"My luck is so bad that if I bought a cemetery, people would stop dying." – Ed Furgol

Note: Thanks so much to xXtwinprinceXx for this spectacular cover!

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There was something to be said about watching your life flash before your eyes.

While I was plummeting downwards, wind whistling in my ears to mock the certainty of my imminent death, I counted time in heartbeats. Between each heartbeat, I blinked, eyelashes beating against my cheekbones, as though they were curtains separating myself from my surroundings, so that I was blindly plunging towards whatever afterlife was waiting for me.

In these moments, you have nothing left to lose, and at the same time, you have everything left to lose. So, you flashback, grasping at your memories before they crumble to dust. When my rescuer reached out and caught me before my spine broke on the riverbed, and I was hauled back onto the bridge, I could no longer tell whether those steel gray eyes were a flashback or reality.

The person kneeling before me was mouthing a question, but my ears were filled with static. I covered my ears and gave my head an experimental shake, as if I were getting rid of the river water I nearly plowed into. That seemed to help, somehow, and the bustling people around me were growing sharper in focus, though their mingled voices were overstimulating my senses.

"Are you alright?"

The question, tinged with concern, finally broke through the white noise in my mind. I studied his face as if I were trying to connect the dots, darting from his high cheekbones to the defined cut of his jawline, but I eventually managed to piece him together. "You were the guy walking behind me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Well, you nearly fell to your death, so that's probably not the detail you should be focusing on."

"Right, yeah," I muttered, rubbing my eyes to clear the filter that blurred my surroundings. "Fair enough." I tried to stand up, but perhaps shock was beginning to settle in, because I only managed to rise halfway before my knees began to tremble.

A man nearby offered to call an ambulance, or the police, or something along the lines of emergency services, but his voice seemed to be echoing from the far end of a tunnel. I waved him off and seized the barricade to keep myself steady. I was unhurt, aside from the trauma of toppling off a bridge, and I wouldn't be helpful to the police, especially since I had no idea who the culprit was.

The guy with the grey eyes tightened his grip on my hand, and placed his other on my back to prevent me from toppling over again. The area where his palm applied gentle pressure spread sparks through my midriff, which fizzled out at the tips of my fingers. I studied his expression, wondering whether he could feel the tingles too, whether we shared some kind of electric shock, but he seemed unfazed. "Whoa, steady. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," I insisted, but my voice came out wobbly. I cleared my throat, my gaze flickering towards his tight grip on my hand. "Also, I think you're starting to cut off my blood circulation."

"Hmm?" It took him a second to realize what I meant. "Oh, right, sorry." He released his grip and allowed me to steady myself, leaning casually against the barricade. I had half a mind to reprimand him for standing so close to the river, especially after the experience I just had, but since he just saved my life, I cut him some slack and changed the subject.

"So, what's your name?" I asked, shaking my hand to resume blood flow. It was an absurdly casual question, as if we were making conversation whilst waiting in a line, rather than the aftermath of falling off a bridge. Even so, I was curious to know who my savior was, especially since he was the guy that caught my attention before I fell.

The faint curve of his lips told me that he also knew how absurd the question was, but he took it in stride. "Wyatt Taylor. You?"

"Zoey Hallow," I responded, brushing myself off. There were pieces of blueish lint stuck to my burgundy top, and faint sweat stains were showing through. I thanked my lucky stars that I chose to wear a dark top today. "Quick question, out of curiosity, do you attend Necmire High? I heard you talking about some project before I was knocked over."

His amused grin grew wider. "Good on you for admitting that you eavesdropped on my conversation. I mean, I could already tell, but now you've just confirmed it."

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop!" I protested, though my cheeks betrayed a pink flush.

"I know, I'm just teasing," Wyatt confessed, taking a step away from the barricade. "To answer your question, I'm a senior at Necmire High. It was a history project, no big deal."

"Sounded like a big deal when you were chewing out the person on the other line," I remarked, but he shot me a quelling look and I left the subject be. "Well, I'm a student too, moved to Necmire a couple months ago. If I'd known I was going to be smacked off a bridge, I would've stayed in Seattle."

He chuckled, and the way his gray eyes sparkled with amusement, the way his laugh lines deepened, was captivating. "Well, at any rate, welcome to Necmire. We have great scenery, a famous neighboring town, and a variety of bridges you could be knocked off."

"Say, did you see who or what pushed me off the bridge?" I inquired curiously. The locals who showered me with concern after I was rescued were beginning to resume their lives, climbing back into their cars and driving off. Some of them were mumbling about filing a police report, which I would eventually do after I got my head straight, but by this point, most of the witnesses had left.

Wyatt gave me a curious look. "What do you mean, who or what? You think some kind of ghost shoved you into the riverbed?"

I shrugged. "I mean, you never know. Maybe it's a conspiracy theory that we should explore. Maybe some holy spirit wants to take vengeance on me because I stepped in a sacred flowerbed."

To my surprise, he neither laughed nor rebuffed my suggestion, but muttered something I barely caught. "I wouldn't put it past this town to have ghosts."

"What?" I asked, my eyebrows knitting together, but he quickly rearranged his features into a neutral expression.

"Nothing," Wyatt answered, brushing my question off as if it were dust on his jacket. "Anyway, you were knocked over by a passing biker. He was on the footpath, for some reason, and slammed you over the barricade before you noticed him. The guy sped off as soon as it happened, so I didn't get a glimpse of his face. It was basically a hit-and-run."

"Bastard," I muttered, though I shelved his earlier statement in the back of my mind. It was strange that he suddenly shifted from amusement to seriousness in the blink of an eye, but I needed time and coffee to unpack what he said about spirits. "So, not a ghost."

"It'd be a better mystery if it were a ghost," Wyatt commented, detecting the twinge of disappointment in my voice. "Then, we'd be able to make a living off ghost hunting."

"Well, we wouldn't have the chance if I'd fallen and died, so good thing you've got quick reflexes," I pointed out, wondering how I could possibly repay him. Maybe I should get him a gift card, buy him coffee, or record that voiceover he was talking about on the phone. "I owe you one, Wyatt Taylor."

Wyatt mimed tipping a hat. "No, I did what anyone else would've done. Besides, I saw you glancing at me while I was on the phone, so you'd already caught my eye before you were knocked down." A flush crept up my neck as I wondered how long he would hold my eavesdropping against me. Thankfully, he gestured to my clenched fist instead. "I noticed you make a grab for something while you were falling. Did you catch it?"

This brought me back to earlier, having forgotten entirely about my wild snatch whilst plunging to my death. I unfurled my fingers, revealing three silver keys resting on my palm. The sharp metal had pressed into my hand, slashing indents across my fingers.

"Oh, right, the keys," I sighed, relief flooding through my chest. "These are my house keys. If I lost them, then I'd have to tell my parents how it happened, and that's not something I want to deal with. If I tell them I was knocked off a bridge, they'd never let me outside again. You know how parents are."

Wyatt seemed to hear none of this, his gaze fixed on the glinting keys on my hand. A flurry of confusion tore through his expression, and I could almost see the gears spinning in his head. Then, a flash of recognition illuminated his eyes. I opened my mouth to ask him for his thoughts, but he spoke before I could, his tone coated with urgency, and I could hardly believe what came out of his mouth.

"Zoey, have you seen any bad omens lately?"

Whatever I expected him to say, that was not it. My forehead creased into a frown, wondering whether this unexpected question had anything to do with the ghost narrative he mentioned earlier. "What do you mean?"

"Bad omens, superstitions. You've heard of them, right? Walking under a ladder, spilling salt, breaking a mirror, any of those things." He listed each one on the tips of his fingers as if he were counting items on a shopping list.

I studied his expression, scanning for any sign that he was messing with me, but if he was, then his face gave nothing away. He was serious, far more serious than I had seen before, so I answered honestly. "Well, sure, I saw a black cat on the school balcony earlier. What are you trying to say? That seeing the cat caused me to topple off that bridge?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

A shiver ran down my spine, and as the myth goes, I felt like someone was stomping all over my grave, digging their heels into the dirt. "No, no way." I shook my head, breaking eye contact. It was difficult enough to concentrate on what Wyatt was saying without those steel grey irises piercing my own. "It was a biker who knocked me over, you said it yourself."

"Yes, a biker knocked you over," Wyatt explained patiently. "But, the black cat initiated the incident. Look, when you see a bad omen, you experience bad luck, and when you have a charm on you, you experience fortune. The reason why you didn't plummet to your death is that you caught those keys, and keys are a good luck charm. That's how this system works in Necmire."

My gaze slid down to the three silver keys gripped loosely in my fingers, jangling merrily in the evening breeze. "So, say I believe what you're telling me. Which I don't, by the way, because it's madness. Why didn't anyone tell me about this earlier? Why didn't anyone warn me when I moved here that if I walk under a ladder, I'll be run over by a car?"

Wyatt seemed to lose his confidence. "Well, uh, I'm the only one who knows about it. I don't think anyone else has figured it out yet."

Until now, I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but I let out a splutter. "So, what, am I supposed to trust your word? Avoid black cats for the rest of my life, dump all the salt in my house, sell every ladder I own? Just because some guy I barely know told me that I fell off a bridge because there was a cat prowling around Necmire High?"

His expression hardened to platinum as his jaw clenched. Even though the steely glint in his eyes betrayed his annoyance, his voice remained steady. "Look, I know it sounds crazy. It took me years to figure out the correlation, and several months more to believe it was real. I don't know how or why these superstitions exist, and why they only work within the borders of Necmire, but I've tested this theory and it checks out."

The shrill honk of a car broke through the soft rumble of passing cars, and this brought me back to reality. I was close to laughter at the absurdity of the situation, having fallen off a bridge and now being told that bad luck was real. In the meantime, passing pedestrians and bikers shot us curious looks while the flaming sun sank below the horizon.

This was too much to wrap my head around. My heart was still racing at a million miles per second while the aftermath of earlier events caught up to me, as if my body were buffering the way a YouTube video does. There was a troubling juxtaposition between how ridiculous the superstition theory was, and the candid manner in which Wyatt was delivering it. Above all, I was acutely aware of the broken camera in my messenger bag as the strap cut into my shoulder.

"Wyatt, look." I blew a strand of hair away from my face, seizing a few extra seconds to decide how to explain my viewpoint without slandering his. "It's getting late. I don't want to totally discredit you, and I owe you for saving my life, but these omens, I can't even begin to wrap my head around them. Besides, I need to head into town before it gets dark."

His eyes flashed with protest, but he relented. "Yeah, alright. I get it."

I offered a smile, wondering whether he felt any hostility towards me for rebuffing his spiel about bad luck. "I'll see you around?"

He paused to consider this, which made sense. The next time I saw him, I would associate him with this bridge, and that would give me flashbacks of falling to my death, which was something I intended to repress deep in my memory. On the other hand, he would see me as the person he saved, but also the one who scoffed at his explanations about bad omens and good luck charms. If we did meet again, things would be awkward.

At last, Wyatt nodded. "Maybe."

After a beat of silence, I let out a long sigh, readjusting the bag hanging off my shoulder which was probably crushing my veins. I stashed the silver keys in one of the inside pockets, making sure they were snugly bundled. My conscience nagged at me to ask for his contact details, but since we probably shared a few classes, the tinny voice soon diminished into nothingness. Instead, I raised my hand and gave him a jaunty wave, which he returned with a flick of his wrist.

Once I began walking towards the town center, I snuck a peek behind me to see if he was still there. However, a swarm of joggers obscured my vision, and once they were clear of the area, Wyatt was long gone, as if he had dissolved into the breeze. I didn't expect him to stick around, but a pang resonated in my chest nonetheless.

My remaining journey to the tech store was uneventful, though clusters of stars were beginning to twinkle their greeting. The moon darted out from behind a cloud, signaling the transition of skyline hues from rose to indigo. I unlocked my phone, texting my mom to pick me up from the store. My thumbs hovered over the keyboard, threatening to add the minor detail of nearly plunging to my death, but I decided against it. She'd find out soon enough, maybe when I file a report.

A flood of fluorescent light blinded my vision when I stepped into the tech store. I squeezed my eyes tightly shut before reopening them, so I could adjust to the bright glow. There were a couple odd people dotted around the store; a man inspecting the latest laptops, and a woman sifting through a collection of expensive headphones.

There was only one employee at the counter, a guy around my age who was wearily typing some type of document. I approached him, removing my camera from the messenger bag and when I got a good look at his laptop screen, it became apparent that he was working on an assignment. That probably meant he was a student at Necmire High. It took some getting used to, bumping into classmates left and right outside of school grounds, but considering the dwindling population of Necmire, I suppose it was only natural that many locals knew each other.

The employee glanced up as I drew nearer. He rearranged his features into a welcoming expression, though the dark bags beneath his warm brown eyes were hard to miss.

"Hey." His voice, though dripping with fatigue, was serene. "How can I help you?"

"Hm?" My gaze was fixed upon the history paper on his monitor, but his question snapped me back to the present. "Oh, right. So, my camera broke earlier. I'm wondering whether I could get it repaired or replaced."

He followed my line of sight towards the essay he was working on, and hastily minimized the document. "Yeah, that's fine. Can I see how much damage was done?"

I handed the camera over to him, and he carefully turned it in his fingers, picking up a blue pen and making notes on a pad of paper.

"Some screws were knocked loose and the filter glass is cracked. I bought this camera two months ago, so it should be under a full warranty," I explained, fiddling with my fingers now that my hands were empty. My mind flashed back to Wyatt gripping my fingers on the bridge, and my cheeks warmed, though the employee seemed oblivious.

"Oh, I see. Well, if it's under warranty, then you could get it repaired without cost. It'll take two to three days, but you'll be able to pick it up from here." Once he finished making notes, he glanced up, catching the disheartened expression which flitted across my face while I thought he was still writing. "You alright? Rough day?"

"You could say that," I answered, unwilling to discuss the bridge incident with yet another person. Instead, my mind trailed to the aftermath of the event, towards the theories about bad omens. In my opinion, my near death experience occurred by chance, that I happened to see a black cat before I was knocked off the bridge. Even so, and probably against my own judgment, I decided to confide in a third party. "Hey, weird question, but do you believe in superstitions?"

"What, you mean bad omens? Like, opening an umbrella indoors?" When I nodded, the employee tapped a pen to his chin, considering the question thoughtfully. "No, I don't. I mean, since Necmire's so close to Salem, we've got our fair share of rumors about witchcraft. Some locals take advantage of that, profiting off selling dreamcatchers and rabbit feet, but I don't think it's real. What do you think?"

I sighed in relief. At least I found someone who could back up my argument that bad omens were simply scare tactics. Then again, and I noticed this with unease, it also reinforced what Wyatt said before, that if the superstition theory were true, then he was one of the few Necmire locals, or perhaps the only one at all, who knew about it.

This explosion of thoughts was crowding my mind, applying pressure against my skull. I nearly blurted out these confessions to the employee, but bit back my words at the last minute. It was strange enough to spring this question on him with no prompting whatsoever. There was no need to freak him out further. So, I agreed with him. "No, me neither. They're urban legends."

"Exactly." He was hardly paying attention, focused on searching up the model of my camera, but I still appreciated how he answered my question. His next question, however, caught me off guard. "Any reason why you brought up the topic?"

"Oh, uh, I have an aunt who's into fortune telling," I fibbed, hoping he wouldn't detect the hitch in my voice when I lied. "She keeps trying to convince me that bad luck exists, but I think the tarot card readings she gives me are her weird ways of showing love."

The employee seemed unfazed by this explanation, and I let out a slow exhale of relief. "Well, maybe you could book me a session with your aunt. It'd be nice to foresee how my grades turn out this year," he remarked, which drew a chuckle from my lips. "Alright, we'll have your camera fixed within three days, free of charge."

"Oh, awesome. Thanks so much," I caught the name tag pinned to his shirt, "Noah."

I began to sift through every single Noah I knew, which was precisely two, and both of them lived back home in Seattle, so this Noah drew a blank. I made a mental note to glance around each of my classes and see whether Noah or Wyatt were in them. Most of the Necmire locals were still unidentifiable flecks of paint on a picturesque canvas, but I may as well start putting faces to them.

"No problem." Noah positioned his pen over the notepad. "Can I get your number?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you asking me out?"

His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, and he fumbled the pen he was twirling. "What? No, that's not what I meant. We need to notify you when your camera's ready to pick up. Our default method is text, but we use email if the customer doesn't have a phone."

My cheeks flooded rouge. Oh god, I misinterpreted that so badly. "Sorry, my brain's malfunctioning at the moment. Too many assignments due at the same time."

The first part was true, the second part was a realistic lie. I crossed my fingers under the counter, praying he would accept my excuse, and to my relief, his attention was redirected to the history assignment on his laptop. "Amen to that." Noah heaved a deep sigh. "I still have two hundred words to go before I reach the word count for this paper."

"Well, I don't want to hold you up for any longer," I added, taking the pen he'd fumbled and scribbling my number on the notepad. "Good luck with your essay."

"You too," he replied wearily, before realizing what he said. "Wait, I didn't mean it like that. I mean, I don't know if you have an essay, but if you do, then good luck with it. Wait, hold on. Oh, forget it, you know what I mean."

"Get some sleep," I advised him, an amused grin etched on my lips.

Noah stifled a yawn with his hand. "Way ahead of you."

As I bid him farewell and headed towards the exit, I glanced towards an array of laptops, whose black screens were glinting under the fluorescent lights. While my gaze skimmed across them, I caught sight of movement; the flicking of a furred tail and bulbous yellow eyes peering at me. My heart stuttered as I skid to a stop, my eyes squeezing shut for a millisecond. When I opened them, however, the reflection had vanished.

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A/N: Chapter two! About time, right? I'm so sorry for my radio silence. The past eight months have been a whirlwind, to say the least. Welcome back to Necmire! As you can see, the quality of my prose has plummeted and writing takes way longer than it used to, but I'm working my way up. Updates will be slow, but they will proceed. Also, this chapter was way longer than expected, wow.

I've planned out this novel from start to finish, which means I can finally get on with writing the damn book. You've already seen the good luck / bad luck dynamic in these chapters, but it'll be explained more in chapter five. So, what do you guys think of Wyatt so far? How about Noah? ;)

If you're still sticking around, thank you for being patient with me. I love you <3

~ Yilei