perked. “Then what are we sitting around here for? Let’s go get some food.” They chorused, and were out the door before Brad and Christian had even stood up. Christian laughed again, and walked into the kitchen to grab his car keys. The other three guys were waiting for him when he came out; Kent and Arik had already managed to get into the locked car to wait, and Brad was leaning on the hood of the black Pontiac. When Christian unlocked the doors, he got in behind the wheel while Brad climbed in the passenger’s side, and in a few minutes they pulled in the parking lot at the local, and cheap, grocery store. Kent and Arik went straight to the food court, leaving Brad and Christian to buy all the food.
They split up, meeting up again an hour later with Seventy-five dollars worth of food (Christian’s parents had left him "emergency” money), and drove back to Christian’s house. When they walked into the house, Brad happened to glance at the clock on the TV, and jumped immediately. “Oh, shit.” He yelled “I’m late, I should have left 15 minutes ago, I’m never gonna get home in time.” He left hurriedly, leaving his friends to walk home alone. Brad jogged down the street, praying his parents would be held late at work again. He turned on to his street ten minutes late and heaved a sigh of relief when his parent’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Their work was always holding them late ever since they got promoted.
Brad slammed the door behind and tossed his bag on the couch before heading into the computer room, only to find his 8 year old sister Kamren already there. She looked up as he came in. “Oooh, you’re late. You should have been back thirty minutes ago! I’m telling mom and dad!” Kamren shouted, just as the sound of a car engine pulled into the driveway. Before Brad could move, Kamren jumped up from the stool and raced past Brad, gleefully chanting, “Brad came home late!” Brad followed his sister slowly, trying to think up a decent excuse. He arrived downstairs just in time to see his father, Brian, a tall, thin, slightly balding man walk in the door and set his coat down on the arm of a chair. Mr. Liftridge grinned at his son and said, “What’s this about you coming home late?”
“I had to go to the store with Kent, Arik, and Christian. The line was huge.”
“Oh really, and why did you need to go to the store?
“Christian’s having a party tomorrow.”
“And when did you plan on asking if you could go?”
“Uh… just now?”
Just then Patricia Liftridge, a middle aged woman that had still retained her thick, shiny black hair and smooth skin all these years, walked in. “I see he’s just like you were when you were a kid.” She teased.
Brian looked at his wife and laughed, then turned back to Brad. “Fine, you can go,” he said grudgingly.
“Thanks, you guys are the best.” Brad cheered. He turned and raced off to his room, stopping once to turn around and shout, “Well, sort of.” Then he turned, ran into his room, slammed the door, and grabbed the phone. Brad quickly dialed Christian’s number and waited impatiently. Christian picked up on the fourth ring. “Yeah, what it is Brad?”
“I just asked my dad, I can go.”
“Cool, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
"Well, we knew you’d be allowed to go, your parents never say no.”
“True, have Kent and Arik called yet?
“Both can come, everybody who’s anybody is coming to my house at seven tomorrow.”
“Cool, see you then.”
“No, you’re coming over early to help set up.”
“Okay, fine, whatever.”
"Oh, you didn't invite Zach, did you?"
"That loser from math class? Hell no."
"Good. See ya later."
The line clicked off and Brad hung up. He sat down on his bed and switched on the TV, Disney Channel was playing, which meant Kamren had been in his room again. Brad groaned loudly and changed to HBO. A scary movie called The Witness was playing. Brad sighed resignedly and sat back to watch the movie. About thirty minutes later he was called down for dinner. His mother’s homemade meatloaf. “Yum,” Brad muttered sarcastically under his breath as his mother plopped a chunk on the plate in front of him. Mrs. Liftridge glanced sharply at her son before setting down the platter and taking her seat.
Kamren skipped in, grabbed the remote, and switched on Nickelodeon; the program played for about three seconds before Brad stole the remote and changed it to ABC Family. Brad gagged quietly on the meatloaf for a minute before gulping down his soda, putting his plate in the sink, and heading upstairs to shower. He stepped into the tub and turned on the water, but fifteen minutes later as he was about to step out, Brad thought he saw someone, shadowed through the shower curtain. He peeked his head out of the corner and didn’t see anyone, so he let the curtain fall back again, and immediately the shadow returned. Frustrated, Brad once again peered out, and no one was there. Slightly annoyed, he ignored the form and stepped out of the shower.
The rest of the night passed with no more mysterious shadows appearing, and Brad fell asleep shortly after one in the morning.
It was just before noon when Brad woke up. He quickly got changed and headed downstairs into an empty kitchen. Brad found a note on the refrigerator, pulled it off, and skimmed over what it said:
Went to Wal-Mart, we’ll be
back no later than three. Wake
up your sister and make sure she’s
fed by the time we get back.
Typical. Brad went back upstairs and beat on Kamren’s door. When there was no answer, he opened the door and walked straight to the windows, opening the blinds so sunlight streamed in. Immediately, there was a loud groan from the bed, and Kamren’s face appeared out of the tangle of bed sheets. She blinked her eyes, which were sticky with sleep, and muttered, “Wuzzgoinon? Goway, Brad. Tryintsleep.” Brad just looked at her and said, “Whatever, its noon. Get up.” Stopping to make sure she did as she was told, Brad headed out of the room and back downstairs.
He scrounged around in the freezer for a moment before pulling out a bag of leftover pancakes. When Kamren walked in twenty minutes later, dressed and showered, Brad set the bag of frozen pancakes in front of her and said, “Microwave.”
She glared at him and said, “Why me? You cook ‘em.”
“Okay, I’ll cook ‘em, ‘cause you remember how good they turned out the last time I tried to cook.”
The trick worked. Kamren angrily snatched up the pancakes and threw them in the microwave, and five minutes later they both went their separate ways with a plate of pancakes. Kamren went to the computer room while Brad walked down into the living room and plopped down on the couch. However, he quickly sat up again as he heard a sharp crack. Setting down his plate on the nearby coffee table, Brad turned and looked where he had been sitting. There, half buried on the seat cushion, broken now that Brad had sat on them, was a pair of glasses. “That’s strange,” Brad murmured. No one in his family wore glasses. He grabbed the spectacles and quickly threw them out, thinking how they had gotten on his couch.
After brother and sister had finished eating, Kamren had Brad drop her off at Brittany’s house for the rest if the day. On the drive back home, Brad happened to glance at the airbag lights, and he just barely stopped himself from slamming on the braked when he saw that the passenger airbag was on; the airbag only turned on if enough weight was placed on the seat. Brad glanced swiftly over at the passenger seat. There was obviously nothing on the seat, but peering closer, Brad noticed a slight impression on the seat. The first, rather childish thought that crossed his mind was that it appeared as though an invisible person was seated there. But sure enough, no matter how hard Brad looked, the imprint didn’t go away.
Brad looked up at the sound of a blaring horn and realized that in his lapse of attention he had driven straight into oncoming traffic. He slammed the brakes and spun the wheel hard to the right. The car swerved wildly for a moment, out of control. Other cars in the lane honked, brakes, screeched and swiveled to avoid the wild car. The car jerked off the road, and as Brad desperately tried to regain control, the car came to a sudden, juddering halt as it slammed into a twisted tree trunk a few yards away from the road. Steam seeped from the mangled hood and sparks flew from the engine, Brad’s stirred feebly and let out a moan before his eyes shut and his head fell limply forward. He slouched down in his seat and sank into a wave of unconsciousness.
*I'm working on the rest now, this is as far as I've gotten so far.
