The drive back home was nothing like the ride to the shore. Instead of random conversation, loud music, and screechy singing, Lyla heard only the quiet of the road and an occasional groan from her badly sunburned friend. Bundled in her hoodie and blanket, Darcy shivered in the passenger seat, her lips and freckled skin blistered.

"I'm never buying that spray-on sunscreen again," Darcy muttered. "It's worthless."

Behind the wheel, Lyla glanced over at her friend. "Hey, drink your Gatorade."

"Stuff's gross," Darcy complained. "Pull over. I'm gonna hurl."

"The sign says there's a rest stop in twelve miles."

"Never gonna make it. Pull over. Now."

Lyla steered the car onto the shoulder of the road. Before the car had come to a complete stop, Darcy flung open the door and yacked. She wiped her mouth with a napkin and threw it out the window.

"I'm gonna sleep. Just drive," said Darcy. She folded herself into the blanket and curled into the fetal position.

Lyla drove with one eye on the road, the other eye on her sun-poisoned friend who'd drifted off to sleep. Her snoring escalated from the occasional wheezing to window-rattling snorting.

Up ahead, Lyla noticed a figure standing along the side of the road.

Seriously? Is that dude hitchhiking? Who even does that?

Now closer, she could see a young man in a faded green jacket. He wasn't hitchhiking, he was just standing there.

She squinted into the glare of the sun.

Without warning, he bolted onto the highway, directly into her lane. She swerved, narrowly avoiding a car in the passing lane. The driver blasted the horn.

"Holy shit!" Darcy sprung to an upright position in her seat.

Lyla stared into the rearview mirror. The figure was gone.

"There was a..."

"You trying to get us killed?"

Lyla trembled. "There was something in the road."

"Please don't make me drive. I can't deal," Darcy huffed.

"I'm fine. Really."

Darcy wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, curled up in the seat, and eventually managed to fall back asleep.

As they passed the highway sign that read, Welcome to Pennsylvania, Lyla felt the urge to pee, but she was on a mission. No more rest stops, her next stop would be home.

Just after sunset, she surprised her father when she lugged her bag through the front door.

"I thought you weren't coming home until tomorrow," he said.

"Darcy got sick."

"That's too bad."

"It's okay. I had enough." She sighed. "We have anything to eat? I'm starved."

"I'll order a pizza."

Lyla lugged her suitcase up to her room, swung it onto the bed, and opened it, releasing the musty odor of damp clothes. She wrinkled her nose, then tossed her bathing suits and shorts onto the floor.

What the hell?!

She was stunned to discover the gray and white striped top among the dirty clothes in her suitcase. She'd had enough of this sick game. Lyla grabbed scissors from her desk and went to work cutting the shirt into pieces.

...............................................................................

The weekend crawled along. With no Darcy to hang with, she tried to catch up on some schoolwork with little success. Often, her eyes fluttered shut, and occasionally, she drifted into a cat nap. But the moment she felt herself falling into the cavern of deep sleep, she fought it. She knew what awaited her in the darkest recesses of her dreams - disturbing, ugly, haunting images.

During her naps, Lyla would experience "flickers."

The ocean.

Brightly colored beach umbrellas.

The relaxing sound of the waves crashing, and the smell of the sea air.

The coconut scent of suntan lotion.

Her flip-flops tossing clouds of sand behind her as she walked across the beach.

She found herself in Jack's muscled arms, bobbing in the pool, his deep brown eyes holding hers in a loving gaze. He suddenly looked up.

"We're just playing," he said.

Carissa stood on the pool deck behind Lyla. "Playing what?" she sizzled. "Hide the body?"

"What?!" Lyla gulped.

"Well, he hasn't stayed hidden for long, has he?" Carissa's perfect eyebrows arched. "He's pissed at both of you," she hissed like an angry cat. "You shouldn't have done that."

A gravelly voice shouted at Lyla.

"Hey, you stupid bitch!"

Lyla whipped around to find that she was no longer in the pool. She was standing in Rose's kitchen dressed in her bathing suit, shivering and dripping water onto the floor.

Rose flung a raggedy towel at her and growled, "Clean that up."

Lyla got down on her hands and knees and blotted up the water. She heard heavy footsteps from the floor above her. The ceiling light swung back and forth on its chain as bits of plaster rained down. Rose turned her eyes toward the ceiling and shook her head.

"There he goes again," she said. "He got himself all riled up."

"Who?" Lyla asked.

"Keenan's dad."

"I thought Keenan said his dad was killed in a car acc--" Lyla choked down the end of her sentence.

Rose leaned in closer to Lyla's face. "When there's unfinished business, the Ames boys always get their payback. Always."

Lyla broke free of the dream and threw off her covers. The neighbor's tree branches backlit by streetlights formed undulating shadows on her bedroom wall.