Salem, MA is the place where the witch trials took place back in the late 1600s (A lot of people were wrongfully prosecuted due to other's greed and ambition), is now known as the "The Halloween Capital Of The World", and is on the rather sketchy side.

Chapter Twenty-One

I walked into the grim, stain glass adorned church, my mother by my side. On such a tragic day as this, I didn’t object when my mom gave me what to wear… though, at any other time, I would have in a heartbeat. We were both wearing black, but, thankfully, weren’t matching. She had on a modestly tailored suit that fit her petite body perfectly, and gave a strong sense of professionalism.

      On my body lay a tight-fitting dress that stopped right above the knee. It was sleeveless, revealing toned, shoulder muscles that weren’t generally exposed. The dress didn’t exactly seem appropriate for the occasion, but my mom assured me it was just fine. My feet were forced into a pair of platform heels, making me appear even more unnaturally tall than I already was. By the end of this day, it would be a miracle if I didn’t sprain my ankle.

      We passed by rows of people, sitting, their faces in their hands, crying in angst over the unjust loss we were commemorating. My own face was flushed of all color, not yet tearing up. I followed my mother as she came up to a row in the middle of the church, sliding in. We sat down, as she said a few somber words to the person next to her.

      At the front of the church, I could just make out a casket. A priest was standing at a podium, gravely saying words of condolences to the Bianchi family. I saw Theresa Bianchi, Marcus’s mother, by her husband, weeping. The priest began to speak, and set up the outline for the next hour or so; sufficed to say it wasn’t a pleasant task to preform.

      How did one deal with such melancholy junctures as this on a regular basis? It made absolutely no sense to me why anyone would become a priest, let alone work in the dismal funeral business. It was simply too depressing.

      The priest then asked Theresa to say a few words about her son. She got up, teary-eyed, took his place at the podium, and spoke.

      “When Marcus was just three,” she started steadily, looking out at the crowd with blurred eyes, “he learned how to ride a tricycle. Once, he was riding around outside, and somehow managed to fall. Angelo and I rushed over to see if he was okay. We noticed he had scraped his knee, and it was bleeding. Angelo rushed back into the house to grab a Band-Aid as I hugged and tried to comfort him. He didn’t cry once. He told us it hurt, but never once did that boy cry. He was so strong…” her voice broke off, stopping for a brief moment. “Marcus was strong then, and if he was here with us now, he would want us too to be strong for him.”

      I couldn’t listen to this. I stood up abruptly, excusing myself from the pew, as my mother shook her head disapprovingly. I didn’t care. My shoes clomped down the aisle, as heads turned to see who dared to leave. Behind me, I heard another pair of heavy footsteps, but that too didn’t matter to me.

      Marcus was dead and being in the chapel made me want to explode with anguish. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen when he passed, and still had his entire life ahead of him. It wasn’t fair! What did Marcus do to deserve the ill-fated, ultimate consequence of death? Why couldn’t a murderer have been in that car crash instead of Marcus? Life wasn’t fair.

      As I reached the door of the sanctuary, my fingers wrapped around a brass handle, pulling it open. I stepped out of the church room, and kept walking. Eventually, I came to the external door of the church, and pushed it open, my body instantly being hit with rays of warm sunlight and the frigid October air of Boston that I had missed so much.

      “Ms. Turner!” someone called from behind me. “Running away so soon?” My head spun around to face to the owner voice, and a smirk played on my lips through tears that had snuck down my face. Justin.

      Though I hadn’t seen him in close to four years, his appearance hadn’t altered substantially. His height had increased considerably, and his jet-black hair had lengthened so it brushed just above his eyes. His eyes- the deep gray shades that I once knew so well now glimmered, as they looked into my own. He smiled at me- a genuine smile, and I noticed that the braces that had once clung to his teeth were gone. Seeing him reminded me of how much I had missed this place… and him.

      “No,” I said starkly, “I don’t like funerals.”

      “From the looks of it, you don’t like sweats and T-shirts either,” he humored, though I wondered how one could joke at such a glum time as this.

      “As I’ve learnt over the years, looks can be deceiving,” I said. That phrase could be my motto; it described my entire life so well.

      “Well, you’ve certainly changed,” he commented, approaching me.

      “Don’t worry, I can still kick your ass in a game of one-on-one,” I assured him, adding a smile.

      “Want to bet?” he challenged.

      “No; right now I kind of want to hug you, if you’re down with that,” I admitted, opening my arms.

      “Fine,” he sighed, rushing me into a hug. He wrapped his arms around me, and picked me up, spinning me around in a circle. I hugged him back tightly, not wanting to ever let go.

      Justin and I were best friends. We were inseparable. He was the one I would go to for advice, and I was the one he was able to let off steam by talking to. He was a good match for me when it came to playing basketball, too. Some days, I wanted to burst because of how I was treated, but, somehow, Justin was always able to make me feel better.

      Towards the end of the year in eighth grade, there was a dance. Middle school dances had the notorious reputation for sucking, and this particular one was no different. My mom had forced me to go, and I wasn’t exactly what one would call “Thrilled”.

      I was leaning against a wall of the gym, the location the dance was being held, talking to a group of guys about some of the new players on the Celtics, when a slow song came on. The DJ instructed the boys to go pick a girl to dance with. The guys I had been speaking with quickly dispersed, leaving me alone.

      I felt a tap on my shoulder, and looked up. It was Justin. He asked if I wanted to dance, and I said no. Disregarding my response, he then dragged me onto the middle of the gym floor, and made me dance with him. Though I objected at the time, the simple gesture was one of the nicest things anyone had ever done for me. Justin always made a point to include me, and made me feel as though I belonged.

      “I missed you,” I whispered in his ear, as we continued to hold each other tautly.

      “I missed you too, Turner,” he said, as we finally released each other. “Now, how ‘bout that game of one-on-one?”

      “You are fucking insane! We’re a freaking funeral, you dummy!” I pointed out, though his offer did sound quite enticing considering the chaste basketball period I was going through.

      “There’s a park just around the corner, c’mon,” he continued.

      “Firstly, I’m wearing a dress, and, secondly, as I said before, we’re a funeral! A funeral for a friend at that matter!” I exclaimed, finding his behavior rather insensitive.

      “He had it coming,” I swore I heard Justin mutter under his breath, quickly covered by, “it doesn’t even have to be to play basketball; just to talk- away from all the misery.”

      I hesitantly agreed, unsure if there would be repercussions for our rash decisions. It was Justin; I trusted him, and I wanted to talk to him and get my mind off of the innocent boy who had passed.

      We walked away from the church, matching strides, and talking about what had been going on with our lives recently. I told him about Eric and Dylan, and he said me that he was rooting for Dylan because he sounded like the underdog. I told him of how I’d been trying to hide my past, and he told me I was insane even under the circumstances. There was something about Justin that allowed me to pour out everything to him with such ease and effortlessness. I missed him.

      After we had walked a few blocks, passing pedestrians, leafless trees, and cars whizzing by on the road, we finally arrived at a small, very urban park. I saw a basketball court. As tempting as it was, I had to resist the urge to run over to the painted tar, kissing it repeatedly.

      “Yo! Bro!” Justin suddenly called over to a guy with headphones in who was dribbling a basketball.

      The guy looked up, and took off his headphones as I scrunched my brow in confusion. “What?” he said.

      “Can we borrow your ball for a few? I need to settle some stuff with the chick over there,” Justin explained.

      “No, we can’t, we’re supposed to be at a funeral!” I objected, shaking my head vigorously.

      “Sh…” Justin whispered.

      “She’s hot,” the guy commented as if I couldn’t hear.

      “Can I see the ball?” Justin requested.

      “Whatever,” the guy said, tossing it over without a care in the world.

      “Thanks,” Justin said politely, as the guy retreated off the hard pavement. “You ready?”

      “I don’t know if you’ve been listening to me or not, but we can’t play!” I said, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

      “Okay then,” he said, beginning to dribble at the half court point.

      “Justin!” I called out, hating the fact that he wasn’t listening to my reasonable words. We couldn’t play.

      “Just one game,” he pleaded, “then we can walk back and I’ll explain this whole thing to you.”

      “What’s there to explain? Marcus is dead!” I said shakily.

      “You don’t understand, Liz,” he sighed, dribbling the ball back over to where I firmly stood. “One game, and then I promise I’ll tell the whole story.”

      “Fine,” I finally gave in; it wasn’t hard, considering basketball was my one downfall and the one thing I truly excelled at. I took my shoes off, throwing them to the side of the court, not minding in the slightest about the raw feeling of the cool pavement.

      Justin returned to the half court line, and I got in front of him, matching his bent stance. He lunged to the left, and I moved with him. Using height as an advantage, he stretched his arms, and attempted to shoot. I blocked the shot, knocking it down.

      “Owned!” I laughed lightly. He shook his head as I moved to the spot he had been, and began to dribble.

      “One sec!” he said, holding up a finger, and beginning to unbutton his shirt. Under his black, dress shirt was a white tank top, the type that Dylan so often wore when not in school. He slid the dress shirt off, crumpling it up into a ball between his hands, and throwing it off to the side of the court as if an entity of no value.

      After taking off the charcoal shirt, his tank top clung to his body, every crevasse his toned torso possessed visible. His biceps were the size of basketballs (Well, maybe a smidge smaller), and his newfound abs were also on full display.

      When we younger, we would always joke that he was just waiting to get muscles until he really needed them. At age fourteen, Justin was merely a tall, slender kid without an ounce of muscle to him. I guess waiting really paid off…

      I then noticed on both his shoulders were a muddle of tattoos. One of a gun, another an Italian flag relating back to his roots. There were so many tattoos, and I assumed that each one came with its own story.

      “Checking me out, are we?” Justin smirked upon following my gaze.

      “What’d you do, Justin, join a gang?” I joked playfully, returning the expression.

      He was quiet for a moment before nodding, “Yes.”

      “Wait, seriously?” I questioned, my heart beating faster than normal as my old friend shared the information with me.

      “We should sit down before I begin telling you,” he said seriously, throwing the basketball to the expectant guy who had kindly lent it to us.

      “What are you talking about?” I asked, following him over to where his shirt and my shoes had been carelessly flung. He bent down, picking up his shirt, and politely handed me my shoes. That was one thing very distinctive about Justin compared to others that I grew up around: he had manners. Whether it was holding a door open for the person behind him, or carrying groceries to an elderly lady’s car, he always made a point to be courteous.

      He didn’t answer my question, but rather headed over in the direction of a relatively large tree, half it’s leaves fallen to the dying grass below. After putting on my shoes, I mirrored his actions, going over to the spot he had chosen, and sitting down on the copper leaves beside him.

      “Liz, if I tell you this, you have to promise not to tell your mom or anyone else even, understand?” Justin said firmly, leaning his back against the aged trunk of the tree. I nodded silently, anticipation and eagerness for his upcoming words flooding my mind. “Marcus and I both joined gangs-”

      “Well, you two are idiots,” I interjected, listening not being one of my better traits.

      “Shut up, and let me speak,” he said, jabbing me in the side with a finger. Before I could respond, he continued talking. “As I was saying, we both joined gangs a couple years ago. Yes, it probably wasn’t the best life plan, but when given very few opportunities, what else can you do?”

      “Well-” I began, ready to give him an entire lecture on things he could’ve done instead of joining a gang.

      “Anyways,” he interrupted my interruption, “Marcus got into some trouble.” As I was about to ask what exactly was the definition of “Trouble”, Justin explained, “He killed a guy.”

      “Marcus Bianchi, the sweetest kid in the world who didn’t like Doritos, killed a guy!” I gaped, not comprehending how a seventeen-year-old boy was capable of such an act of inhumanity, especially one like Marcus.

      “The guy slept with Marcus’ girlfriend, Marcus found out, and put a bullet through his head,” he elaborated. My pulse quickened, the story that was unfolding becoming harder to hear by the second. How could Marcus do something like that?

      “This is starting to sound like something from The Godfather,” I muttered.

      “Anyways, the guy Marcus killed was in another gang. He was the brother of the gang’s leader. Marcus chose the wrong guy to kill, but the best part about this story is that he didn’t get killed by the other gang leader; someone else beat him to it,” Justin said.

      “What do you mean? I thought he was in a car accident?” I said.

      “He was, which is what makes the story crazy; the other gang leader was going to kill him, but Marcus happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was killed by a drunk driver. He got what he deserved,” he said the last part through gritted teeth.

      “No deserves to die,” I said lightly, as I felt the presence of water trickling down the side of my face.

      “Liz! He was a fucking murderer! He killed- he killed my cousin!” Justin choked out.

      “Justin, I’m so sorry!” I said, now understanding why Justin wasn’t too sad about the loss of Marcus from this earth. Though the entire narrative was a bit on the hard to follow side, I recognized the key components, and that, maybe, just maybe, Marcus wasn’t the same boy I had known as a child.

      “We should go back,” he proclaimed, as displaying emotions wasn’t one of his better qualities. He rose from the ground, and offered me a hand to aid in getting up. I sighed, reaching out for his hand as he pulled me up.

      “Fuck!” I said, upon realizing I was wearing a dress and had sat down on the ground. “Monica’s going to kill me!”

      “Why?” Justin questioned.

      “Because I’m wearing a dress and it probably has a bunch of dirt and shit on it!” I informed him, vigorously beginning to brush off my bottom.

      “It looks fine to me,” he smirked, staring at my backside.

      “Did you just check out my butt?” I accused.

      “Yes, yes I did,” he admitted, not ashamed in the slightest.

      “You are so fucking weird!” I scolded, shuddering at the thought that my childhood best friend had actually looked at my rear.

      “And you’re kinda hot now,” he said, as I gulped nervously.

      “Let’s, uh, just go back to the church,” I fumbled, walking ahead of him, a sudden borderline of tension growing between us.

      He nodded silently, following as I tried to remember the route we had taken, and how exactly to get back to the church. I let my instincts take over, and they were telling me that I had absolutely no sense of direction whatsoever. Justin too must have realized this small fact for he got in front of me, leading the way back to the church.

      Upon our return to the church, everyone who had been in the dismal chapel had made it outside to socialize and utter words of repentance. My eyes darted about the crowd of people, searching for my mother. Over the few years I had been away, it seemed that Justin had somehow acquired psychic sensibilities; he took my hand, and dragged me through the weeping mob of black to a smaller blonde woman, texting, whom I had the legal obligation to call, “Mom”.

      “Mom!” I said, captivating her attention for a brief second.

      She looked away from her electronic screen and looked at me blankly, and then up at Justin. Without saying a word, she attacked Justin, engulfing him the tightest hug I had ever witnessed. “Justin! I’ve missed you so much! You’ve grown so big! You’re so handsome! I knew puberty would do you well!” she exclaimed in the typical, boundary-less way that was simply in her nature.

      “Uh, thanks, Ms. T.,” Justin said, peeling away from her at the first chance he got.

      “Okay, what you kids don’t understand is when you call me ‘Ms.’, it makes me feel old!” my mom pouted.

      “Sorry, Ms.- I mean, Monica,” he corrected.

      “So, Justin, how’ve you been?” she asked casually, though I feared this would be the start to an hour-long chat about Justin’s ambitions and goals in the distant future.

      “Good, and yourself?” he returned.

      “Fine. I’m spending the rest of the day with the Binachis, so if you want to take Liz and do something fun, considering it is Halloween and you two are teens and all, please do,” she said, surprising me with the shortness and no further questioning in her words.

      “Yeah, I’d love to babysit Liz tonight,” he said, as I stuck out my tongue at the inference that I was being watched, much like a child.

      “Thanks so much, we know how she gets when left alone too long,” my mother said as if I hadn’t been standing a foot away from her.

      “Leaving her alone wouldn’t be the best idea in the world,” Justin laughed at my expense.

      “Sure, mom, I’d love to chill with Justin, thanks so much for offering!” I said sarcastically, inserting myself in the conversation about my future whereabouts.

      “Okay, sweetie, just make sure you two stop by the hotel so you can grab a change of clothes. Do you have enough money on you? What about your phone? Please don’t have sex… because you will get pregnant… and die. Don’t drink too much either. Justin, please take care of her,” she rambled protectively.

      “Elizabeth is safe with me,” Justin assured her, using my full name, which I loathed so much.

      “I’m so glad! Oh, and before you two run off, please pay your respects to Mr. and Mrs. Bianchi,” she requested. Justin tensed up, but we agreed nonetheless. “Liz, call me if anything happens or you accidentally die.”

      “Understood,” I saluted, her instructions causing me to crack a small smile.

      “Oh, and one more thing,” she added, just as Justin and I were about ready to bid our goodbyes, “do not, under any circumstances, go into Salem. I know it’s Halloween Central there, but I don’t want you going. You are to stay in Boston. If you go to Salem, I will find out and you will not like the consequences- that goes for both of you.”

      “We will not leave this city,” Justin promised.

      “Thank you,” she said.

      “Bye, mom,” I said.

      “Bye, mom,” Justin mimicked.

      “Bye, darlings. Lovely seeing you again, Justin,” she retorted.

      “You too, Monica,” he said.

      “We’re going now,” I proclaimed, dragging Justin away from the clutches of my very straightforward mother.

      “Let’s just find Theresa and Angelo, and then go,” Justin said, respecting my mother’s wishes.

      “Sounds like a plan,” I agreed, searching for one of the two people he had named. “So, are we actually going to stay in Boston, or are we venturing into Salem?”

      “If your mom thinks that Salem is the only place that we get into trouble on Halloween, then she’s mistaken. To answer your question, yes, we are staying in Boston.”

      “Do we have to stick to the no drinking rule as well?” I questioned, noticing a large clump of people hovering around a single couple: Theresa and Angelo.

      “Hell, no!” he laughed, realizing whom I was looking at, and nodding as we approached the cluster that had formulated. We quickly moved our way past the sobbing mourners until we reached the two people we needed to address.

      “Mrs. Bianchi,” I said, “I don’t know if you remember me, Elizabeth Turner, I’m-”

      “Monica’s daughter!” she finished, adding a weak smile as she recognized my identity. “You were one of Marcus’ friends before you moved away, correct?”

      “Yeah,” I sighed, “I was. He was a wonderful kid, and I’m so sorry for your loss.” As the grief-filled expressions tumbled out of my mouth, all I could think about was what Justin had told me. He was a murderer, and these two, lovely people, his parents, would never know. Losing someone was hard, but in Marcus’ case, it sounded as though they had already lost him far before he was killed.

      “Thank you so much, sweetheart,” she patted my shoulder.

      “Of course,” I nodded solemnly, walking away as Justin joined me after speaking briefly with Marcus’ father. We wandered away from the funeral gathering, a sense of regret filling me inside.

      “So, Liz,” Justin said on a lighter note, “ready to break some laws?”

      I smirked, having a feeling that a dose of Justin was just what I needed. “Oh, yeah!”