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<h2 style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Chapter IV - '''Coming Very Soon'''</span></h2>
“This school is going to kill me,” Adrienne moans, smacking her head down on her desk.
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“If only,” grumbled Nicholas Brooks, using a Sharpie to draw on a desk.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Adrienne’s voice was muffled by her desk, but she proceeded to flip him off, furthermore explaining her unintelligible answer.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">He smiled, still looking down at his graffiti.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Hey guys,” Royce grinned half-heartedly, taking a seat next to me.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Hey, Bry!” Nick called from the back of the room. “You get any sleep last night? You look like shit.”
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Adrienne muttered more profanity. Royce’s expression dropped to aggravated, and then to an annoyed glare, directed at the blackboard. “Hell.” Adrienne continued. “I think I was up until past four.”
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">My eyes shifted away from them. “Yeah. Me, too.”
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Royce glanced at me, and then looked away nonchalantly. “Where’s Jon?”
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Shrugs from Nick and Adrienne, who has sat up and is beginning to examine her nails.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“I haven’t seen him since Thursday,” I say, checking my watch. “Where’s Hale?”
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Royce sighs. “Knowing that woman, she probably had to get towed after swerving a leaf lying on the road.”
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Or OD’ing on her anti-anxiety pills.” Adrienne chuckles.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">I notice how her gaze keeps flickering around the room.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Traveling from ghost to ghost.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Dri?”
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Her eyes lock on mine. “Bry?”
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Are…''they'' here?”
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Everybody looks at me. My pulse races, blood hammering in my ears. We almost never directly address the ghost situation. I mentally hit myself. Situation? More like –
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Bry, you’re losing it.” Nick snorts, but he glances pointedly at the door. I look and a second later Hale scurries into the room.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Hello children,” she breathes, unloading a ton of supplies from her book bag. Adrienne snorts and whispers to me: “Children? She’s like four months older than us,” She snickers. That’s an overstatement. Brittany Hale is nearing thirty, and seems to think of us as her personal help assignment. None of us respond.
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Hand in your papers,” she says, turning to face us. Her wacky indigo glasses are glittery and the frames are shaped like sideways leaves. I roll my eyes and pull out a two-thousand-word essay on the French Revolution I finished – and started – last night with Royce. Hale opens her glossy lips to begin the days lecture.
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Jonathon explodes into the room, his scar-damaged face red from exertion.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“The French nobility–,” Hale begins, gesturing for effect.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Call help!” he shouts. I jump at the furious pitch of his voice.
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Jon! “ Royce exclaims. Ms. Hale is confused. She glances at the doorway.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Jon?” Nick questions from the back of the room.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Call help ''now''! Someone’s been murdered! Call the police!”
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">He disappears back into the hallway. Chairs crash to the floor. Adrienne is already on her cell phone, hyperventilating as she is put on hold for a brief moment.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">I’m racing down the corridor as fast as my heels will take me. Nick is ahead of me while Royce is right at my right.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Jon rounds a tight corner and Nick dashes after him, but his leg gives out and he hits the ground. “Nick!” Adrienne shouts, pushing forward to see if he’s okay. Nick’s leg was badly damaged during the fire, and he’s had to drop all sports. Royce flies by me, catching up with Jon. He’s screaming his name.
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">“Jon! Jon! Where are you going? What happened?”
</span></p>
<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">I’m running out of breath. I drop to the ground as if someone shoves me from behind. Smoke curls down my throat and I gag, vomiting on the floor. I search for the source of the putrid air, but find nothing.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">Nick and Adrienne are near me. I crawl over to them, and sirens are blasting down the halls. Nick is on his back, gripping his right leg and grunting in what must be extreme pain. Adrienne has her hands over her ears, tears falling from her eyes. She falls to her side, curled tight around her legs. I scream her name, but I’m choking and my vision is failing. Just as my eyes drift closed, I get a clear view of a hundred roiling, pale, contorted shapes converging on Adrienne. An invisible dome seems to surround Nick, where he is still fighting the pain in his leg. Like a force field, the spirits pour around and over it, but the hallway is startlingly overcrowded.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">A single red-gold form towers over me, malice glinting in his eyeless sockets.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">It mouths something to me, but all I hear is distorted sirens and the wail of a thousand spirits.
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<p style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;text-indent: .5in"><span style="font-family:"Arial Narrow","sans-serif"">I black out.
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