"Jaxson and Carter dead." The words hung in the air like a bad smell, sour and inescapable. Everyone in the classroom shifted uncomfortably, exchanging confused glances, but no one was more unsettled than Ethan. 'What happened? How did they die? 'His mind churned, a storm of questions he couldn't voice. Ms. Rivera cleared her throat, her tone measured as she continued, "Though the nature of their deaths is unknown, police are speculating it to be suicide based on evidence found near the old bridge—personal items like wallets and phones, suggesting they jumped. There were also reports of erratic behavior from witnesses."
Ethan's stomach twisted. The explanation felt flimsy, like a puzzle missing half its pieces. Fear prickled at the back of his neck. He knew something was wrong—really wrong—but he couldn't pin it down. Ms. Rivera pressed on, oblivious to his spiraling thoughts. "So, over the weekend, there'll be a funeral for them. Ryan and his group have been given two weeks off school to mourn." She paused, then forced a smile. "With that out of the way, let's start class."
The lesson dragged. Ethan scribbled answers to worksheets, but his mind was elsewhere, replaying the teacher's words. No bodies. Just wallets and phones. Witnesses. It didn't add up. When the bell finally rang, he grabbed his bag and shuffled out with Jamie toward art class, his thoughts a tangled mess.
In the art room, Ethan slumped into his seat, the air thick with the sharp scent of acrylic paint and the faint tang of turpentine. He stared at the still-life setup—a bowl of apples and a crumpled cloth—trying to focus. His pencil hovered over the paper, but his heightened senses betrayed him. The scratch of charcoal from the girl next to him grated like nails on a chalkboard. The paint fumes stung his nose, overwhelming, and he swore he could hear the faint drip of a faucet somewhere in the room. Then, a whisper cut through the noise—two classmates across the table. "Did you hear about Jaxson and Carter? They say they were acting weird before it happened." Ethan's grip tightened on his pencil. Weird how? He wanted to ask, but his throat locked up. He scratched a shaky line onto his paper, the apple in his drawing more a smear than a shape, his concentration shattered.
Art class ended too soon, and Ethan trudged to lunch with Jamie. The cafeteria buzzed with chatter, but he barely tasted his sandwich, his mind still on the morning's announcement. After eating, he pulled Jamie aside to a quiet corner near the bleachers, the hum of the school fading behind them. "About Jaxson and Carter," he started, voice low, "The whole situation's suspicious. Suicide? I think it's a cover-up. Maybe they died in a supernatural way."
Jamie frowned, chewing it over. "But if it's a cover-up, does that mean the police don't have the tools to spot something supernatural, or are they in on it too?"
Ethan's face paled as a memory clicked into place. "Wait. The other day, in the stall, when Ryan caught me—he looked me in the eyes and said I had to forget everything. I thought he was just messing with me, but what if he was hypnotizing me? Maybe that's how they've dodged cameras and questions."
Jamie sucked in a sharp breath, eyes wide. "No way. If they can do that, we're totally at their mercy."
The possibility hung between them, heavy and cold. They stood there, lost in thought, until the bell jolted them back to reality. Physics class passed in a blur—formulas and lectures barely registering—and soon it was time for the last period: P.E.
On the track, Ethan laced up his sneakers, the afternoon sun beating down. Coach barked orders for a warm-up lap, and Ethan jogged out with the others. Usually, he'd be wheezing at the back, but today was different. He finished mid-pack, not first, but not last either. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his breaths came steady, not ragged. Coach clapped him on the shoulder as he crossed the line. "Look at Ethan that's what effort looks like, folks. Used to be last—now he's keeping up. Improvement, people!" Ethan forced a smile, but inside, he felt a flicker of something else. This wasn't just effort. It was more.
Mia, stretching nearby, watched him with a curious glint in her eyes. Her gaze lingered on him a little longer than usual, taking in his steadier stride and sharper focus. When Ethan glanced her way, she offered a small smile before quickly looking down at her shoes. Ethan's heart gave a quick thud—he wasn't sure why her attention stuck with him, but it did. He shook it off, turning back to Coach's next drill.
After P.E., Ethan was grabbing his backpack when Jamie jogged up. "I'll bring the package later, buddy," Jamie said with a grin.
"No problem. See you later—and thanks, I mean it," Ethan replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He still needed a new door after last week's chaos. He stopped by a furniture shop on the way home, picking out a sturdy oak replacement and arranging delivery for later. When he got to his place, he tossed his keys on the counter and made a quick peanut butter sandwich, the bread sticking to the roof of his mouth as he ate. Jamie would be over soon, and the door was due that evening. He tried to distract himself with homework—algebra equations swimming on the page—but his mind kept drifting back to Jaxson, Carter, and Ryan's piercing stare.
A knock broke his trance. He opened the door to find Jamie holding a small brown box, his expression half-joking. "You owe me big time for this. Had to sneak around so my mom wouldn't ask what I was carrying."
Ethan managed a laugh. "Okay, so how are we doing this?" Jamie shifted his weight. "What's your plan?"
Ethan rubbed his chin, thinking. "How about this: after you leave, I'll lock the house and text you before I start. If I don't message you after ten or twenty minutes, assume something's wrong."
Jamie's brow furrowed. "That's kinda risky, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I know, but it's all I've got right now. Unless you've got a better idea. I'll chain my legs too, so if I lose control, I can't get out."
They hashed it out a bit longer—pros, cons, what-ifs—until Jamie nodded. "Alright. Be careful, man." He handed over the box and headed out with a wave. Ethan shut the door, staring at the package on the table. 'I'll do this after the door delivery', he decided. He couldn't rush it—not with stakes this high.
The evening crawled by. He scrolled through social media—game trailers, memes, anything to keep his nerves at bay—but his eyes kept flicking to the box. Finally, the delivery truck rumbled up. Two guys hauled the new door in, and Ethan directed them to set it against the wall. He'd install it tomorrow. Right now, he had bigger problems.
He locked the front door, double-checking the bolt, and grabbed the box. After that he chained his legs on to the bed frame and with chains and a lock. He took out his phone and typed a quick message to Jamie: "I'm about to open it." He hit send and waited, his pulse ticking up. A moment later, his phone buzzed with Jamie's reply: "Be careful. Don't take any risks."
He pocketed the phone, steeling himself. Whatever was in that box, whatever he was about to do, it was his next step into the mess Jaxson and Carter's deaths had dragged him into? Something's not adding up. The question gnawed at him as he sat down, ready to face what came next.