Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. The thoughts won't stop scratching at the places where the questions live. Maggie presses her pen against the notebook paper. 

This itch inside my head. This itch is in my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head.

I pushed Eli into the truth or was it lies? 

This itch inside my head. This itch is in my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head.

Mary Stone chased after the truth. Or was she chasing lies? 

This itch inside my head. This itch inside my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head.

To what end? To what end? This itch inside my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head. This itch inside my head. To what end? This itch inside my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. 

Toooo. Whattt. Enddd. 

Toooo. Whattt. Enddd. 

TooooWhatttEnddd 

TooooWhatttEnddd 

TooooWhatttEndddTooooWhatttEnddd

TooooWhatttEndddTooooWhatttEnddd

TooooWhatttEnddTooooWhatttEnddd 

"A-hem. Margaret?" Maggie shakes her head and snaps her eyes from her notebook to the front of the classroom. Mr. Barnstable twists his mustache. "Do you have anything to add?"

"Add?"

"Yes, to the conversation."

"The conversation?"

"We were talking about Blake's poems, 'The Tyger and The Lamb'." Mr. Barnstable points to a boy in the next row. "Jason here was commenting on how similar the poems are to one another. What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts?" 

He nods. 

She drops her head to her notebook again, her eyes focus on the letters D-R-E-A-D, scribbled across the page.

"Margaret, your thoughts." 

"The poems left me with questions." She reaches for the gold cross and smooths it between her fingers.

"Go on," Mr. Barnstable prods.

"The tiger is beautiful, but dangerous –- a destroyer. The lamb is meek and pure –- blameless. Did the same hand that created the destroyer also create the lamb? Why would a creator create a being capable of such destruction? What sort of creator would do such a thing?" 

Mr. Barnstable gives a slow nod and pushes his hand through his comb over. His mouth melts into a smile. "Very good, Margaret. Very good." 

Jason speaks up. "I thought it was just a kid's nursery rhyme!" 

The class laughs.

Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. Maggie shrugs and presses her pen against her notebook.

This itch inside my head. This itch is in my head. Dread. Dread. Dread. This itch inside my head. To what end? This itch inside my head.

When the dismissal bell rings, Mr. Barnstable waves Maggie over to his desk as the other students clear the room. He flashes his gapped tooth grin. "You seem ..." his mouth turns sideways, "out of sorts. Is everything okay?" 

Her face flushes. Her eyes focus on the piece of gum stuck to the floor. 

Mr. Barnstable folds his arms across his chest and leans against his desk. "I know Eli is a good friend of yours. It must be hard not having him here." 

Hot tears prick the corners of Maggie's eyes. 

"Like you, he offered valuable insights into our conversations." 

She squeezes her fists, pushing her fingernails into the palms of her hands. 

Mr. Barnstable clears his throat. "We have an excellent school adjustment counselor on staff." 

Heat lands on Maggie's cheeks. "I don't need to see a counselor." 

He twists his mustache between his fingers. "Well, if you need someone to talk to..." 

Maggie slings her bag over her shoulder and jets out of the room.

Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. Scratch. Itch. How can she possibly stay in school, moving through her regular routine while Eli is locked up, all alone, wasting away who knows where? 

She paces down the hall, past her locker, and through the cafeteria. She slips out a side door and heads toward Cove Beach. 

Mr. Barnstable isn't the only one that thinks she's out of sorts. Charlie, Cay and Drew have all pulled her aside and said similar things. "You don't seem like yourself Maggie. Is everything alright Maggie? We're worried about you Maggie." Why can't they just leave me alone? 

Charlie stands by his decision to tell Dr. Banes about the art room the night Eli was arrested. "I was protecting you, Maggie," he said. Yeah, right! He's messed everything up!  

And when she's not at school, Connie is hovering over her with hawk eyes. "I called Joe," Connie told her this morning. "You two used to be so close. Maybe talking with him will help."

"Talk? I don't want to talk!" Maggie said.

"I told him you'll meet him at the café after school today."

"You did what?"

"He'll be there so you better be too."  

"Or what? You'll lock me up?"

"Don't test me. You better go. Or else!"

Maggie kicks at pebbles as she traipses over the shore line. She makes her way to a cluster of rocks just beyond Cove Beach. It'll be her hiding spot until the school day is done. 

She climbs aboard a boulder and lays flat on her back, crushed by the weight of her guilt. She told Eli he wasn't alone anymore –- that they had each other now. Eli told her Dr. Banes was out to get him, and he had to leave Cayder Bay. She tried to convince him otherwise. She should've believed him. She should've ran away with him. They should be together right now.

With the sun's glow above her and the rock's heat beneath her, she closes her eyes and breathes in the sea air. She imagines Eli there beside her, holding her hand, basking in the sun's warmth. 

Tears prick her eyes and sting her cheeks. Her throat tightens. Eli, I'm sorry. I'll find you and when I do, I'll never ever let you go.  

                                                                           💙💙💙

Maggie paces through the cemetery and follows the iron fence to an alley way that leads straight to down town Cayder Bay.

Main Street is home to only three stores –- a Pizzeria, a Café, and a General Store, which is squished between St. Margaret's Church and the Post Office. To be fair, the General Store is like ten stores in one, selling everything from groceries and booze to kid's toys and t-shirts. It's Cayder Bay's version of a Super Wal-Mart.

She pushes through the café door and scans the room. Joe's nowhere to be seen. She chooses a table next to a window overlooking Main Street. Sitting across from her is a woman hunched over a laptop, tapping away at the keys.

She looks up at Maggie and gives a nod as the server, a guy with his hair pulled back into a ponytail, refills her drink. Coffee stains and smeared pastry fillings cover his apron. He spins to face Maggie and pulls an order pad out from his pocket.

"What can I get ya?"

"Chai tea," Maggie tells him.

"Com'n right up." He turns on his heel and pushes through the swinging door, leading to the kitchen. The rise and fall of clinks and clanks pours out as the door swings open, then closes behind him.

Maggie hasn't seen Joe since that day they locked her up in the psych ward. Maybe he's ditching Connie's plan, or maybe he's passed out somewhere, unable to walk or talk or think.

A knock on the other side of the window shakes her out of her head. 

It's Joe. "Ha," he laughs. He takes one last drag of his cigarette and snuffs it out before heading into the café. Stitched across the left pocket of his light blue shirt are the letters JDC. Pinned to his right pocket is his name tag -- Joseph Krane -- Security.

He beams, engulfing Maggie into his grizzly bear chest. "Aren't you are sight for sore eyes?"

The wet ash smell that once clung to him like a second skin has been replaced by cinnamon and sage.

Months melt into seconds and tension melts into relief. It's as if no time has passed since they last saw one another. All that bad ugly stuff between them has disappeared.

He holds her out at arm's length and scans her, as if he's memorizing every inch of her face. "You're so tan!"

"Weird, isn't it?" She shrugs. "I'm usually paler than milk this time of year."

He rubs his thumbs over the dark circles underneath her eyes. "You sleeping okay?"

"Yeah," she says, shrugging off his concern. Truth is, the hunt is the worst it's ever been. Dread is relentless, chasing her down day and night. She doesn't have the will or the strength to fight back.

Ponytail Guy slides Maggie's Chai Tea onto the table. 

"Coffee. Black," Joe tells him. 

Ponytail Guy is armed and ready with a coffee pot attached to his hand like an appendage. He tips the pot, releasing a gush of steaming black liquid into the white ceramic mug. He fills it to the brim.

Joe looks good. With his clean-shaven face and clear eyes, it's the best Maggie has seen him look in a long time.

"Sorry I'm late," he tells her. "There was an emergency at work."

Joe works security at the Juvenile Detention Center, a.k.a "The Hall", where juvie offenders are sent to do their time. He knows what it's like for those kids because up until he joined the Army, he was one of them. Out of the Army, he wanted to be a cop, but when he flunked out of the academy, he took the next best job he could find. The kids on the Hall call him a wanna-a-be, but he doesn't let it get to him. He says you need to be tough to deal with that kind of stuff.

"I'm sorry for a lot of things," he says. "I let you down, Mags. I let Con down too. And I'm sorry for that." He takes a sip of coffee and lifts his eyes to meet hers. "I want you to know that I stopped drinking. I've been going to A.A. and to church. All that higher power stuff, ya know?" He rubs his hands together. "I'm getting better."

Maggie's eyes soften, as she takes in the Joe she used to know. "It's good you're getting better." 

"Yeah, good." He peers out the café window. "It's nice here -- different." He slurps his coffee. "How do you like it?"

"Okay," Maggie says with a shrug. 

"You got friends?" He leans back into the vinyl bench and lifts his chin.

"Yeah."

"Good. Glad to hear it. Friends are important."

Eli is important. Maggie is quick to change the subject. "How are things in Fallowshill?"

Joe raises his hand to call over Ponytail Guy. "Same 'ol, same 'ol," he says. "You want a donut or something? A muffin?"

Every Sunday morning, when Joe got off the night shift, he would bring home a box of muffins. "Muffin Man is here," he would shout as he walked through the door. Maggie would hug him around his waist and grab the box, making a bee-line for the kitchen to pour a cold glass of milk.

"I'll have a chocolate chip muffin," Maggie says, despite her poor appetite. She doesn't want Joe to know how bad off she really is.

"Me too," Joe says. "And more coffee."

Maggie glances at the people passing by the window, moving through their afternoon routines. Church bells clang in the distance.

Ponytail Guy returns and slides their muffins onto the table. He tips the pot and pours Joe another cup. In a flash, he spins on his heel and darts through the swinging door. 

"Con is worried about ya," Joe says, rubbing his hand over his buzz cut. "She says you're like you were before, ya know -- before the hospital."

Maggie picks at the chocolate chips. She isn't sure what she is anymore and truth is, she doesn't really care.

"You're a good kid, Mags. Don't throw your life away, like I did or like those kids back in Fallowshill –- those kids on the Hall. Alright?"

She gives a quick nod. 

"Good." He takes a big bite of his muffin. "No matter what, you'll always be my girl."

She gulps down the lump in her throat. Joe's not big on words like that, so when he says them, it means something. "I know," she says.

"Good. That's good."

"How's work?" she asks.

He shakes his head. "The kids keep getting worse and worse. Sicker and sicker." He slurps his coffee. "This kid came in just the other day for a B & E and resisting arrest, but that's not what got to me. Turns out, he left behind this sketchpad full of all these drawings. Angels and demons. Demons chasing people down, tearing them to shreds. Sick stuff."

Maggie's eyes widen. She slides her hands across the table and clasps her fingers around Joe's arm. "Did you say a sketch book full of angels and demons?"

"Yeah, a real psycho. As a matter of fact, he asked me if I knew you. Said we had the same last name. He said you're friends. I knew he was messing with me. You wouldn't hang out with a piece of garbage like that."

"Skinny kid?"

Joe nods.

"Dark eyes? Blond hair? Buzz cut, like yours?"

"Yup."

"Do you remember his name?"

Joe taps his fingers against his coffee mug. "Something Blue. I remember thinking, now that's a weird name. Blue."

It's as if a jolt of electricity courses through Maggie's body. She exhales like she's been stuck under water and is finally coming up for air. 

"You're not friends with him, right?"

She wipes her eyes.

Joe shakes his head. His voice turns thin. "Mags, what are you doing hanging with a kid like that? No wonder Con is so worried about ya."

"He's not a bad kid."

"He's locked up!"

"It's not his fault."

Joe slumps back into the booth. He presses his lips together, barely able to hold in his laugh. "Mags, Come on. You really believe that?"

"He's important to me."

Joe scratches his forehead and stares at her.

"Can I stay at your place for a few days?"

His eyes widen. "What? Because of this boy?"

"Can you get me in to see him?"

Joe shakes his head and stares out the window. His eyes dart back and forth, like he's running all the ways this could go wrong through his mind. "I'd love to have you with me. You know I would, but I can't let you see this kid, Mags. He's not right in the head."

Maggie gulps at the emotion swelling in her throat. She squeezes Joe's hand. "Please. He needs my help."

Joe's eyes soften. "Mags, I'm sorry," he says shaking his head. "I can't. It's for your own good."

If one more person tells her that staying away from Eli is for her own good, she'll explode.

"And besides, do you really think that Con is gunna let you go back to Fallowshill? She hates that hell hole. You'd have better luck at winning the lottery than getting Con's permission to go back to that place."

He's probably right. Connie got them out. What are the chances of her letting Maggie go back in?

"But if I talk with her, maybe she'll understand," Maggie says, pleading. "Maybe she'll let me go."

Joe slurps his coffee. "You're not seeing that kid, Mags. End of discussion."

Maggie slumps into the vinyl bench. A faraway look clouds her eyes. Eli is rotting away on the Hall. He'll go from there to the Psych Ward, in a continuous, viscous cycle of lock up. She can't let that happen. She has to get to him. She has to find a way.

She stares out the café window at a blur of faceless people passing by. The sun casts a long shadow over Main Street. The woman in the booth next to her taps away at her keyboard. Ponytail Guy refills her drink.

                                                                                      💙💙💙

girl looking into cup picture by: https://www.deviantart.com/aitchart/art/Cafe-Larousse-91956028

cafe window: https://www.deviantart.com/blackfluffyrainbows/art/You-Will-Never-Escape-818643165