"Becca?" I called as I crossed the street. "I'm Alexis. Alexis Howard. You might not remember me, but we met two months ago at your grandfather's Christmas party."

She didn't respond. Instead, her stare grew more and more intense. It was almost as if I'd stolen her apple pie, spat bubblegum into her hair, and run her over with an ice cream truck—none of which I'd done.

"So it's true what they say," she finally said, her tone icy.

They? I stopped.

The trees rustled as dark clouds moved above us, covering the moon and the stars in the night sky. Goosebumps rose along my skin as the air turned heavy.

"Becca, I can help you." I took a careful step forward and slipped a hand into my bag, rummaging through the mess for a vial of holy water. Shoot. Where the heck is it?

"You want to help me?" Her voice sounded calm, yet I could sense the suppressed rage in her presence. "Leave my family and friends alone." She moved forward, and the street lamps started flickering. "Or I swear I'll make your life a living hell."

A sudden gust of wind blew my way, forcing me to turn my head and squint. I shielded my eyes with my hand as dust and dirt attacked them, yet a puff still made its way into my nose. The urge to sneeze became unbearable.

"Becca—achoo! Calm down—"

Shivers shot down my spine as an icy chill surrounded me, so cold I could freeze to death within seconds. I gasped as Becca appeared inches away from me, her emerald-green eyes now pitch dark.

"You should learn to mind your own business."

She put a hand on my shoulder, and for a split second, I could feel her pain, her rage, and a powerful emotion I couldn't quite identify. Before I could even blink, she shoved me back. The force was more than enough to send me flying across the street.

I squeezed my eyes shut, preparing for the worst. Note to self. Throw those stupid vials away, buy a water gun, and fill it with as much holy water as possible. Or better yet? Learn how to send evil spirits to Hell.

My back crashed against the wall with a loud thud, but I didn't feel a thing. My body felt numb.

Am I dead?

I'd expected Heaven to smell like a fresh apple pie on a sunny morning. I'd expected Hell to smell like an oven filled with burnt meat. I certainly hadn't expected Heaven or Hell to smell like an old, abandoned house in the middle of a thunderstorm.

The night air turned damp. The strange combination of the unmistakable stench of mold, the heady scent of flowers, and the earthy smell of rain wafted from somewhere close. As my senses started coming back to me, I felt a pair of thick arms squeezing my chest, suffocating me.

Huh?

My body trembled with fear, but the instinct to survive quickly kicked in. Without thinking, I sank my teeth into the man's forearm.

The man screamed in pain and cursed, though the ringing in my ears prevented me from hearing his voice clearly. As he lowered his bitten arm, I gathered every energy I had and elbowed him in the stomach. His grip around me loosened.

I landed on my feet and ran away from him as fast as I could. "Mona. He shot Mona. And now he's going to kill me!"

The voice I heard in my head wasn't mine. It was Becca's.

Wait, what?

As rain drizzled down my face, I opened my eyes. Everything blurred into a haze. I blinked a few times until my vision came into focus. A glance around me told me I was in the Beaufort Manor's backyard. Putting two and two together, I realized I'd entered Becca's memory and gone back to the night of her murder.

But how?

The sound of heavy footsteps dragging across the floor behind me grabbed my attention. As I glanced over my shoulder, the man aimed his flashlight at me. The blinding light forced me to close my eyes and look away.

"No, no, no." Becca's voice resonated in my head. "I can't let him catch me. I must run. I must—"

A sense of relief rushed through me when I heard his footsteps stopping. Yet it was short-lived. The all-too-familiar click of a gun caused my breath to hitch.

A loud bang echoed in the night.

The same loud bang Vickie and Eddie had heard the night Becca was killed.

A sharp pain stabbed me in the back, propelling my body forward. I tried to keep running, but I couldn't. As gravity pulled me down, I looked down at my stomach. Blood stained my white T-shirt.

"No, no, I can't die here . . ."

I crashed onto the ground, the damp grass cold against my cheek. As the man moved toward me, I pressed a hand against my stomach and tried to crawl away. "Help . . ." My voice—Becca's—came out so soft. I tried to scream for help, but blood spurted into my mouth.

My breathing labored, and I no longer had the energy to move. The roses in front of me blurred into shadows, yet the heady scent of flowers grew stronger. As the man crouched in front of me, I blinked to clear my vision, but it didn't help. I couldn't see his face. All I saw was his white sneakers, the sole covered in mud.

Rage swirled in my stomach, and tears filled my eyes. "I can't die here. I can't . . ."

Gathering every ounce of energy in me, I blinked the tears away and looked up. Dark spots danced before my eyes, but I noticed some kind of a logo embroidered on the left side of his varsity jacket. The creepy, screaming cat looked as if it was about to swallow me whole.

"Sorry, Becca," the man whispered in my ear, but his voice sounded distorted and far away. "You forced me to do it."

"You'll pay for this." A powerful, foreign feeling coursed through my veins, raging like a fire. It took a while for me to realize what it was: the burning thirst for vengeance. "I swear. I'll make you pay for this."

"Becca!" a different voice echoed through the night. My mind was too fuzzy to recognize the voice, or even to know if it belonged to a man or a woman.

"No . . . Run . . ." I tried to scream, but no sound came out of me. My eyelids grew heavy, and everything went black.

***

"Howard?" a familiar voice called. "Howard, can you hear me?" A pair of hands shook my shoulders. "Howard—"

I peeled my eyes open and found concerned brown ones staring back. Huh?

The smell of moss, rain, and flowers had vanished, and the way the man called me by my name instead of Becca's told me I had returned to my own body. Pain shot down my spine as I tried to get up.

"Easy there." The man placed a hand on the small of my back and helped me into a sitting position.

"Thanks—" I frowned when I realized the man kneeling beside me was Lucas Wright. "Why are you here?" Suspicion crawled under my skin. He didn't see me talking to air, did he?

He put his hands up. "Remind me to leave you alone the next time I find you unconscious."

"Now, how am I supposed to remind you if I'm unconscious?" I retorted.

He opened his mouth to argue but closed it before any sound came out.

I flashed a winning grin. "You haven't answered my question. What are you doing here?" A possible answer popped into my head, and I gasped in horror. "Have you been stalking me?"

He let out a derisive laugh. "Don't flatter yourself. I got a tip that a high schooler was painting graffiti on the school's wall. But when I got here, I found you, unconscious, instead." He glanced over his shoulder at the painting on the wall before narrowing his eyes at me. "You didn't paint that, did you?"

"Aww. You think I look like a high schooler?" I held a hand over my chest for dramatic effect. "I'm flattered. Really, I am."

His lips twitched, but he held back the smile. "Wow. You must've hit your head pretty hard. Do I need to call an ambulance for you?"

"Oh, don't worry. My skull's as thick as a turtle's shell," I quipped, tapping my temple.

He chuckled, helping me to my feet. "What the heck happened? I thought you were dead for a moment there."

"Low blood sugar," I quickly lied.

He studied me for a moment. Something told me he didn't believe me. But he didn't pursue the matter. "Well, be careful. Someone might run over you the next time you faint in the middle of the street."

If I hadn't known any better, I'd say he cared about me. But I knew better.

"What are you talking about? I didn't faint in the middle of the street. I fainted on the sidewalk—" My stomach growled loudly, causing my cheeks to burn with embarrassment.

He chuckled. "Want to grab a bite?"