“I don’t want to leave you.” The words aren’t defiant. They escape you like the groan of a dying man. “Why can’t I stay?” you whimper.

“It’s not safe. The spirits, those who were spirits, are coming back. I can feel them.” Martin wraps his arms around you and kisses you with hard, almost bruising force. “I need you to stay safe,” he whispers against your mouth.

You draw in a ragged breath. “What about Paul?” you murmur. Paul hadn’t turned like Martin and the guys. Would it have happened eventually? You cling to Martin desperately, not wanting to let go. Unable to let go.

“He’ll be safer than you are right now.” Martin leads you to the front door, where your sneakers sit. He grabs the car keys and pushes them into your hand. “Go to the reservation.” Abruptly, his body tenses and his face twists. His grips tightens on you, hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to bruise. “He’ll be…in no danger. From me.” By the time he gets the words out, his face is pale. White. He shoves you at the door. Hauls it open. “Go.”

You stare at him, tears still staining your cheeks, and whisper, “I love you.”

He half-raises his hand. Like he’s going to touch you. Reach for you. Instead, his hand curls into a fist. “I will always love you.” He kicks the sneakers towards you, out of the door, and then closes it.

You stand on the porch, staring at the door, keys clutched in one hand.

“Going somewhere?”

The voice sends a shiver down your spine and you turn, facing one of the teenagers who killed himself in the joyride. Thin and with dark, spiky hair, he grins at you. “Leaving so soon? We haven’t had any fun yet.”

You slip your feet into the sneakers. He’s standing between you and the car. Do you try to run around him, or attempt to reason with him?