Chapter One - Lamplight

“Identification, please."

My chin raised high, I held out my I.D. right under the bouncer's nose. I was not afraid that my picture did not match my appearance - there was a girl with brown hair and blue eyes, and a slightly curved nose in the middle of a round face, on the card. And under the picture the name read, 'Lilian Hawthorn'. No, it wasn't the picture that unnerved me.

I was concerned about the age labeled on the license.

The bouncer nodded to my relief, looking to the next person in line. A short breath slipped through my teeth. Then, with all the confidence of a seventeen-year-old girl who was portrayed to be twenty-one, I stepped inside the club.

Immediately I was caught off guard. That was not my scene.

Inside the club was darker than the outdoors. The lights were colored, very dim, very sensual. Reds and blues and deep greens. Booths lined the walls, filled to the hilt with people. Everywhere there was somebody. Shadowed faces pushed around me, some men, others women, all intermingling in a tight-knit system. Bodies on bodies. Many people swarmed the dimly lit bar. Cocktails of alcohol permeated my senses. More people paraded to the in-ground dance floor.

Music thumped through the speakers that were placed strategically along the walls. The bass crept all the way to my bones, inadvertently reverberating within my chest. My body thrummed VASSY. Sweat and alcohol intertwined in the air. I caught a small whiff of tobacco.

Someone grabbed my arm.

"You're the best!"

My closest friend, Melody Harman, shouted in my ear what sounded like a thank-you. The music was so loud that I could barely hear her words. I nodded to her in acknowledgement. If I had spoken she never would have understood me.

It was Melody's birthday. September first. She turned eighteen. She wished it was twenty-one. And so, in an effort to please my best friend, I had some fake I.D.'s made. All it cost was one date with Henry Biel, captain of Little Springs High School Chess Team.

I might sound bitter, or resentful, but it was all for a good cause. I'd do anything to help a friend.

Melody dragged me over to the bar. I stumbled in my sky-high heels. She was as lithe as a cat in the atrocious footwear. Her body was made for them; she was a curvaceous blonde who was born to model and wear four inch heels that brought her height past six feet tall.

I, on the other hand, was the shorter one, the narrow-bodied girl with two left feet. At least, only in heels. In sneakers I was a ballet dancer. But my spikes were no more than two inches. The tight dress didn't help either. The attire was Melody's concern for I had done the hardest part - getting us inside the club. She wouldn't let me leave her bedroom in my favorite jeans.

It was only one night.

"Two vodka sodas, please," Melody called to the bartender.

He looked her up and down with praising eyes. She flashed him a grin, and the sodas appeared faster than I could snap my fingers.

Another trick Melody had that I didn't - the power of charm.

She grabbed the drinks, handing one to me.

I shook my head. "I'm alright."

"Lily, come on, it's my birthday."

She gave me a look equivalent to a sad puppy, and I grimaced.

"Down the hatch," she sang, holding her drink in the air.

I followed suit, then touched the glass to my lips as she downed her own.

"What are you two lovely young ladies doing here by yourselves?"

We both turned, spotting a devilishly handsome, early-to-mid twenties aged hunk grinning at us. Or rather, Melody.

Smooth as always, Melody replied with, "Enjoying a much-needed birthday drink."

The blue-eyed Casanova raised his eyebrows. "Birthday? Awh, hell, you shouldn't be spending your birthday alone." He added a mischievous wink to his line when he finished speaking.

Melody smirked. Casting a glance towards me, as if asking for my approval, she said, "We're not. Not anymore."

The guy smiled even broader. He turned towards the bar, clapping a hand down on another man's shoulder who was much taller than anyone else. While they shared a word, I spun on Melody.

"What are you doing?"

"Relax, G - I'm providing more fun. Two isn't a party."

Melody always knew how to take things a step too far. We were already doing something illegal by being inside the nightclub - we didn't need to have older guys get in trouble as well.

The blue-eyed fair-haired surfer turned around. The tall guy next to him turned partway, saw Melody and I standing there, then did a double take at Melody.

Well, she was legal, at least.

Surfer Boy leaned forward, shouting, "What's your name?"

"I'm Melody. This is Lily."

"How about a dance for the birthday girl, Melody?"

Surfer boy held out his hand. Melody giggled and took it without hesitation. I bit my tongue to keep from begging her not to leave me. After all, it was her birthday.

The music seemed to increase in decibels when Melody left my side. I watched as the two molded into the mass of gyrating bodies occupying the dance floor. Melody used her beauty and her instinct to fall into an intimate step with the stranger. They danced close, much too friendly for two people who had only just met. That seemed to be normal in a setting such as that place.

Sweat started to accumulate on my back. I felt uneasy being alone. And to add on to that feeling, when I looked back at the tall guy near the bar, I found him blatantly staring at me. Those eyes were a dark shade, a color I couldn't accurately discern with the horrible lighting of the club. His face was masked by shadows. He wasn't the only one watching me; there was a guy on the other side of Dark Eyes' shoulder, a man with glasses casting furtive glances back and forth between me, Melody, and the Surfer.

Trying not to draw attention to myself, I smiled awkwardly at them and crept back into the shadows of the wall. At least there I could hide out and wait for Melody.

* * *

My phone buzzed in my lap. The screen glowed blue, Melody's name popping up in white lettering. Tanner looked down at the phone with a small scowl marring his face.

"You promised," he said stubbornly.

I sighed. "I know, I know, I'm sorry - it will only be a minute. It was her birthday yesterday."

"That was yesterday."

I smiled apologetically, swiping the screen to pick up the call. Tanner turned back to the math homework that sat in front of us on his desk. His sour expression worsened.

"Lily! We have to do that again sometime! Maybe tonight?"

"God, no, Melody!" I said, laughing. Her birthday lasted all of Friday and into Saturday morning. I wasn't looking for a repeat. It was no longer necessary to bend the rules to her wishes at least for a few days.

"You don't understand," she huffed. "That guy was so hot! And his friend, Lane or Malcom, said something to him about you being cute as hell!"

"The tall one?"

"Yes!"

"Melody," I chuckled, rolling my eyes. "They were obviously talking about you. I saw the way they both stared you down."

"No, listen-"

From the corner of my eye I saw Tanner glance at me. He was clearly upset so I cut Melody off saying, "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm supposed to be helping Tanner with his math homework."

"Isn't he like, fourteen? Can't he do it himself?"

"Seven," I corrected. "And no." Melody was an only child. She didn't understand.

"You guys have all weekend!"

"Melody," I warned.

"Fine," she mumbled. "Talk about this later?"

I agreed, ending the call and tossing my phone on a bean-bag chair across the room. Tanner watched me complete the movement with his big, green eyes.

I held up my hands. "No more distractions."

He smiled a toothy grin.

"Now," I began, "nine times five."

Tanner stuck his nose into the paper. The pencil tapped against his desk. I could almost see the steam pouring out of his ears as the internal cogs of his brain worked.

"Use the finger trick," I suggested.

He held up nine fingers, thinking for one moment, and then shouted, "Forty-five!"

I clapped, saying, "Great job!" And laughed at his excitement. Tanner wrote down the answer to the last problem.

I loved Tanner to death. There was no greater feeling in the world than having a little brother who adored his big sister. Granted, there were times when I wanted to chew my cheek off in frustration when he misbehaved or acted out, but I reminded myself that he was only a kid. And I imagined that our mother did the same thing with me as well.

Tanner looked a lot like our mother. They shared the same big green eyes, straight nose, and light blonde hair. The only easily-identifiable trait in Tanner from our father was his mouth; a wide smile with narrow lips.

I was a mix between both of our parents. A mutt. All of their features combined so evenly that I looked half like the both of them. It gave my overall appearance a uniquely plain look. Childish, when compared to my age. Seventeen years old yet my round cheeks projected thirteen years. Freshman year I used to suck in my inner cheeks and press out my lips until one day a boy by the name of Kevin Sanders questioned why I looked like a fish. I had only wanted to be fine-featured, not a guppy.

The clock on Tanner's desk read, "5:25 p.m.". Dinner would be ready at promptly 6:15. Annabelle Hawthorn was punctual. I had time for a run.

"Save me a plate at dinner?" I asked Tanner, standing up to leave.

He looked at me with an evil smirk, saying, "Never!"

"You little runt!"

I made to charge at him but he jumped out of his chair, hollering. I'd taken one step when a shout from our mother drifted up the stairs.

"Keep it down, please!"

We both fell eerily quiet. Mom was a workaholic. She started at nine, finished at four, then started again at five. She fell into the role of, "Mrs. Annabelle Hawthorn, after hours dedicated realtor!" far too often. If Dad was home he would have taken her phone away.

I slipped down the stairs quietly. Peering into the kitchen, I spotted Mom next to the stove, phone pressed to her ear.

"Going for a run," I called quietly.

She turned, green eyes wide as she smiled and nodded and said, "Be safe."

I didn't reply because she didn't have to worry. Nothing ever happened in that small town.

I made for the front door. Before heading out, I shucked on my favorite sneakers, clearing my head of everything. I had already been wearing a pair of running pants and an airy tank top. Jogging was always on my mind.

Running was my favorite hobby. To feel the wind pushing at my skin, my hair, as if someone was trying to stop me but couldn't had to be the best feeling in the world. It made me feel powerful. And I was good at it to the point that I could have probably won a medal in a track event. But the competition didn't matter. I just loved the feeling of freedom.

Outside the air was cool. Crisp - much like the orange and yellow leaves that littered the street. I crossed the road with a brisk walk to warm up my muscles.

Little Springs Park sprouted across the street of my suburban home circa 1997, a year before I was born. Over time the park evolved from a simple playground to a wide, semi-forested mess of acres that contained a tennis court, basketball court, a baseball field, a rectangular grass quad, and not one but two playgrounds. I happened to prefer the original playground.

A gravel path twisted and turned around all of the courts and field to guide those who walked to each sector. There was another path, my particular one, that made a clean-cut oval. It went straight past the baseball field - home plate was to the left, behind a fence, of course - and around a thin strip of trees. I made a habit of running the easy loop eight times for one mile. Sometimes two or three or four. I hadn't been able to for the past week and a half since I'd been so busy. My body would need a refresher.

I followed a gravel path to my path, the one that traced around the miniature wood. It was a great running path. Hardly anyone ever used it for anything, save for today, as the baseball field to the left of my circuit was brimming with ball players. They looked like a friendly group of college kids, all baseball hats, Oakley-style shades, and swathed in signature jerseys or classic baseball tees. I could identify at least three Chase Utley's, a Matt Harvey, and even a Babe Ruth.

As I walked to my stretching bench I watched the pitcher windup and throw a fastball. The batter swung, missing by an inch. A 'strike' was bellowed out from the players in the outfield. I had to agree.

"Swing, batter, batter, batter, swing!" The boys called.

I started running. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the pitcher windup and throw. The ball came so fast that even though there was a catcher and a tall fence to protect those outside the field such as myself, I still jumped. Had those things not been there, I would have been pegged in the leg. My pace quickened as I giggled to myself.

The first lap around the trees was easy. The same could be said for the second and third. Every time I came around the trees and saw the field, the ball players would have moved to change innings. But by the end of the fourth lap I was starting to feel the wonderful burn, and at the same time I noticed the players had gathered around home plate. Their game must have drawn to a close. I vaguely wondered who won.

They sipped Gatorade and water. Chewed sunflower seeds sporadically. My presence seemed to pique the attention of a few boys. I was the only stranger in the vicinity. The Earth was turning and the sun slowly lowering. The park closed at dusk.

I finished the fifth lap a little weary. My limbs felt heavier. A cramp developed in my left side, just above my hip. Mucus was thick in my throat.

I rounded the trees, breathless. The ball players noticed.

A Matt Harvey jersey, from who I identified as the pitcher earlier, leaned into the chain link fence.

"Hey," he called.

I looked at him, slowing even more at the sight of his friendly face and deep brown eyes. His head was cut into little pieces from the metal lattice of the fencing. A red cap covered his eyes but the lower half of his chin was dominated by a huge smile. All of the other boys turned at the exact same time to look at who he was calling out to. My cheeks felt warm.

It wasn't from the running.

He held up a bottle of Gatorade in a mock salute and said, "You go, girl!"

I gave him a quick smile when I passed. I did not take it as a creepy cat-call. Energy seemed to bud up from within me from the pitcher's encouragement. My legs felt a little more lively.

It was getting darker. There was a tall street lamp on the other half of the path that turned on just as I passed beneath the pole.Other than that lamp, that half of the park was barren. The sky was turning from orange-yellow to blue-black. I picked up my pace a little.

I rounded the start of the trees, eager to finish the last lap. The boys were still at the park but no longer in the ball diamond.

They stood on the outside of the fence less than two feet away from the path. Some boys leaned against the metal wiring, fingers pushed through the holes, chatting amiably. Others perched on the grassy ground, propped up on their elbows with legs outstretched.

The pitcher sat up from his spot on the grass. "Hey!"

Everyone quieted and turned my direction. They all straightened up upon my appearance. One by one they climbed up from the ground or pushed away from the fence and shuffled to the edge of the path. Twenty different faces smirked at me. A few I would call handsome.

"There she is!" One called.

"She's still alive!"

"Keep running! Almost there, eh?"

"Nice legs!"

I couldn't ignore them. A grin split my lips apart and I flashed it their way.

"Atta girl," Pitcher shouted. "How many more?"

"Last one!" I jogged past him.

"You got this!" The batter who had earned the strike tucked his glove underneath his arm and started clapping. My face grew hotter but not from overexertion.

Someone knocked me on the shoulder as I ran past which I didn't think much of - it was a group of athletes supporting a fellow comrade. The gesture was harmless. And it didn't grab my attention as much as something else did:

The last man, easily the tallest, was garbed in the catcher's gear, and he was the only one who remained silent. The mask covered his face but did not conceal the two dark eyes that seemed glued to my complexion. Determination rested in those eyes, something I didn't entirely understand but only I thought that it was for me to keep going. So I pumped my legs a little harder, reveled in the sound of personal cheers, and made to finish the mile.

The cheers became distant the farther I ran.

I came around the trees to be swathed in the dark. The street lamp that rested on the side of the path had blown. The lack of light unnerved me more than usual. I pushed myself harder, lungs searing. Muscles in my legs began to throb painfully. My pace had never been that fast, that demanding. By the fifth lap I would usually force myself to slow down, take it easy. I never had my own personal squad of cheerleaders.

The street lamp came up quick; I thought I was going to collapse. And then I heard footsteps. Behind me, heavy footfalls that sounded nothing like my light, quick steps. I didn't want to look. I had never felt threatened in the park before. It was a communal place where friends and neighbors alike gathered to be outside and enjoy the outdoors.

I blamed my fear on the imposing night, and I forced myself into a leg-numbing, pulse-pounding sprint. My ears began to ring and my vision started to tunnel itself as I forced my body to work at a level that it couldn't.

I chanced a look over my shoulder. Before everything went black, I swear I saw the Umpire from one of Tanner's T-ball games.