"Hey, what do you know? It works!" Amy slurred.

Pirates would've admired the way Natasha Dawson and Amy Irvine drowned their sorrows in spiced rum. A rabid mob of insidious ideas had besieged Amy's mind and drenching their flames with lighter fluid seemed ingenious at the time.

Amy stood up from the grass with decisiveness. Teeter totter, but she was fine. Maybe except for the nagging worry that Natasha would do something stupid in the wake of her absence.

When she walked out of the conservatory, through the brambles of bathrobes scratching her face, Amy found that the depressing theory lay in ambush outside her little rosy reprieve.

Surely it was just a coincidence that both of them had sustained similar dire thoughts for the past week. Plenty of people had suicidal ideation. Hell, morbid millennial humor was social currency!

This whole week, the second I wake up from my nightmares...

Natasha's words resounded inside her head. The day Caleb had charged into Mrs. Aplin's class had been the first spark of trueborn fear in Amy's mind. It was alien so she denied it. A cuckoo's egg in a crow's nest.

Then the day of their experiments set and Amy realized which form her subconscious fear had filched. Caleb Dawson's presence brought forth voices in her head that did not belong to her.

They don't even seem like my own thoughts...

Amy retraced her steps across the catacombs of Heavenfell to the kitchen. She felt too hot.

Before Caleb, she would've never risked anything. Methodical and vigilant, Amy always took her time making sound decisions. But for him she drove headlong into a thunderstorm. For him Amy had nearly died.

If Natasha had felt the same exactly for a week, it was either coincidental or Caleb was the common denominator. Weighed down with the bulk of her discovery, Amy sagged onto a barstool.

A concerned voice carried over the pulsing music. Ashton pressed a cold plastic bottle to her cheek. "You're burning up."

Amy sloppily drained the tiny Evian, glistening beads of moisture running between her fingers, igniting memories of tap water, rain, and sprinklers. Of Caleb.

"Feeling better?" Ashton asked.

"Will you hold me?" Amy murmured, locking her limbs around Ashton. Her rock in this typhoon. The only shred of normality life had to offer.

Boyish laughter shook Ashton's solid frame as he squeezed his arms around Amy and kissed the top of her head. "Do I have a choice?"

Amy nuzzled into the cool material of his varsity jacket. Ashton's heart was steady and strong in her ear. Nevertheless, her desperate attempt to live inside his cool embrace – away from the burn that awaited her – proved futile.

Why would Caleb never mention Natasha if they were so close? Did he go to her on sleepless nights he wasn't at Amy's side? Did he realize he was haunting them? Slowly draining them of the will to live?

Did Caleb choose to do it anyway?

Ashton swayed gently to a moonstruck tune he hummed, pulling Amy with him. Her reality was once again imploding around her ears but at least she had something to cling to. Amy imagined never letting go.

All the answers she sought hinged on a simple confirmation from Caleb: if he had been with Natasha or not, ever since he became a spectre.

Just as Amy's paranoid intoxication was settling into a tranquil haze, an unnerving shout came from the poolside. "Just fucking jump already!"

Disentangling themselves, the pair looked through the glass sliding doors of the kitchen at a small crowd of excited whispers that had gathered near the champagne-pink pool. The hush transformed into approving hoots as a deep, barking voice called out, "Yeah, you losers want to see Satan fly!"

As Amy hurried through the doors, the most horrific scene materialized before her eyes. Natasha, obviously sloshed off her wits, stood precariously on the edge of the slate-tiled kitchen roof, laughing down at the people gathered near her feet, having sorely misjudged the fifteen feet in between.

Amy's blood froze in her veins.

"Natasha, what are you doing?" cried Gemma, clutching Kristine's arm. Their eyes were wide with terror.

Natasha shrieked, "Should I jump? Will I make it?"

Stefan Calder chucked a red, blinking LED headband fashioned like devil horns at Natasha's feet. "Wear this, O Dark Lord!"

The group cheered as Natasha made a show of putting the band on. "Why, thank you!"

Amy's eyes found Cecile Presley frozen near a jute hammock in the corner, a dark hand covering half her face.

Finally wrenching her mouth open, Amy yelled, "Get down, Natasha!"

"Amy's here," said Natasha, with lidded eyes. "Everybody say hi to Amy!"

"HIII AMYYY!" the gaggle echoed, Stefan, Bobby, and Jason the loudest among them.

"What is wrong with you guys?" Ashton said. "Back off!"

"Dude, let's get the trampoline so she can somersault into the pool!" Jason suggested, flinging his arm toward the picket fence.

Unable to stand by and do nothing, Amy forcibly shoved past Jason and ran up to Natasha's bedroom. Pale light streaked from the wide-open French windows, illuminating the path to the balcony. Underneath the midnight sky, two figures stood on the roof of the kitchen.

Natasha with her arms outstretched, balancing on one leg, and the boy who had started it all, standing a few feet behind her.

Caleb's expression was unreadable as he regarded Amy; hidden like the dark side of the moon. Taking a deep breath, Amy inched closer to Natasha, trying not to look down at the glittering phones recording the event.

As if they were at a fucking concert.

The morons chanted as one, "Jump! Jump! Jump! Jump!"

Natasha took a deep breath and let her body loose, tipping forward on her toes.

Amy yanked Natasha's arm and drew on all of her strength and sobriety to pull her friend back to safety. The force threw Amy on her butt as she held Natasha's waist.

The horned headband landed near Amy.

"Get off me!" Natasha screamed as she thrashed against the bear hug Amy had her in. Her nails dug into Amy's sleeves, puncturing the soft fabric. Her voice splintered into a million pieces as tears replaced the adrenaline rush. "Let me go!"

Amy flung the headband as far as she could and closed her stinging eyes. "It's alright, Natasha. I'm here. I've got you..."

As though shaking off a curse, Caleb reached with an unsure hand. "Let's get you –"

"Stay away from us!" Amy snapped.

Caleb recoiled instantly. His eyes flared with hurt.

The rest of the night was a blur for Amy. She put Natasha to bed and along with her friends, drove the rest of the party out of the mansion. Most sleepyheads went without fuss but whenever a brawl broke out, Natasha's guards stepped in. Ashton, Robin, Gemma, and Kristine poked their heads around the birthday girl's doorcase, once the house had gotten dark and quiet.

An empty echo of the bass thrummed in their breaths.

"You sure you don't need a ride home?" Gemma whispered. "If you're not back home soon you'll be in big trouble, Ames."

"I'll be fine," said Amy. The last time she'd left Natasha alone hadn't come up hellroses. "You guys go ahead."

They filed out one by one. Ashton lingered close, with something certainly on his mind. But in typical fashion, words failed and he resorted to touch, conveying his support, affection, and admiration in a swift hug.

When it seemed like there was no way she could stay any longer and Natasha continued to drool peacefully, Amy decided to leave. Natasha had placed their preteen picture on her bedside table. Smiling feebly, Amy turned to switch the light off when something caught her eye. Among silver bracelets and other semi-precious trinkets, lay a bottle of Norpramin.

Did that mean Natasha had been on medication for a while? Could Caleb be innocent after all?

Amy pocketed the anti-depressants, promising to return them when she met Natasha next. The party had been wasted on too many risks.

Making her way to the kitchen for a final glass of water, Amy spotted Caleb sitting cross-legged at the center of the pool. He didn't sink. The bubblegum hue of the water made him appear just as lethally attractive as Cupid himself.

Amy leaned against the sliding doors, sipping from her cup without saying anything.

Caleb finally noticed her and approached, hands in his pockets. As if he was in an overwater bungalow with a glass floor. "Miracles are possible after all."

Nope, not going there, Amy thought, shooting the Caleb-is-Jesus theory in the foot. She would rather focus on the Caleb-is-Judas one.

Inky darkness of the most memorable party of Amy's life was gradually fading as she walked back home with Caleb. The air was chilly, saturated with November precipitation. Amy shivered in silence.

"I would offer you my jacket but you were mean to me." Caleb pouted.

As Amy opened her mouth to answer, a ferocious meow followed by a honk sounded. A trash can fell somewhere. Blinding light flooded her eyes as she raised a hand to shield them.

A napalm orange trolley tour bus rode up to them in the street with such velocity, Amy thought it would run them over. But it lurched to a hydraulic halt at the last second, bouncing on its front wheels. 'Sinister Tours' was written in acid green lettering next to a toothy portrait of Kristine Nunez dressed in a witch's costume. The driver, a dark-skinned man with a fifties smile, tipped his uniform hat at Amy. "Miss Irvine! A very early good mornin' to ya. Or should I say a very late good night?"

"Good morning, Stanley," Amy replied. The massive fogged-up windows of the vintage bus were a temptation. "Heading out to the mines? Care to drop me?"

"Hop on, Miss," Stan said, as the folding doors of the trolley clanked open. Amy shoved her bike and other paranormal baggage up the steps. Before she could dart to the very end of the bus, Stan made a noise of disapproval in his throat. "These ain't the booming years, dumplin'."

"I take dropping out of university hasn't gone according to plan," Amy groaned, and fished some chump change from her bag, placing it in his hand. He really needed a better brand deal. The orange of the bus and his uniform was offensive from every angle.

"At least you don't have to pay for me," Caleb quipped. "You can't ignore me forever, you know!"

"Much obliged," Stan said. "And for your information, town council  just approved me for goin' on wine tours along with showcasing iconic historical landmarks of this little slice of heaven."

Amy scoffed. "Yeah right – a rundown church, rundown gold mines, and a rundown clocktower in the middle of nowhere do not qualify as 'iconic'. The wine tours are a pity, Stan."

"Oh, I've been on those, they are a lot of fun," Caleb said, smirking for all the wrong reasons. "They are hop-on-hop-off too. Best deals of my life!"

To his credit, Amy thought Stanley Gucci's grand idea to revive tourism in Southern small towns away from the big whales, Atlanta and Savannah, was not half bad. While the residents of Sirencester, most vocal among the opposition Mrs. Gucci herself, did not like the idea of the town's renowned sights being reduced to tourist traps — the council encouraged it.

Stanley Gucci was never one to let up. "You want me to kick your scrawny ass back to the curb?"

"No, thank you," Amy said to the gangly bus driver and plunked onto the very last seat. They had but a few years between them but Southern hospitality ruled supreme in his blessedly toasty trolley bus.

Caleb sat in the penultimate seat, turning to face her. "What's wrong with you?"

It seemed that angry outbursts were not in the cards for Amy because once again when she opened her mouth, the bus lurched forward so hard she smacked her head against Caleb's seat. "Son of a bitch!"

"Sorry!" Stan sang from the front. "Gertrude is a little jumpy today."

"We'll be okay!" Caleb yelled, his face split by a floppy smile, and gestured at Amy. "She probably deserved that."

"Yeah, insults will get me talking to you," Amy said, massaging the tender spot.

"It worked, didn't it?" said Caleb, deftly seizing the opportunity. With his long fingers still seemingly grasping the seat, he pointed toward the passing Hancock Park playground. "You should push me off one of those swings someday as a part of your experiments. Maybe I'll feel that giddy nip in my stomach again."

In spite of her best efforts, Amy's curiosity got the better of her. "I thought you couldn't feel anything."

Caleb rested his chin on the back of the brown seat, and said, "I can't feel anything external." He pointed to his heart. "I do feel some things here though. One feeling more than others."

"Feelings don't come from your heart, silly," Amy corrected. She slowly brought her fingers close to his unruly raven hair. "They come from your amygdala. Deep inside here."

Caleb snorted. "Only you would say something like that."

Amy felt the corners of her lips struggling not to lift off into a smile. Maybe I'm wrong about it all and it's just a coincidence.

She paused. "What is that one feeling overshadowing others?"

A tick appeared in the line of Caleb's jaw. "Pain," he said. "Though it does lessen when I'm around you."

At yet another stop sign, the trolley rattled like a newlywed's headboard when Stanley hit the brakes. This time as she fell down to her seat, Amy's head didn't hit anything though. It swiveled a little to the left because of Caleb's resting hand.

Amy was grateful.

"Sorry, Miss Irvine!" Stan screeched. "Who you talking to there in the back?"

Amy cursed, having forgotten her phone trick. "Just practicing for the winter musical!"

"Amy," Caleb began cautiously, "why are you mad at me?"

There was nothing to be gained from a one-woman operation, Amy understood. "Why were you on that balcony with Natasha?"

Rubbing the back of his head, Caleb answered, "I saw you leave her room in a state. I called but you wouldn't respond." He swallowed thickly, his voice sinking lower. "Honestly, I thought I'd lost you too. I went inside to see what had happened and at first, no one was there. Then Natasha came from the bathroom, opened the windows, and stepped onto the balcony. You know what happened next."

Amy couldn't shake that gruesome recollection. The phones, the still air, and the gnawing fear.

"Were you friends with her?" said Amy, almost certain that he would lie. Deny their relationship. Maybe a part of her even wanted him to.

"Well, we decided not to tell anyone but I guess we are past that stage now," Caleb mumbled, without skipping a beat. "Natasha and I were together. I mean we never made it official but yeah, we were kind of seeing each other for some time before the incident."

Amy put her head in her hands. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

"It never came up! Besides, I didn't even know if she was serious about me because we never got a chance to discuss it properly."

"What if she was the one who did this to you? She would have the perfect motive. You're a pig!"

Caleb glowered at her. "Dude, you know Natasha. She wouldn't hurt a fly!"

"How can you be so naïve about everybody? Do you think it was Darth Vader who murder –"

Amy stopped herself. But the damage was done.

The trolley bus nearly avoided knocking over a newspaper boy, and they were thrown to a side. Caleb emerged with some effort. "I am not naïve. I just know people better than you. I've had to in my life." He sucked a breath. "And to answer your question, I suspect real characters like Jude Presley. Cecile and Pete are obviously covering up for him somehow."

Amy had never felt quite so foolish. "You're right. We'll go to the church tomorrow."

"You mean today," said Caleb. "Isn't that place supposed to be haunted? It's called the Wailing Lady of Death –"

"Our Lady of Undying Sorrow."

"That's the one. Catholics are outstandingly morbid."

Amy was not amused. "Don't joke about that and yes, it was shelled by Confederates howitzers during the Civil War."

"Probably because the congregation depressed them too much," Caleb jested, covering his head with his hands as if anticipating a blow. "Okay, okay I'll stop."

But she was too sleep-deprived and hungover to care. If Amy weren't riding in a death mobile, she would've made the backseat her bed and snoozed for eons.

"Speaking of depressed ladies, how is Natasha now?" Caleb asked, with a false lilt in his voice. No matter how hard he tried, Amy realized he couldn't hide the fact that he genuinely cared for Natasha.

That arrow somehow hit two marks.

"She cried herself to sleep," said Amy, hoping that her voice sounded surer than Caleb's. "I really wish she would seek help and not try to do it all alone."

"As long as it isn't Abernathy," Caleb spoke severely. "That woman can make you put your head in the oven."

"Is she really that bad?"

"Um, I went to her too when they gave me community service. The old bat's great with children and adults but she always drops the ball with teenagers. Loathes cases like ours for some shitty reason."

Caleb's words were a new sun for her dying planet. Maybe it wasn't all Amy's fault that Leigh had suffered.

Amy wanted desperately to conclude that he couldn't possibly be the cause of her fears. A boy with such a patrician nose simply could not be evil, either by design or accident. She could always ask Caleb if he'd been with Natasha or not a bit later.

Just a tiny question reserved for an easier time. An atomic bomb that could annihilate their relationship forever. Amy would hold it in her fist.

"You really think so?" said she.

BANG!

The trolley bus slammed into a speedbump and their skulls almost bashed against the roof. In a different situation, it would've been a postcard-perfect moment. That second when her bike, Amy, and Caleb were suspended midair, and the faint golden light of dawn sparkled through the old-world windows.

Limitless in their youth.

 Amy felt giddy with the knowledge that this could last forevermore, if only she held back.

Her hand slipped and Amy's poor bicycle jangled all the way to the front with Stanley. The driver had nothing left to say as they turned the corner near Amy's house.

The offensively orange trolley bus wheezed to a standstill.

Caleb grinned. "Always a pleasure riding with you, Amelia Earhart."

Despite her sore body, exhausted mind, broken heart, and the prospect of incoming parental hellfire, Amy grinned back.

✧

A/N: Natasha almost died on the night of her birthday. To anyone reading this, you're stronger than all of your worst fears. I'm always here if you ever need me.

 Stories have been a coping mechanism for me and for Natasha. In her weakest moments, she chose her favourite fantasy worlds to escape into. I hid three of them in these sister chapters. Did you get them all?