Mr. Jefferson wasn't at all surprised to see Christian and I marching into his diner early in the afternoon. Ever since we became a duo (other than me and Patty), he'd expected us to come to him for advice. I was just glad he was so willing to give. Like everything else he'd been helping me to overcome. He didn't have to. But he chose to. And I appreciated that. A lot.

"What can I help the two Loftman brothers with today?" Mr. Jefferson, flipping through a notepad at the cash register, took notice of us, and raised an eyebrow.

"Skipping the small talk now, are we?" Despite the serious expression on Christian's face, his tone was teasing as he slipped into the vacant stool across the counter from Mr. Jefferson. I took my seat beside him, then cast a quick glance around the diner. Few tables were occupied by the usuals passing through. Thankfully, it wasn't crowded just yet. Mr. Jefferson's attention was ours for a little longer. Not that the man couldn't multitask. Regardless, my statement stood.

"Is there ever truly small talk with you two?" Mr. Jefferson chuckled.

"Guess not." Christian sighed.

"So, what's got you two all stressed today? It's a little early for the glum faces, ain't it?"

"Ever heard of Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens?" asked Christian, straight to the point.

"Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens. . ." Mr. Jefferson mumbled. He paused and set his notepad down, scratching the lengthy scruff outlining his jaw. "Hmm, sounds a bit familiar."

"Oh?" Christian perked up. "Think you might know anything about it?"

"Sorry son. Unfortunately not." Mr. Jefferson shook his head. "Maybe Carol will know a bit more, eh? But I doubt that too. Why? What's the rave about this place?"

"Well, it turns out the location of our current crime scene was previously known as Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens." Christian checked back over his shoulders, his ears twitching in response to any unwanted stragglers that might've been listening in or passing through.

"The old abandoned lake house?" Mr. Jefferson scrunched his face.

Christian nodded.

"And I presume there's some sort of connection?"

Christian nodded again.

"Sorry boys. I'm afraid my knowledge about Lake Bellinor only goes so far back."

"That's fine"—Christian sighed and leaned forward on his elbows—"it was worth a shot."

Mr. Jefferson offered Christian an apologetic half-smile before his attention started to shift. I tried to ignore the scorching gaze, directed at me, burning from Mr. Jefferson's narrowed eyes. But it proved impossible when we made eye contact. It was just for a split second, and that was my mistake. I groaned inwardly and tried to play it off as though I was casually looking around.

"Hey, by the way, did you tell your brother about that . . . thing?" By thing, I assumed he meant my stalker. Christian's eyes darted between us, a bewildered eyebrow flexed.

"He knows," I said, a breath leaving my nose.

Mr. Jefferson looked between us, frowning. "And?"

"Oh, that thing." It finally clicked for Christian. He groaned, then sighed.

"Well, that answers my question," answered Mr. Jefferson. "So, it's serious?"

"Very," Christian confirmed, reluctant to say anything else. Not that it was needed. Mr. Jefferson hadn't pushed for more details. It was pretty damn clear that he understood how dire this situation really was. So, as a means to escape this conversation before it could travel back to me a second time, I sighed and slid off the stool.

"I'll be back. I'm just heading to the bathroom," I said, trying to ease the burning skepticism in Christian's curious eyes. I waited as he turned his head and scanned the diner with pursed lips—as if he was waiting for something or someone to pop out—figuring it'd give him some peace of mind. When the coast was clear enough, to his liking, he nodded. So, I excused myself.

My focus was forward, my feet guiding me down the narrow path to the bathroom. I rubbed the back of my neck as chills settled over me. However, even after the chills passed through, the hairs on my body remained standing. Out of habit, I cast another glance around the diner. I didn't know what this feeling was but it grew stronger as the seconds ticked on. My eyes wandered the large glass windows—a plethora of cars were parked outside.

A few of the cars were occupied; with people either getting in or getting out. Meanwhile, the rest of the cars were empty. Still, each of them felt ominous. But none of them gave me the answer as to why I felt like I was being watched. I could brush it off as my paranoia made another appearance. I knew better than to brush things off nowadays though. Especially since my paranoia had convinced me the eyes were coming from that direction outside.

I swallowed my nerves, then rested my hand on the bathroom door handle. I needed to mentally prepare myself to push it open. Not because I thought there was danger inside, but because I was too frightened to turn my back to the possible danger awaiting me outside. Relax, Tyler. I had Christian by my side. Surely, no one would bother me with him around—assuming they weren't stupidly reckless. If they were, then I had another problem on my hands. Hypothetically, of course, I chose to tell myself. No one's presence was confirmed.

After another moment of collecting myself, I blew out a breath and pulled the door open. That's when I walked into—not the empty doorway—but a person. Very hard, might I add. The person exiting the bathroom stumbled back, groaning. I winced and rubbed my throbbing nose. Hell, that hurt. We must have collided head first into each other.

"Crap," I seethed, eyes growing wide, "I'm so sorry!"

"No, don't worry about it. You're fine!" Despite the pain in his voice, his attitude was chipper. A smile lit his face as he shook off our interaction—literally. He then proceeded to pat himself down in an attempt to fix himself back to normal. Well, as normal as he could get. I watched him slip his glasses off and clean them with the bottom of his shirt.

Another unnecessary apology (considering he said it was fine) was preparing to barrel out of my mouth but the voice projecting around me, laced with frustration, stole the spotlight.

"Adam! Adam, where are you?" The wet grass sounded like mush under the woman's boots; the woman who was circling the side of what looked to be a house. A vaguely familiar house. In response to the woman's voice, a young man molded further into a dark slot against the house, beside a concrete step with a door atop of it. Oh, well no wonder this looked familiar. I couldn't forget the back of the lake house even if I tried. Not with it being creepy as hell in the present.

"Adam." The woman stopped abruptly when she spotted him and rested her hands on her hips. It wasn't that hard to see him, really. Sure, his hair was dark, but it was also a bush on his head. With black curls sticking out in all directions, similar to Cecilia's hair before a trim. Not to mention his fair skin. "I've been looking all over for you. How many times have I told you that you cannot skip out on our emotional support group discussions whenever you feel like it?"

"Why? So, I can shed a tear with people who don't give a fuck about me? I can't stand to be in there with those phonies." Instantly, I recognized that voice. While his face carried a greater youth, it'd seem his voice hadn't changed much. Well shit. The man I just bumped into—Adam.

"Language," the woman scolded him.

"What? I didn't say anything wrong," he scoffed.

"Adam, please"—she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose—"do not argue with me."

Adam rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically to stress his disapproval. "Fine. Some of those phonies. Guess they're not all bad." I could tell he didn't mean a word he said. The woman narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. He pretended not to notice, fixing his glasses.

"Adam." I could hear the warning all up and throughout the woman's tone. Yet again, he rolled his eyes. "Joel was looking for you too." Whoever Joel was, his name seemed to do the trick. Adam tensed, his hardened face softening. This time, he sighed a real sigh. Something genuine from the bottom of his heart. Noticing this, the woman straightened her stance.

"So? He's not my friend," mumbled Adam.

"Yet you still give him the time of day. . ." She raised an eyebrow.

Adam's eyebrow twitched and his jaw clenched. "Fine. Whatever. I'm coming. Happy now, Loretta?" Loretta's answer never came because in the next image, an invitation was curled tight within Adam's fingertips. This wasn't the young Adam I'd come to know just now. This was the Adam I bumped into. But how long ago was this? I squinted to get a better look at the paper.

Loretta Hanson—her name was printed at the top of the invitation. My breath hitched as I read further. A funeral? Definitely not the kind of invitation I was expecting. Tears clouded Adam's vision but he wiped them quickly. He tossed the invitation to the side. It landed on a bed as he stormed out of what looked like a small bedroom. There were so many conflicted emotions that I didn't know where to start unpacking them.

One thing I managed to catch though, was Loretta's funeral hadn't passed yet. And her funeral was being held in Lake Bellinor. Was he here for it? The gears in my brain were turning.

"Hey, are you alright there, buddy? Do I need to call someone for you? I hope you didn't hit your head that hard." Back to reality, and there was a hand waving around in my face. I blinked, reeling in the scene. Adam's worried expression doubled the longer I took to answer.

"No!" I shouted, earning us a few stares. I winced. "Sorry, I-I'm fine."

"You're sure? Like one-hundred-percent sure?" he asked, slowly.

"Totally fine." I forced a smile. He wasn't convinced. Even then, he—very reluctantly—left me to my own devices, and continued on his way.

After handling my business in the bathroom, I made quick work back to the counter. My mind felt like a hurricane as I replayed the events from Adam's vision over and over. On my way, I noticed two men standing outside a gray Honda. The first, I recognized as Adam, of course. I had no idea who the blonde-haired male was though. He too, had fair skin.

"Took you long enough, boy. Did you get lost on your way there?" If only Mr. Jefferson knew how happy I was to hear his voice. His greeting calmed me. I smiled at him, only then realizing the stool Christian once sat in was vacant.

"Hey, where's my brother?" I asked, looking around.

"Out there." Mr. Jefferson nodded to the door. I followed his eyes to Christian, who was pacing outside the diner on the phone. I frowned. That looked serious. My eyes drifted back to the two men. They were also having what looked like a serious conversation.

"Mr. Jefferson, were those two here this entire time?"

"Who?" He squinted.

"Those two." I cocked my thumb towards the window where we could see the pair outside.

"Oh, yeah. They were eating at one of the back tables near the bathroom. Came in here about an hour ago for some breakfast," he said, nodding again. "Why? Something happened?"

"Hmm, nothing particularly interesting. . ." I hummed. Mr. Jefferson looked back at them, my words seeming to have sparked his interest anyways. Just then, the bell above the entrance door rang. Christian's eyes landed on us, his head tilted to see what we were looking at. But he was too late. Adam and his companion were already buckled in their car and driving away.

Christian cleared his throat, asking, "Tyler, are you ready to go?"

"Oh, uh, yeah!" I chirped.

Both of us bid our goodbye to Mr. Jefferson, then headed out the door.