Hours passed. Or minutes. Or days; Arielle wasn't paying attention and didn't want to. She barely had enough strength to drive, barely kept watch on the signs she moved past. None of them held her interest. She vaguely scrutinized the areas she drove through, but none meant anything. Because nothing mattered anymore.

A part of her believed she was heading home. Racing to meet with Stella's grandmother—who hadn't died in the fire—to locate her dad, to get far from the nonsense trip she and Stella had commenced. A trip that cost Stella her life.

It wasn't fair; it wasn't. Stella had finally figured herself out. Finally came to terms with who she was meant to become. Finally accepted her gifts and was willing to use them to help others, give them answers... yet no one was there to help her.

I wasn't, so this is my fault.

Deep down Arielle knew she had no responsibility in Stella's death; yet a tiny bell kept ringing in her head, saying otherwise. It reminded her that had she heeded Stella's warnings and driven home at once, maybe Stella wouldn't have been in the house. Maybe the fire wouldn't have started and devoured her soul. Maybe.

Yes, maybe. The same dreadful word that haunted her after her mom's death. Maybe she shouldn't have been such a tantrum-prone child. Maybe she should have listened, or spent more time with her, or realized what a wonderful woman she was. And Connor—her brother—popped in and out of her mind, too. And as she thought of him, more maybes surfaced, followed by a ton of what if's. What if she'd been closer to him? What if she observed his habits more, noticed something was wrong?

She didn't want to get started on Rachel. Dear, sweet Rachel—a bright stream of sunlight in a blackened storm. She'd been there through it all—Mom, Connor, depression, fear, running away. And then she vanished, buried beneath six feet of thick dirt.

And Jade. Beautiful, brave, blissful Jade.

They took her, too.

But who was they? Was there a they? "This makes no fucking sense."

Arielle pressed harder on the gas pedal as she saw a rest-stop up ahead. Her eyes had clogged with so much liquid she knew she'd be putting everyone in danger if she continued this way. The time on her dashboard showed two AM; she'd been going for hours, and needed a break if she wanted to make it home in one piece. Alive.

She rolled into the deserted rest-area and turned the engine off. She kept the doors locked—having read enough horror stories about women kidnapped in parking lots and off the freeway—and slouched in her seat. Her hands ached, and she stretched her fingers, bending and straightening them hoping to relieve her tension. She'd clutched the steering wheel so tight she was surprised she hadn't ripped it off.

Pulling down her compartment mirror, she gasped at her reflection. Her eyes were worse than earlier; more bloodshot, glossy, glazed, changing color from hazel to a gloomy crimson. "Shit." She rummaged about in her middle dashboard for some tissues and instead found her phone.

It flashed with missed calls and text messages. Her dad had called five times; Stella's grandmother twice; and an unknown number had left voicemails, too. A few acquaintances had sent apologies, and one text left her breathless when she read it; it was from Jade's mother, asking if she was okay, if she needed help.

"Crap." She bit her lip as another wave of raging tears splashed down her cheeks. She was in no state to talk to anyone, so she texted her dad to reassure him.

I'm fine and driving home. Love you.

Then she typed something for Stella's grandmother, but erased and restarted so many times, she threw the cell onto the passenger seat and groaned.

I'm sorry for your loss. My deepest condolences. This fucking sucks.

What to tell this woman? She had to have predicted it. She had the same powers as Mrs. Sullivan and Stella, so surely she was well aware Arielle had caused all this by being too stubborn. By trying to be brave. By trying to find Jade—

Jade.

Ignoring the warning alarms blaring in her skull, she opened the car door and hauled herself out. The air was muggy, but no sea scents reached her nostrils, and for a second she wondered how far she'd driven. She didn't recall the last city sign she'd visualized.

She slammed the car door. "What the fuck, huh?" Tipping her head back, she glared up at the stars, some covered by a film of clouds. "Where is Jade? Why have you strung me along like this? Secrets? What happens after death is a secret? Fine! Whatever! But where is Jade?"

Her knees buckled and she crumbled, pounding her fists on the pavement, screaming, sobbing, her pleas a blubbering mess of curses and begging. Tears, boogers, saliva—a mix of all three covered her face, but she didn't care. Who would see her here? Some trucker? Some rapist hiding in the obscurity?

Her life no longer mattered. Not when so many that she loved had vanished from it. Snatched from the earth and sent on to who-knew-where.

"W-why do you keep taking my loved ones?" She stopped crashing her fists to the ground and brought her hands close. Cuts and scrapes populated over her skin, and the slits filled with blood and pebbles. She blew on the wounds, hissing at the pain, then peeked up at the sky again. "Is it me? Did... did I do something to deserve this? Am I... am I bad? So y-you... steal my friends, my family?"

She wasn't sure who she was talking to. Having never been religious, never uttered a prayer or opened a Bible, she had no idea how any of this worked, if it was real, if it made sense. But with how recent events had played out, she couldn't help but wonder; was her life a game of chess? And some sick individual hid the clouds and moved the pieces around to drive her insane? To extract revenge on something she did?

I did nothing wrong.

Sure, she stole a lip-gloss once, when she started Junior High, to impress the upper-class girls. And she'd taken more than a few sips of alcohol behind her parent's backs. And she'd smoked and done a few drugs and had unprotected sex and partied until dawn—but were these all offenses that warranted such chaos? Did they mean she should lose those around her, those who uplifted her, kept her from turning herself in at a mental institute?

"I-it's not fair... not fair." She resumed slamming her fists on pavement, seething with each pound, sensing her wounds worsen, grow, throb.

She didn't care.

"I... want... the... truth."

The final blow made her slip, and her nose smashed onto the asphalt. She grunted, her fingers digging into the tar and breaking her nails. She winced and cried out when her forehead scrubbed against the sharp pebbles, but she didn't move, couldn't move.

A chilly breeze whipped through her hair, sending a welcome drizzle of relief down her neck, relaxing her spine.

"Truth..."

"Huh?" She zipped up, staying on her knees. She could have sworn the wind talked. "Is someone... there?"

It must have been a glitch, her imagination playing tricks on her. She'd been so distraught, there was no way her mind was in the right place, no way anything made a lick of sense. Not anymore.

She stared at her bloody and bruised hands and let out a disheartened laugh. "Wow. Wow, Arielle. Nice." Cringing, she heaved up to her feet and shook out her palms. "You're a fucking lunatic. Great."

She wiped the liquids from her face, uncaring that she left blood in their place. Uncaring that her appearance worsened the longer she stood there and screamed at the stars. Her knees hurt—she looked down and saw she'd created holes in her jeans and the fabric had tinged with dirt.

She had half a mind to stay there, like that, until her limbs gave out. Until she collapsed and someone spotted her, called an ambulance, or locked her in a psych ward in the back of some prison—either worked fine for her.

As she swerved to return to the vehicle, the breeze picked up again, sweeping under her shirt and tickling her ribs. "Huh?"

"Truth... truth..."

"Shit," she spat, hearing the voice loud and clear this time. "Who's there?" She spun to and fro, scanning the nearby freeway, studying the curtain of trees on the other side, signaling a dense forest. "Where am I?" She didn't remember what state lines she'd crossed, if any; yet something told her she wasn't in Florida anymore.

"Come... follow... truth." In the faint street-lights, she caught the breeze swirling over the pavement. It rustled a few pebbles and crunched soda cans, cruising up to her car and shaking it. "Truth... come..."

Frozen, Arielle watched the tiny tornado-like gust brush next to her vehicle and bristle through the grass on the sidelines, then swish out of the lit-up parking-lot and into the forest.

"Wait." She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the area once more, seeing the leaves shake and swivel as if someone had passed through. No other parts of the trees moved like that; and no other gusts came alive around her. Only that spot, and that current.

"It... wants me to follow?"

Her brain screeched, her heart thumped—both warning her not to go. Not to hustle after the wind, not to believe it to lead somewhere, not to think it might provide answers. It was a trick. Her mind had passed the threshold into insanity, her imagination tipping over the edge. She was sickened, sad from recent horrid events, distracted by death.

Don't go. Get in your car. Drive.

The sentences repeated in her... but her body had other plans. Against her will, she lifted one foot, took one stride. Then another. Once at her car she paused, gaped at the windshield, took a deep breath—

And continued towards the whispering leaves.

"Truth... truth... follow..."

Her gut churned the closer she got, and yet she couldn't stop her limbs from advancing, from approaching. She held her breath when she slid through the leaves, and an eerie blanket of silence welcomed her inside the woods. Chirps and crickets came from ahead, and the current whirled, enveloping her—pushing her.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming." It prodded at her lower spine, like someone's finger pressing into her skin, giving a firm nudge. Over and over, it urged, sometimes sharp, sometimes faint, as it guided her past darkened tree trunks and over large roots in damp soil. A canopy of swooshing leaves rested overhead, cloaking the night sky, making it hard to see where she went—but this wind knew where it was going.

A benevolent spirit? One who wants to give me my answers? Help me?

Every bone in her body was wrapped in ice. This was rash, stupid, suicidal. That by pursuing this current she was putting herself in a dangerous situation; but resisting seemed senseless. A harmless stroll through a forest—that couldn't hurt her. If this thing wanted to kill her, wouldn't it have done so already?

Ghosts can't kill.

She arrived before small clearance, surrounded by drapes of vines and looping trees. The dirt beneath her shoes turned into a cobblestone pathway. A pathway? Curious, she pushed past the flowery leaves that blocked her entry and slithered into the area.

And gasped. The path... led to a house.

A house? In here?

The building's exterior was white and red faded wood with a brick foundation. It stood two stories high, its roof gleaming in an off-slate shade as moonlight pooled over it. It had few windows, and a giant stone chimney protruding from the left side. Arielle viewed it as a colonial home, like those seen in movies about English settlers and pilgrims.

"Damn. What is this place?"

The breeze jammed into her lower back, harder than before. "Truth... follow... inside."

Inside—that's a new word.

"You want me to... go in?" Goosebumps pricked up her arms and her hairs stood up. "Into an old, abandoned house, in a patch of remote woods off the highway? And in the middle of nowhere?" She stuffed her hands into her pockets and realized she didn't have her phone. Or her crystals. "No, no, this is a terrible suggestion. Tell me the truth here, yeah? Why do I need to go in?"

"Truth!" The breeze became a shrill voice, no longer shoving her, but swirling in front of her, hot, hard to focus on. It didn't materialize, but its presence made her dizzy, uncomfortable.

Not benevolent...

"Fuck." She swallowed again, her throat raspy and dry. If only she'd brought a water bottle; because who knew how long this would take.

A perfect circle of tall trees surrounded the clearance. But on the opposite side of the house was a tiny slope, likely leading to another section of the freeway. So if she had to flee... she could climb.

"Okay..." She gulped, glimpsed the sky in some silent plea to protect her, and resumed her walk.

Her pace sped up as she followed the pathway to the massive timber door with nails lining its frame. She pushed—and to her surprise, the thing creaked open. She slid inside... and the lock clicked.