My phone begins to ring. I scramble to free my arms from the blanket to help search for whoever decided to wake me up at 3:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning. I finally find it and pull the phone closer to my face to read the ID. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to focus in the darkness, but I can finally read who is calling. "Alex."

"Alex?" I ask, barely audible. "Why are you calling so late?"

"I can't sleep. I had to call you. I've been up all night."

"Why? What's going on?" I ask, my eyes still closed.

"I had to ask you something." He says quietly.

"And?" I ask.

"I'm going to pick you up tonight. Take you to dinner. I'm asking you out."

I can still barely open my eyes. I am only able to manage "sure" to respond to his offer. So many other things I want to say are running through my head, but that is all I could manage to say.

"I'll pick you up at six. Don't worry. Tell Elizabeth I'll have you home by eleven."

"Goodnight, Alex."

I quickly fall back to sleep and drift into a dream.

I awake the next morning with an amazing headache, the kind that pounds whenever you move your head in any direction or walk too hard.

"Elizabeth?" I yell

"Yes, dear?"

"Do we have any Tylenol?" I ask, holding my head, trying to minimize the pounding.

Elizabeth looks toward me, pausing a moment, frozen and concerned "Have you been taking your pills? They are supposed to help."

"Of course." I lie. "I must have just slept wrong." I stopped taking the pills about a month ago. I don't understand why I need them when nothing is wrong. They claim they are for depression, insomnia, and anxiety. I don't remember experiencing either one to extremes to necessitate medication. Maybe now I’m lying to myself. I just don’t like feeling so cloudy. I want to remember—not forget. Each morning I drop one down the sink just in case they check the bottle.

She believes my lie and smiles. "Good." She reaches into the cabinet above the stove and removes a small bottle.

"Thanks. How about some pancakes?"

"Sure, sweetie. I already have them mixed."

"Oh, don't worry about making enough dinner for me tonight. Alex is taking me to dinner tonight." I blush at his name, and it makes me feel vulnerable. I try to hide my face in the orange juice container.

"Ah, interesting. I always figured there was something between the two of you."

Her comment almost causes me to choke on my orange juice. I finally catch my breath. "Oh, no not at all. It's not like that. He just owes me. Don't be ridiculous."

"Wait. No, you can’t. Tonight you have to pick up my sister from the airport, and we are making her dinner. She is coming in for your graduation next weekend. I’m sorry, Ana.”

I feel instant defeat but instant relief at the same time. I’m not sure how I should feel about that. All I know is I must now text Alex the news. “What time does her flight arrive?

“Five o’clock. Oh, Analise, don't forget about your appointment with Dr. Allen when you get back from New Orleans. Make sure you keep everything organized and in good order before you leave. Make sure you ask him about that one dream, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am." I roll my eyes. "Why don't I just give it to you every morning for review?"

"I apologized for that. You just worry me sometimes."

"You don't need to worry about me, Liz." I don't want to argue.

“I’m not. Why don’t you go for a run.”

“I think I will.” I finish my orange juice and get my running gear on.

This abnormally cold spring makes it harder to go on these morning runs. Still, I make it a priority. It helps keep my emotions in check. The sun warms my cheeks a bit, but I can still see my breath with each beat. It burns my throat, but I pound on.

As I round the turn my heart begins to beat much harder, not because I have picked up the pace. In the distance I see a man jogging in my direction. I have never seen anyone else run on this road. I stop, mostly to keep my heart from pounding out my chest, but also to consider turning around. I lean down and rest my hand on my knees, gasping for air that doesn’t seem to enter my lungs. I feel sick.

“Ana? Ana?” Someone says to me. I can barely hear through the fog growing in my head. I look up to find the jogger has stopped. He stretches for a moment, looks at me and turns to jog in the other direction.

“Ana.”

I snap to look to my left. Alex has pulled up to me, yelling through his window. I’m squinting trying to focus and still gasping for air.

“Are you okay?” He quickly gets out of his Jeep to come to my side.

I grab his hand for balance and close my eyes until I can focus long enough to regulate my breathing. In. Out. In. Out. One last long breath and I open my eyes to meet his. I smile. “Oh, I am great. Just working on sprints. That last one got me. This cold air is just killing me.” I glance back up the road. The runner is gone. “What are you doing out this way?”

“Well, I got your text and figured I might just ride with you to pick up your aunt.”

“I texted you like thirty minutes ago.” I have to gasp in the middle of my sentence to get more air.

“I was actually out this way running some errands in town. Headed right over.”

“Perfect timing. I think I will cut this one short. My throat has had about enough of this.” Or, something inside feels very uneasy about the man that was jogging in my direction. The sensation intensifies, and it makes me dizzy. I can feel myself begin to sway. I see Alex looking at me confused. I look back to where the man was, but still nothing. I look to Alex again. He looks different and fuzzy, but he comes closer. I can’t see anything anymore.

These dreams are just as vivid as my others, except, they are far more frightening. I’m surrounded by an angry black sea at night. I only have driftwood as a raft. These things keep pulling at me, trying to scratch me and bite me. They look like people but mangled and disfigured. I feel like I have been here a year, fighting to stay atop the wood. Sometimes the reaching arms and mouths stop for a moment, so I sit there, trying to see through the dark. I can see a light in the distance, but no matter how long I paddle it doesn’t grow brighter or larger. Now it is just flashing to black. Even the water is flashing. It is disappearing to complete darkness. I scream.

“Ana, wake up.” I feel someone shaking me. “Wake up.” I think it is Liz.

I open my eyes to find myself surrounded by Alex, Liz, Dr. Allen, and someone else in a white doctor’s coat. I’m not on the street anymore. How did I get here? I am in my room. I sit up quickly and fall quickly back down as my head feels ready to explode. “What happened?”

“You fainted and you hit your head pretty hard. You have been out for three days.” Alex explains.

“Three days? You are kidding, right? Why?” I hold my head to stop the pounding.

“Well, when you hit your head you hit it just right, giving yourself a pretty bad concussion.” Says Dr. Allen.

“Hm.” I manage. Why did I pass out in the first place? I really don’t have the energy to ask. I just want to go back to sleep.

“You check out, but you need to take it easy for the next few days.”

“I’ll just sleep,” I say. “Then I will be all set to leave at the end of the week.

“I don’t know if that is a good idea, Ana.” Liz interrupts.

“The doc says I check out. I’m going.” I go back to sleep.

Apparently, I am in and out for the next two days. I manage to only dream one dream—that dark water and grabbing hands. Even though I am now awake I can still feel them pulling at me. I stay positive, though. Graduation is tomorrow. Thank goodness I didn’t have to take any exams.

Graduation is full of tears and I'll miss yous. But, for me, it is mostly excitement. The people that truly matter in my life won't have to say I'll miss you or don't forget to call. That is unnatural. They will always be a part of my life—no effort is needed. This is all so fucking superficial. Tomorrow will be a better day, though. Tomorrow we will be leaving for New Orleans. A week later I am headed to Charleston to begin the new chapter of my life—where I can be free.

"What do you think you are doing?" Taylor yells as I throw my clothes haphazardly into the large suitcase.

"Go home and find a different friend to torture. Why can't I do this myself?" I ask.

"This is important. You have never gone on a trip before, and what would you do if you forgot your panties?" Taylor pulls my panties over her head. I grab them and throw them into the side pocket. "You know, I wish Alex wasn't always so up your ass all the time. He would be even sexier if he wasn't borderline obsessed with you.” She winks.

"Hah,” I say. However, something inside of me wants to slap her in the face. I breathe deeper to calm myself. “I guess I'm just used to it. Elizabeth and James are the same way. So protective. I must radiate come hither and save me, even though there is obviously nothing to save me from." I continue to throw articles of clothing from my closet into the suitcase, harder now. I hope she doesn’t notice.

"You must." Taylor sighs as she pushes the suitcase closed. "All done."

"It's about time. Everyone will leave without us." Alex says as I walk down the stairs.

"Well, hello Alex," Taylor says as she maneuvers around me and holds out her hand.

Alex glances back at me with a wry smile, then grabs the bags from her arms. Elizabeth and James are being themselves, as usual, cautioning Alex, Taylor, and myself; they are laying down the law. She stuffs mace in my purse.

“You guys better be careful. Stay close to Alex, Analise." Elizabeth says as she comes in close to give us all hugs. Her squeeze almost takes my breath. She holds on for a few moments until I feel a tear.

"I won't let her out of my sight." He says, without releasing his stare from mine. The stare is curious, though. It is sad almost.

Maybe it is Elizabeth's warning, but I swear, I don't think he takes his eyes off me once. I can't help but blush. I grimace and barely whisper. "Stop staring". He only turns his lips up to a slight grin.

He turns to Elizabeth and James. "I'll have them home safely in a week Mr. and Mrs. Crawford."

The drive to meet the rest of the group is mostly silent. Taylor keeps trying to ask questions, run through the itinerary, and plan out our entire trip. Alex and I sit quietly as we know our opinions will mean nothing. At least, that is my thought. It looks like Alex has something on his mind. He is abnormally quiet. Maybe he knows the hell that awaits him. He still attempts a smile when he glances at me. His eyes are dark, though—not the normal green.

We finally meet the rest of the group in South Boston. David throws his things into the back and insists he sits in the front with Alex. The next fourteen hours pass slowly.

I realize after a few hours that my friends don't fully realize the importance of making something of themselves at this point in their lives. This is why they will never leave Keysville, Virginia, or see any part of the world. We are only around for a short time, some shorter than others. I want my life to count for something. I don't want to waste it away. Maybe their souls have yet to be awakened, like so many others. Maybe they don't think they can make any difference. Or, maybe they have no conception of what they could do. This is what I have derived out of fourteen hours of conversations. Or, maybe I just have an old soul.

I wonder if what has happened to me would be considered near-death experiences. Life can be taken away so quickly, and we all just take it for granted. Could it be the ghosts of my parents driving me to make something of my life? I have never been spiritual, at least since I can remember. Sometimes I wish I was. I do pray, though, because I hope there is some higher being and meaning. I am angry, though. Why would God put someone through what I have been through? That is why I want to go to New Orleans. I want to believe. I just need to see it. I guess New Orleans is the place to go to find out—the home of lore, voodoo, hoodoo, and the dead. This isn’t God and miracles, though. This magic is pretty dark, but it is an indication of something else. People there seem to be closer to the dead, closer to that spiritual world. My friends are here to partake in gambling on the floating hall, but I am here to connect to that world. No, Ouija boards are not on my list of things to buy. I just want to observe, find out how they use that energy, and connect to the world. I think this could help me in my life, help me stay grounded, and not get so caught up in politics, money, and everyday hustle-bustle. It will give me something to fight for. The world is coming down, and so often you see many lose sight of what is important.

We are close, about fifteen miles out from New Orleans. We have the windows down now, the sea breeze blowing through our hair. It keeps brushing into my eyes, but I can't seem to be able to pull myself away from the open window. This is the farthest I have been from home. I want to experience all of it. It's greener here. I know, great description, right? It is, though—all the trees, grass, moss, and even the swamps share a beautiful hue of green. Green like my eyes, like my dead mother's dress. Oh no, what's this? Tears. I don’t cry.

"Why are you crying?" Taylor yells into my ear and throws my shoulder against the seat. "We are in New Orleans for goodness sake."

Alex eyes me from the rear-view mirror, concerned.

“It is all the wind in my face.” I laugh. I wipe my tears. I dig around the bag at my feet and pull out a treasure, my flask, and take a long swig. I'll never be able to run away from this past. It is truly a part of me for the entirety of my life. I will find a way to get closure, though. Somehow.

Alex looks at me again from the rearview. I see pity in his eyes. He feels sorry for me. I can't fool him, ever. Maybe I'm just terrible at hiding it. I feel the expression on my face. I feel the burn in my eyes. It will always be there, deep down.

"How about you share that with me?" He yells over the screams that come from the group.

I jump across Taylor to take the middle seat and lean up to the middle console, elbow on the console, and flask in hand. I smile. "Is this what you desire?"

"Well, no." He smiles. He doesn't even hint at subtlety.

I smile the first real smile of today.

He grabs my hand, squeezes it, and pulls the flask to his mouth.

We finally reach the welcome sign. Each of them practically jumps out of the windows, waving their arms. I think only I see the strange faces the locals make. I can only imagine the thoughts running through their minds. Not another group of college kids here to ruin my week. I stay positioned comfortably by the middle console, taking swigs from the flask. We pull into the hotel and everyone piles out, ripping their luggage from the trunk. I quickly stash my flask into my bag and casually exit the Jeep. I want to enjoy these first few minutes in New Orleans. I want to take in the surroundings, feel the heat on my face, and just breathe in peace for a moment. Before I know it someone throws my suitcase into my arms, causing me to drop my bag to the ground. Annoyed, I throw my suitcase to the ground, pick up my bag, dust it off, and search for any injuries. Fortunately, my phone, camera, and flask are all safe. I have managed to escape unscathed. I can’t help but laugh a little inside.

"How about practicing a little southern hospitality?" Alex scorns.

"Why sorry, Miss Analise. I apologize." David bows. He grabs my suitcase and throws it onto the suitcase rack the concierge has delivered.

"Thanks." I shake my arms free and pull my sunglasses to my face. I look around at the streets and buildings around me. There is something that is familiar. Maybe it is the humidity.

"I'm sorry, folks." ‘The concierge says in a deep southern accent. "Almost all our help called out today. Strangest thing. We have the cart for you, but I'm afraid you will have to bring the luggage up yourself. We have comped one night for your troubles."

"Hell yea, bitches." Ashley yells.

"The guys can take care of the luggage." Taylor chimes in.

"Thank you. Pardon me." The concierge bows and then leaves.

"It is hot as hell down here," I say as I throw my hair into a ponytail.

"Get used to it, chicka. Charleston will be just as bad." Ashley says as she pulls up her shirt and ties it in a knot. She flaunts her bare stomach as she prisses to the Jeep to retrieve her things, a little disappointed no one has attempted to gather her multiple bags from the back yet.

Chad, Alex, and David are beginning to sweat as the three of them haul the luggage from the back of the two vehicles to the luggage rack. Ashley stands there, phone in hand, giggling at her latest text. Taylor sits on the sidewalk, carefully watching David and Alex's every move. Me, I decide to venture inside and retrieve our keys, not before catching a glance of Alex. He must be hot in that tight black tee shirt. I force myself inside. The AC is a welcome blessing.

The cool rush of air against my body is instantly refreshing. "Whew." I exhale. This must have been too loud. As I look around, everyone in the lobby is looking at me as if I am some criminal. Each of them looks at me in contempt. What the hell did I do? I scan the room looking for answers. Nothing.

I walk cautiously toward the man at the hotel desk, their stares still penetrating me, capturing every flaw, and every insecurity. I look back at each of them, looking for answers in their eyes or movements. Some of them look away quickly; others tilt their heads in what seems to be confusion. I do the same. What have I done? It takes an eternity to reach the front desk.

"Wow," I say, and throw my bag onto the desk. "Tough crowd. Hi. I'm Analise Crawford, checking in with that, I’m sorry to say, a band of hoodlums." I hand out my hand to shake his and point out the window.

The man sits in silence as he looks back at me, his face turning red. I can begin to see his forehead perspire as my hand is still awkwardly extended. He only stares at me. I can only do the same back. This is uncomfortable. My mouth goes dry, and I accidentally make a funny face.

I laugh, nervously, as I pull my hand back to the top of my bag. "Well alright then. Keys please?" I request as I dig through my bag for my ID, trying hard not to make eye contact. At this point, I just want to get to the room.

"I'm sorry, Miss. You just look exactly like someone who used to live around these parts for a short time. Made quite a name for herself. He leans in and curiously looks me over." The resemblance is uncanny." I can smell the licorice on his breath.

There is something about his deep southern accent that makes this intrusion seem almost alright. However, my level of comfort with the situation has been reached. "Well, she must have been fascinating. Why else would everyone stare at me so inappropriately?” I glare. “Who is this person you refer to? Does she still live here?" I ask quickly.

"She did. About forty years ago." He points to one of the many old photos on the wall, without releasing his stare.

The portraits are too far away to see any characterization. I turn to walk to the photo to examine it when everyone busts through the doors, dragging the luggage rack with Ashley sitting on top. Taylor locks my arms to hers and swings me around, dancing around the lobby, pulling me along. Chad grabs the other arm, pulls me into his chest, and spins in circles. My friends are silly but too much fun not to laugh with. I hold on tighter and he spins faster. He finally stops and let's go. Everything is still spinning. I lose balance and see the floor in my sight. I can’t see the photo at all. Alex grabs ahold of me and steadies me as I gain my balance. He smells so good, like a mixture of sunlight, sweat, and soap. For a moment everyone in the lobby disappears and he is all I see. I shake this off. I can't let a man get in the way of the dreams I have in store for myself. It will only slow me down.

"Thanks," I say, and sleek away.

"Miss Crawford. I have your keys." The desk clerk hands me the keys and grabs my hands. "I hope you have a good time." He says sincerely.

"Thank you." I pull my hand away but his grasp is too tight. I pull harder and he finally releases his hold.

I grab my bag and head to the elevator. A glimpse of the portraits stops me in my tracks. Wow. She does look almost exactly like me, besides the sixties haircut and glowing skin.

"Analise," Taylor yells. "The elevator." I turn to find the elevator closing without me. I throw the key at them. Their efforts to stop the door from closing fail.

Someone grabs my shoulder. I turn to see who it is—the desk clerk. "So you see the resemblance?" He asks.

This man is much taller than I thought. He must have been sitting on a stool behind the desk. I don't know which is more frightening, his interest in me and this painting or his gothic appearance. Probably both. He looks like a man who consumes himself in the dark arts. I can tell his fingernails are normally painted because I can see the remnants left on the corners. His face is so pale. When the light touches his skin from the window I can only imagine he cringes from the burn. His pale skin is made painstakingly more obvious by his jet black hair, gelled back.

"What is your name?" I ask, trying to change the direction of the conversation.

"McGregor. Will McGregor." He extends his hand, enthusiastically this time, to me.

"What is there to do around here?"

"Oh, tons. You might be interested in visiting the old Bellegarde place. That's where she used to live."

"Hm," I mumble and turn back to the photo. My resemblance to this woman definitely intrigues me. I get closer to the portrait, examining her features, looking for differences but only noticing similarities. The photo is faded, so it is tough to distinguish the exact characteristics. "What was her name? Why is her picture on this wall?" I say after several minutes. This is so strange. I tilt my head to look from a different angle.

"Everly. Just Everly. No one knew her real name." He sighs.

"And why on this wall?" The wall is covered with portraits. They all look important, frames covered with gold and silver.

"Oh, she was a legend. She lived here for about ten years, I think. Then, she just disappeared." He continues to stare at the portrait.

"Okay," I say curiously. "I don't understand. People disappear every day. Why was she so special?"

"She lived here ten years and never aged a day. She looked like this from the day she got here till the day she left. Isn't that curious? She was very strange, always forecasting what would happen. Very strange. She did help save some kids, though." His face lit up, but it quickly faded as he turned back to the portrait.

"Where did she go?"

"No one knows. That's why everyone freaked out when you walked in. Maybe you are a grandchild?” He asks, looking for answers. But I have none to give. “Everly has finally returned. Most thought she was a witch. The older folks sometimes talk about how nice she was, and how she would soothe them during tough times. They were still scared of her, though. They put this up as a memorial, so if she did come back one day she wouldn't curse them.”

"Will McGregor. How dare you? That girl will curse us." An old lady, probably in her nineties yells.

"Oh, hush you old hag. This girl is no witch." Will screams back.

"I better get going to my room before they get their pitchforks and torches. Thanks for the history lesson, Will."

"You know, it is curious, though." He pauses, then looks to me. "That you would come to this place—where a woman identical to you once lived."

"The picture is faded. It's not curious. It's an illusion—a story." I lied. It is quite curious. Even with the image faded you can clearly see a resemblance. Maybe this woman was my grandmother? How strange I would be brought here.

When I exit the elevator I can already hear them. Their voices echo the entire hall and help to ease the weirdness I just experienced. I push open the cracked door, exposing the shenanigans. The room reeks of liquor. The shot glasses are lined up on the counter, currently being filled by Alex. David is in the corner with Taylor, turning up Jello shots back to back. Ashley is in the bathroom, curling her hair, and drinking a glass of wine in between applications. Chad is loading the refrigerator with our coolers of beer. The clinking and clanking is giving me a headache. I throw my bag to the chair beside me and dig out my flask to ease the sensations. I chug the rest before anyone has the chance to see me. I really want to let loose tonight. I want no thoughts to run through my mind. I want to be completely free. I push the door shut with my foot. I inadvertently push it harder than expected, and it slams shut. Dead silence.

"Shots, shots, shots." Ashley begins to shout as she exits the bathroom, empty wine glass in hand. She quickly puts down the wine glass and grabs two shot glasses. She hands one to me. "Grab your glasses."

Alex hands out the shot glasses, holds up his hand and clears his throat. "Here's to the nights we won't remember." He looks to me, pain in his eyes again.

"Cheers." Everyone yells and throw back their shots.

Disgusting, cheap flavored vodka is a terrible mistake, but I choke it down. I can already feel the dizzy in my head. I feel lighter.

"Everyone go get dressed. This little lady is ready to party." Ashley sings as she dances around the room.

In almost an instant everyone has cleared the room, pulling clothes out of bags, and throwing back more shots. I search fervently for my suitcase only to find it stashed under one of the bedroom beds, beside Alex's. I can hear Alex in the bathroom shower, singing, so I grab the suitcase quickly as to avoid any awkwardness.

"Ana? Analise? Is that you?" Alex yells above the shower.

"Yea." I yell.

"Can you bring me a towel? I don't see one."

The towels sit perfectly on the end of the bed. I grab one and walk closer to the steamy bathroom. I peek in and push the door open slowly. My heart pounds in my chest. Alex pushes the curtain open, exposing half this naked body. I would be lying if I said I didn't stand in awe. His half grin has me standing frozen.

He runs his free hand through his dripping wet hair and grabs the towel from my hand. "Thanks, babe." He steps out of the shower and wraps the towel around his waist. "I'll leave it running for you." He closes the bathroom door behind him, leaving me to the hot, steamy shower he just left.

I shower quickly and remember the lack of towels. I look around the bathroom, hoping he missed one. Sure enough, a towel rests comfortably on the wall hanger directly beside the shower. It doesn't take long to get ready. I wear minimal make-up, and my hair blow dries straight. I never felt the urge to spend twenty minutes putting something on my face that is only going to make me feel dirty. I grab a black tank and jean shorts from my bag and throw on my Keds.

When I get back out to the great room everyone is already ready, singing and throwing back beers. David grabs one from the fridge and tosses it to me. I grab it reflexively and look it over. Do I drink myself silly or maybe try to take this time to find myself? Of course I already know the answer to that question. I’m going to let go tonight. “Are we just going to sit around here drinking beer, or are we going to get out of here?" I yell to them as I grab my purse and throw it over my shoulder. I pop open the beer and chug it down.

We walk a couple blocks until we reach a bar Ashley read about in a local newspaper. It sits at the end of the busy street. It’s darker here and doesn’t seem as loud, but there is so much noise coming from this place. Maybe it’s the moon in the backdrop that makes it seem more peaceful, shadowing the disgust that I know lies inside. This is the perfect place for me. The dark wooden stairs creak as we make our way up the stairs. It looks like nothing special on the outside, but the music and yelling coming from inside tells a different story.

Right as we walk in a gust of cigarette smoke covers us. I was wrong. All I want to do is walk away, but all everyone else sees is the mechanical bull, dart boards, and pool tables. I know I have no chance of winning this war, so I choose to suffer through it. And I do suffer through it.

The journey is like war. You are hiding in the trenches and dodging party favors like bullets. Sometimes the crowds disperse like an exploding bomb as the new hit dance song comes on. Everyone gets into lines to coordinate. It reminds me of the five year olds I saw in a dance recital last year. However, the children were much better behaved and much better dancers. What has happened to our youth? This isn’t really for me. I go searching for Taylor.

It would have been almost impossible to find them if it wasn't for all the sequence on her dress. There she is. There David is. They are making out like a bad teenage romance happy ending.

"Hey, darling." Alex whispers in my ear. "Shall we?"

My chest tightens. He is my best friend. Everything in me tells me not to, but I grab his hand and he pulls me to the dance floor.

"Whew it's hot." He starts and unbuttons half this shirt and rolls up his sleeves. He looks at me, hard, and smiles slightly. There it is again. His arms and chest, tan and tight, taking my breath away. I have to stop staring.

"Keep it PG ya'll." Ashley yells.

"Alright, honey." He grabs my hand and pulls me tight, his face almost touching mine. "You think you can keep it PG, Ana?" He laughs.

I don’t know if I can stand it much longer. I don’t know if I have the strength. It takes everything I have not to pull him in even closer. "I think I'm going to just lay my head right here on your shoulder for a few minutes." The warmth penetrating from his skin makes it impossible for me to keep my eyes open. However, I would be lying if I said I didn't instantly feel enlivened as he tightens his grip on me and kisses my forehead. This isn’t good. I can’t let this happen. But, it feels so good.

After fifteen minutes the cigarette smoke becomes too strong. I can smell it on my clothes, skin, and hair. My eyes are burning. I must get out of here. Besides, I’m becoming too interested. I can’t have a drink. It might be too dangerous. I might give in. Just a few months ago I would have enjoyed it all—the carelessness and debauchery. It all seems so pointless when you think about it. We could be living our lives creating new experiences, not drinking them away. I want to do something. This is my first time away from it all.

I quietly pay my bill, hug Taylor, and push my way out the front door without any fuss. I gasp for the fresh air and close my eyes until I am able to clear them. Someone grabs my shoulder, and I know who it is. Damnit.

"Where do you think you are going?" Alex asks.

I laugh. "I can't stay in there any longer. My lungs are burning. I'm just going to go for a walk down the street and check out the sites." I begin walking down the steps, or stumbling.

Alex stops me. "You can't go out there by yourself. You don't know this place. It's dangerous."

"Dangerous? Oh, please. You sound like Liz and James. Look." I point to the streets. "There are plenty of people out. No one is going to nab me. I promise." I smile, innocently.

Alex grapples with my reasoning. He knows I'm right. "I'll come with you. I would really like to check out the dock down the street anyways." He fumbles.

I continue down the stairs. "I'd really prefer to go by myself. Sorry, Alex. I'm feeling like a loner tonight."

"But, you are afraid of the dark." He continues, trying to convince me to stay.

"But I won't be alone." I yell. "All the crazies are out tonight." I throw my hands to the sky and spin to face the road. I continue to walk down the street, careful not to face Alex. He would find it endearing and would surely follow me then. I’m running from him. Ah, it is so hard to run from him.

There is no shortage of lights. Each step I take lands me at the entrance of another bar and more lights. I push through the people, trying to find somewhere to escape the crowd. It's like I am somehow going the wrong way. Everyone is pushing against me. I try to weave in and out, and it becomes exhausting. I sit on a bench to rest and decide my next move.

I might just stay here. While there is no shortage of lights, there is also no shortage of weird. Half of the people here are completely wasted and half naked, and the other looks like they're on their way to a ritualistic killing. Both groups are equally amusing. I only get to see this on TV. They say it’s a different world outside Keysville, but I have never gotten a full dose of it until now.

The buzz I had going begins to wean after about fifteen minutes of people watching, and the amusement fades. I jog across the street to an outdoor bar and request a shot. This should hold me over for some time. This place is a little more my style. The décor is certainly more upscale, and there aren't any holes in the walls from darts. I can relax here. The jazz band in the corner adds to the ambience I’m looking for. This is my peace. Serenity. The bartender returns with a flight of tequila shots, and I have to damage it.

"This is from the gentleman at the end of the bar." She whispers.

I turn my attention to the end of the bar. I stare for a moment or two, focusing on who I see sitting there—a man in a full suit on the hottest night this year. Why would anyone want to buy me a drink? I am nothing compared to these women here, full of makeup and dresses so short I can see their pink panties. I comply anyways. I nod his way and take one of the shots. I stare harder this time. He looks familiar. I have some liquor in me, but I can still feel my blood pressure spike. His dark eyes and hair definitely match those of the man I met that day. It is tough to focus in the dark and with the burning alcohol dancing in my blood. I think it's him. Our eyes meet. His eyes have no discernible outline. They are black as night. He lifts the glass in his hand to toast and shows the familiar sinister grin. He turns up the shot. I slowly turn my head to face my last two shots. My eyes are burning again. A tear falls into the shot, creating ripples. I quickly wipe the tears away. No one needs to see this weakness, especially him—if it is him. It must be. I grab the second shot and bring it to my lips, my hands shaking. I turn it up and quickly finish the last one.

"Damn, Analise. You are a tough broad to find." Again, Alex startles me, but some warmth returns to my body. Alex can protect me. He has before. He jumps onto the barstool beside me and yells to the bartender for two beers. He then turns to me. His expression softens, then grows serious. "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He dries a tear that has dropped to my cheek.

"Yea, yes. I'm fine." I glance to the end of the bar. Gone. I quickly turn back to the flight of shots I just took and laugh. "Tequila burns so good."

"So you left us to drink shots by yourself? You do know that's a sign of alcoholism, right?" He smiles.

"And drinking all hours of the day isn't?" I retort.

"I may have been drinking all day, but so have you. The difference between the two of us, Ms. Crawford, is I don’t hide it, and I am so with it I could recite the introduction of Moby Dick if I was asked. You, on the other hand, are on the edge of tears. I think I win."

"While I may not be able to recite the introduction of Moby Dick, I know I can certainly walk a straight line. That counts, right?"

Alex claps his hands. "Bravo. I would like to see this for myself. But, first, we must finish these two beers as it would be utterly inconceivable to let them go to waste." He pushes my beer into my hands and we turn them up until nothing remains.

"Shall we?" Alex throws down cash to cover the tab and extends his hand.

"Where are we going?" I grab his hand and follow him to the sidewalk. I’m starting to spin now. This isn’t good. I turn back to the bar, but the man is gone.

"Wherever our feet take us. Actually, I was thinking about stopping by this old house these people at the other bar couldn't stop talking about. They said a witch used to live there." I stop, causing Alex to lose his step. He looks at me. "What's wrong?"

"There was a picture of her at the hotel. She looks exactly like me. An old woman called me a witch."

"Well, that’s something new. You saw a picture of her?" He asks, curiously.

"Yea. She did look a lot like me. I mean the picture is from the seventies or something." I follow him onto the street. We weave in and out of the crowd for about a block, and I stop again. "You know. I know this is crazy, but do you think she could have been my grandmother?"

"Analise. Don’t be ridiculous. You sure they didn’t say bitch?” He laughs. “I mean. You can see how you can confuse the two.” He pauses. I don’t laugh. “Maybe we shouldn't go." He says.

"No. I want to. I shouldn't have said anything. It's just that, when I walked in today, they thought I was her. They really thought I was her. That's why I said that."

Alex pulls me closer into his chest and looks around at the people around us for a moment. He focuses his attention back to me. "Okay, let's just go look at it to see what the hype is all about. Maybe we will learn something about her."

"Everly," I say.

"What?"

"That's what they call her."

He laughs. "Okay. Let's go."

"What's so funny?"

He laughs again. "Nothing. No. People. People are hilarious. They get pulled into this mysticism and live and breathe it. They get it all wrong."

"What do they get wrong?"

"Just generally. I mean. All these rumors about her over these last forty or so years have turned her into a witch. I'm sure she was just some normal, sweet girl who just did things a little differently. That's all."

"I'm sure you're right. At least she has a story." I say, looking down. I know she couldn’t be my grandmother. I think maybe I just want her to be. I want a story. I have nothing but the last five years. I haven’t done a damn thing.

The crowd begins to thin, and so do the lights. The loud boisterous voices are now just squeaky whispers. The road ahead of us is unknown. Street signs grow further apart. The sidewalk becomes uneven, periodic lights flicker, and now homes are on each side of us. Some look very old and in desperate need of maintenance, but there are some that are gorgeous with intricate detailing and pristine landscaping. We continue walking for a while. It is very dark this far out from the town. I grab Alex's arm. I don’t know if it’s that I don’t like the dark, or that I don’t like the things that hide in the dark. I guess it doesn’t really matter.

"So do you know where we are going?"

"Of course, I know where we are going. I'm a human compass. It's just right up there on the right." Alex says.

We stop and he turns to the old mansion on the right. The gate has a plaque that reads Bellegarde Estate. This is where she lived. Everly. The moon sitting just above the house, creating dark outlines around the dead trees, makes the property look even creepier. It doesn't look like anyone has lived here since she left. The grass has taken over the sidewalk and overrun the yard. Ivy completely covers the home. It’s their house now. The only visible parts are the broken windows and front door. Even the stairs are covered in ivy. We open the creaky gate and step up to the sidewalk.

"Are you okay?" Alex turns to me to ask.

"Of course," I say, incredulously. "Why wouldn't I be?" I don’t know why I said that so suspiciously. Am I beginning to give in to him? Am I letting him protect me, even though I don’t need him?

"Just checking in. It's pretty creepy here. And dark."

The full moon is offering enough light. Besides, I feel safe with Alex. Truth be told, this place actually seems serene to me. It's peaceful—in a creepy way, of course. The yard is a disaster. I don't think anyone has stepped foot through this gate in forty years. It would take a field plow to fix this. There is so much debris. An old turned-over bird bath lays by a large Oak. A patio chair is toppled over a wrought iron table next to the front porch. We stumble over a few other odds and ends on our way to the front stairs.

The sound of breaking glass stops both of us in our tracks. Alex motions me to stay where I am and walks slowly up the steps, careful not to make any sharp movements. He looks back at me and motions for me to stay quiet. I slowly inch backward, closer to the gate. I push it open for a quick exit, if necessary. My adrenaline is pumping now. If I don’t get to run back I’m going to have to get rid of this energy some other way. Alex finally reaches the door and turns the knob. He pulls the door open and peers inside. He begins to step in and stops abruptly. He stands for a few moments and he doesn't move. I can’t move.

"Alex," I yell in a loud whisper.

He closes the door, skips down the stairs, and jogs to me. He grabs my hand and pulls me out to the road. I try to let go of his hand but he has such a tight hold. I try to pull back, but he doesn't slow down.

"Alex. Slow down. What's wrong?" I ask. I’m having a hard time trying to keep up. He seems upset. But, why?

"It was full of rats. I hate rats. I'm sorry. I can't stand those damn rodents."

"You look really upset," I say. "Did you have some traumatic experience with rats?" I joke. "Willard? It was Willard wasn't it." I laugh. It seems so silly. I can’t seem to imagine Alex being afraid of anything. He is fearless.

Alex continues to look back to the house. His pace grows faster each time and his grip is painfully tight.

"Alex. Stop." I pull hard until he stops. "What is wrong?"

He lets go of my hand and laughs. "I'm sorry. Childhood fear. It is a phobia of mine. I can't be near them or I freak out. Come on." He extends his hand. "Let's go back to the hotel. I'm pretty exhausted."

I grab his hand and continue down the road. The old house grows further and further out of sight. I take one last look. I know I won't have time to visit this house again, but I want to make sure I remember it. I take a long look and embed it in my memory. I notice a flicker of light through one of the windows. It isn't a lightning bug or a reflection from car lights. There is a flicker of light coming from inside the house.

"Alex, stop. There is a light coming from inside the house. What the hell is that?" I inch closer, trying to get a better view without really getting closer.

"Damnit, Analise. Let's go." He pulls me further away. "We need to get away from this place." He yells.

He is scared of rats? Bullshit."I want to see what it is." I insist.

"Stop. You don't need to see what is in that house."

"Okay," I say calmly. I carefully release my hand from his and walk closer to town.

When he is in front of me I quickly turn around and dash back to the house. I want to know more about it. It takes several seconds for Alex to notice I am gone but it isn't long before I hear him yell my name and his footsteps behind me. I am able to reach the door before he reaches the gate. I grab the handle and twist, pushing the door open and revealing what hides inside, besides the flickering light. Alex pushes closer to me and jumps ahead, pushing me behind himself, yelling at the darkness to leave us alone. However, there is nothing there to yell at. No one is in the room, or in the house for that matter. Only a flickering candle sits on a table, illuminating the wall behind it, covered in photos. I push past Alex and walk to the candle, examining the wall. I pull one of the photos to see what the subject is. It is hard to see in the darkness, so I bring it closer to the candle for better light. It's a photo of me, from earlier when we arrived at the hotel. I pull another. Me—from inside the hotel. I pull another and another. They are all photos of me. He has been following me. There are photos from the stops on the way. I can't believe it. I rip them all from the wall and stuff them into my bag so Alex can't see.

Alex runs up from behind and grabs my shoulder. "We have to get out of here before they get back. Those witch fucks are insane. This is dangerous." He drags me out of the house.

I'm too stunned to be able to run. I fall into the long grass as he pulls me across the sidewalk. He pulls me to my feet with little effort and continues to drag me away. We run down the street until we reach the town and drunken crowds. We are breathing heavily now and barely able to walk any further. We sit on the bench closest to us.

Panting, he grabs my hand and brings it to his lips to kiss it. "Don't you ever do that again."

"You said rats, Alex. Rats. What the fuck was that?" I yell.

He closes his eyes, drops my hand and leans against the back of the bench. "I don't know. Crazy cult Satanists? It has obviously gotten around town that those old hags think you are a witch. "We are leaving tomorrow morning. I'm sorry, but these people are obviously insane. I am not taking the chance of you getting hurt."

"What? No. I'm not leaving. This is ridiculous. These are just some crazy kids taking pictures. No big deal. I'm not leaving." I insist. I need to find out what this guy wants. I’m scared to death, but I can’t ignore my need to know who he is and what he wants with me.

"It's already done." He says coldly and stands. He starts to walk to the hotel. He turns and motions for me to follow him.

After the events of tonight, I have no other choice. The bars are now closing, I'm not going back to that house, and I am exhausted. I make my way to the hotel in defeat, following Alex. When he reaches the door he turns to me, holding out his hand. I grab it, pulling myself up the last couple of stairs. We walk through the dim-lighted, empty lobby to the elevator. The grandfather clock chimes. It is three o’clock.

"Ms. Crawford." Will McGregor yells across the lobby. He almost trips over a statue as he tries to run over to us. He straightens up quickly but is out of breath. He is holding an envelope in his hand. "Ms. Crawford. I have a letter for you."

I hesitantly grab the envelope and look for Alex for answers. I look back to Will. "Who is it from?"

Some man came by only minutes before you got in. He was tall. Dark hair. His eyes were almost black." He looks at Alex. "He was actually around your height and build. Creepy young man. Friend of yours?" He smiles.

I ignore his question and look at the envelope in my hand. It has my name on the front. Analise Crawford. I lift the flap and pull the letter from the envelope.

My Dearest Analise,

We will meet soon when we have the luxury of a more private setting. Do you remember yet? I dare say it would make our meeting much more pleasurable.

G.

"What is it?" Alex asks curiously. He inches in more closely to see the letter.

I quickly crumble the letter and stuff it into my bag. "It's nothing." I laugh nervously. "Just asshole kids and witch talk. Childishness." The shakiness in my voice is obvious, but Alex doesn't push the issue. "Thanks, Will. Goodnight." I smile and push the elevator button a couple of times. The doors open immediately. I rush inside and push three. There is now a fire in me. I should be scared of this. I should be running away, but I’m kind of excited.

"Will you be ready to leave first thing in the morning?" He asks.

"Yes."

I chug a bottle of water and crawl into the bed beside Alex. He is already fast asleep. How did he find me again? How did he know I was coming here? He has gone such a far distance for me. Why me? What am I supposed to remember? Who is G? There are so many questions whirling around my head. I can't get a firm grasp on them. I can't analyze them. I'm far too exhausted. I can't sleep, though.

I spend the next couple of hours just running through the events of my life, trying to understand why certain things happened to me—these highly unusual things. None of it has ever made sense to me. The only semi-conclusive idea is that it has something to do with my parents’ death.

Alex rolls over quietly to the edge of the bed and sits up. I close my eyes and pretend I'm asleep. He would be upset to hear I haven't slept a wink all night. I open my eyes slightly to see where he is planning on going at 5 a.m. He stands slowly and walks carefully to the chair, holding my purse. He pulls out the crumbled letter and reads it. He looks angry. Is that pain in his eyes? I suppose I would be too. The letter seems so intimate. At least it is fairly ambiguous. He stuffs the letter back into my purse, grabs a shirt and pants, and quietly leaves the room. I can hear the hotel room door close behind him.

Where is he going? I don't have the energy to follow him. Maybe I am just dreaming. I now feel my eyelids grow heavier.

I am awakened by yelling from the other room. I jump from the bed and run to the door to find out what is going on. Alex already has our luggage by the door and Ashley is yelling at him.

"Analise, this is silly. You can't just leave. You just got here." She yells.

I'm barely awake. I'm certainly not awake enough to argue. "I need to leave," I say.

"Ashley, calm down. You didn't see what we saw. These people are fucking crazy. They posted photos of her all over the wall. Some creep left a letter for her at the desk. I won't let her stay here."

"Whatever. Fine. Your loss. Why are you such a freak?" She looks over at me. She looks more hurt than angry. I can’t be mad at her.

"Oh, great. Thanks for the sensitivity, Ashley. I appreciate it."

She laughs. "I'm just kidding. I'm just pissed. This sucks, dude. You're going to leave me with these losers." She hugs me.

"Oh come on." David moans.

"You will be fine." I hug her back. "I need to shower, then we can leave. Okay?" I cut my eyes to Alex. I want him to understand that I’m still angry at this decision, even though I think I may be okay with it. He can’t know that. It makes me weaker.

"Be fast." Alex grabs the suitcases and walks out the door.

I shower in a record two minutes and toss my things into my bag. I throw my wet hair into a ponytail. I'm ready to go. Alex grabs the rest of my things and makes his way out the door again.

"Where is Taylor?" I ask.

"Passed out." Ashley chuckles. "She couldn't handle the shots.”

"Are you guys going to be okay riding back?" I ask.

"Yea. I've already talked to Chad. We have room." David says, then chugs a Redbull.

"You ready to go?" Alex asks, out of breath from running up the stairs.

"Yea. I guess so. Take lots of pictures for me."

"Dude, I can't believe you are leaving." David tosses a beer across the room to Alex. "Drink a couple on the way."

Alex tosses it back. "Come on, man. Be good, okay?" He is so serious. I’ve never seen him this serious. I would have even accepted him taking the beer and hiding it in the car just to save face with the guys. Is he scared? No. I have seen Alex in more difficult situations. There is no way.

I sleep most of the way back. The lack of sleep last night caught up to me and gave me terrible headaches, so I took a couple of pain pills Alex had. When I wake up I'm not at home. We are pulling up on an open field. "Where are we? What time is it?"

"Don't worry. Liz texted me and told me I could keep you out as long as I wanted."

"You're lying." I sit up and push the hair from my face. Everything seems so foggy. I can’t seem to focus.

He holds his phone to show me the text from Liz, proving his statement. I am still barely convinced because I can’t really see it but go with it anyways.

"It's 1:15 a.m. We are at the Harpers’ field at the end of town."

My mind has finally cleared. I can actually focus on the time now. "Three questions. How the hell did you drive the entire way? How did I sleep for fourteen hours? And why are we at the Harpers’ field?" I ask sleepily.

"I thought we needed one last dose of peace and quiet away from reality before we have to go back home since your vacation was cut short. Times like this are few and far between. Come on." He gets out of the jeep and hops onto the front hood. I follow. It is quiet, except for the croaking bullfrogs and whistling crickets surrounding us. The breeze is cool, but Alex kindly covers me with his jacket. The chill does not seem to bother him.

He points up to the sky. "Orion. It's so bright tonight. It would be impossible to miss it."

I gaze as well, but I am more intrigued by the three stars that make up Orion's Belt. These stars are important to me now. Strange he would point them out to me tonight, after everything that has happened the past few days. That's the last I remember until I awoke at sunrise.

The room is cold. I reach for my covers, but I find none. It is getting so bright. I open my eyes to find the curtains to close them. I am in no room. I am outside, the cold breeze blowing at my face. Where am I? It takes me a minute but I remember where Alex has taken me. The sun is up. It must be late. They are going to kill me. "Alex. Get up. Get up! I can't believe this. They are going to kill me."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Chill out chica. I've already talked to Liz. It's fine. I didn't want to wake you."

"What about me? What about how I feel? Can you take me home?" I get into the car and shut the door.

"Yea." He says, nervously, rolling off the hood.

The ride is painfully quiet. I can't bear to speak, and I think he is too afraid. He doesn't deserve this animosity I'm not even sure why I got so angry. Maybe it’s the anticipation of Dr. Allen's appointment this week. "Look, I'm sorry. It was really sweet what you did. And thank you for driving us back the entire way. You certainly didn’t have to ruin your vacation because of me."

He doesn't say a word. He keeps his eyes on the road like he doesn't hear the words.

"Really. I'm sorry. I've just had an unusual couple of days. I had a really great night. Thank you."

He smiles. "It's fine. I'm sorry too. I just didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful." He looks to me and smiles.

I can't fight the urge to smile back. But, I'm getting that bad feeling again, that nervous-sick feeling.

"Good luck with your appointment coming up. I'll come over afterward. I promised Liz, in return for keeping you out. We are going to play Scrabble.”

"I won't see you before?" I ask

"No. I've got some things to take care of."

"Okay. I guess I'll see you later then."

"Until then." He smiles.

The next four days pass quietly. I get up each morning and run, read through the day, and stay inside. No one is here to see. There is nothing to do. These four days feel like two weeks. Finally, the day arrives. I get to see Dr. Allen—and Alex.