2 WEEKS LATER

She can still hear them. The sirens, piercing from all directions as they reverberate loudly inside her mind. They grow louder. She can't hear her own thoughts anymore. She can't see either—everything a blur from the lights flashing from down the street.

The forest surrounding the road is ablaze, nothing but a scorching inferno stretching for endless miles. Thick, black smoke clogs the air around her. With every breath she feels her heart cringe, her lungs on the verge of collapsing. She can no longer breathe.

And behind her... Behind her is Hell.

The alarm clock continues to buzz from her nightstand.

Taylor, sweating crazily, jumps up in her bed, gasping desperately for fresh air. She glances around her room as she runs her hands through her long hair, realizing it was nothing but a nightmare. Another goddamn nightmare.

She turns to hit the alarm clock, which reads '7:31 AM'. Her room is neatly organized and clean, especially for a teenager. Her bookshelf is filled with mostly romance and mystery novels and, tucked in on the bottom corner, she has her guilty pleasure of science fiction hidden. A wide mirror, mounted on the back of her dresser, is bordered with dozens of pictures. Most taken from her digital camera and cropped, and some taken from her old Polaroid. She and Casey, the unbreakable duo, fill most of them. She and Marc are in a few. Morgan is in one.

Music blares from down the hall. Wearing a white, wrinkled v-neck and boxer shorts, she steps out onto the hardwood floor in the hallway. As her bare feet touch the cold floor, it sends a chill down her spine. An odd, yet relaxing sensation. It's like drinking a glass of lemonade after mowing the lawn. Or waking up in reality after burning in Hell.

The music grows louder as she approaches another bedroom door on the right. She pounds on it.

No response.

"Morgan!" She shouts, banging on the door yet again.

The volume increases. She can feel the bass from the song vibrating on the floor beneath her toes.

"Morgan, you already know what the principal said! If you don't come back, you're going to be suspended!"

Nothing. She sighs and decides to try one more time. As she reaches up to knock the music cuts off and the door is pulled open.

"Sup." Morgan mutters, tossing his radio remote on his desk near the door and reaches down to grab his backpack. She stares at him, surprised yet relieved.

He slings the backpack over his shoulder and shoots a quick glance at her outfit. "You might want to hurry up and get dressed. You're gonna be late." He snidely remarks before shoving past her down the hallway.

Taylor speeds up to follow him to the front door. He swings it open as he makes a quick exit for his car. She peeks her head through the doorway and shouts. "Hey, are you going to practice?"

He ignores her as he gets into his car, the engine roaring as he turns the keys in the ignition. She rolls her eyes and glances down, noticing the newspaper on the porch. She leans over to grab it before slipping back inside.

She slides the rolled up newspaper out of its plastic sleeve and pulls it open. Her eyes widen at the first page.

A large picture of Daniel Levesque is centered on the page. The article briefly depicts the night of the accident, describing him as a victim of a brutal manslaughter. Below it are details of his funeral service... which is being held today.

"Okay. What is going on?"

Taylor grabs her textbook and slams the locker shut. She turns to look at Casey, who leans against the set of lockers next to her. "What do you mean?"

Casey puts her hand on her hip. "You've been acting different lately."

The two begin to walk down the hallway. Taylor carries a stack of books in her arms and struggles with a half-empty iced coffee in her hand, while Casey holds nothing but her cell phone.

"How so?" Taylor asks, even though she knows she's been acting different. Everything is different now. But how can she explain something like this to her best friend?

"Well, for one, you've been drinking those cheap iced coffees from the Marley's gas station which, according to the old you, is the equivalent of pumping gasoline down your throat."

Taylor glances down at her iced coffee and tosses it in the trashcan nearby. They reach an intersection of two hallways, somewhere in the middle of the school's second floor.

"And second," Casey turns to her, grabbing her shoulders dramatically. "You bailed on Twenty One Pilots!"

"I told you. I was sick." Taylor lies. She just wasn't in the whole oh-let's-party-after-killing-a-kid mood.

Casey nods. "Sick, yes. Something is wrong with you."

Riley sweeps in from the side and plants a soft kiss on Casey's cheek. She giggles, reaching up to graze his jawline with her hand. She turns her head, his lips travelling from her cheek and to her smile. They kiss passionately.

"Well anyway, I'm sure you two had fun." Taylor interrupts.

As if caught red-handed, Riley turns to her. "Wait. What?"

"Um, at the concert?" Taylor smirks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Oh."

"We did." Casey laughs, patting his shoulder. "Very generous of Marc. Um, speaking of..."

Her gaze drifts to the right and Taylor turns to follow it, seeing Marc standing a couple of feet away. He holds a laptop and some notebooks in one arm with a messenger bag slung over his shoulder. The two exchange awkward, half-ass waves before she turns back around.

Harnessing her girl powers, Casey senses that something is up. "See you in class."

Taylor and Riley look at each other. A brief moment of tension consumes them, as they can't help but think back to that night whenever they look at each other, before Casey pulls at his arm to lead him down the hallway to their left. Taylor takes a deep breath and turns around to face Marc, who is standing right behind her.

"How have you been?" He asks, genuinely concerned.

She nods. "Alright. You?"

"As fine as a man that just got dumped can be." He quickly bites his tongue. Not even a minute in and he's already being passive aggressive. "Sorry."

Sighing, she brushes her hair back nervously. "I didn't break up with you, Marc. I just said that we should take a break."

"I really am sorry. You're entitled to your reasons and you don't owe me any explanations." He takes a deep breath, a little nervous himself. "But, when you are ready, you know I'll always be here for you."

"I know." Taylor forces a smile. "So, really, how've you been?"

Marc lifts his arm to gesture at his laptop. "Just working on another headliner for the school paper. This one's about that jock—your brother's friend."

"Garrett."

"Yeah." He shakes his head, commiserating. "You know, some are saying that he should have just died in that crash. But, honestly, what happened to him... Nobody deserves that. I didn't know the guy, but I can't help but feel bad for him." She stares at him, already feeling the guilt seep into her skin. He continues. "In an instant, his whole life and everything in it changed. And the saddest thing is that, when he gets out, nobody is going to be there for him."

The bell rings, relief filling her ears. "Crap. Well, we should get to class."

He smirks. "Okay. If you need anything, give me a call."

"Will do."

Marc starts to walk away down one of the hallways and Taylor turns around. He glances back, still walking slowly. "Oh, and Tay."

"Yes?" She turns back.

He smile widens. "Even if you don't need anything, give me a call."

A smile cracks on her face as she nods. A real one. "Will do."

The two walk separate ways from the junction. She glances down at her books and lets out a frustrated sigh, her smile quickly fading. "Damn, forgot my history book." She mumbles to herself as she turns back to go to her lockers when—

She bumps into Kris. Startled, she lets the books drop out of her hands and papers fly out one of her notebooks, scattering across the floor. She glances down at the mess and then peers up at Kris. "I'm so sorry!"

"Watch where you're going." Kris glares at her. Her eyes are already puffy, probably swollen from the past two weeks of what seemed like nonstop balling. She brushes her shoulder into Taylor's, rudely shoving past her as she steps over the papers and walks down the hallway.

Taylor takes a deep breath as she crouches down to collect her things. People walk past her, nobody caring to help, as they rush to get to their classrooms. The halls quickly become desolated and a silence overcomes her.

She stands up, holding onto her stack of books with a more firm hold, and turns to walk down the hallway back to her set of lockers. When she reaches her locker she twists the combination, trying to distract herself from reminiscing that night. If she could just go one day without spending minute-after-minute beating herself up, maybe there will be a small chance of hope that things can get back to normal. Or at least close to normal.

She thinks about her combination code. Her history textbook. Being late to class. What's for lunch.

The locker pulls open and she's startled to find a folded up piece of paper lying on top of her books. One that wasn't there minutes ago. She slowly reaches in and takes it. She unfolds the short piece of paper, which appears to be ripped out of a small notebook, and—just like that—the thoughts of that night come rushing back.

The font is grotesque, looking as if someone scribbled it so hard with a marker that they must have carved it into the table underneath the paper. She wonders, is she still asleep? Has she yet to wake up from this nightmare?

It reads 'SHADY GROVE'.

♫ ᴄʀᴏssғɪʀᴇ / sᴛᴇᴘʜᴇɴ ♫