He drags a hand through his hair as we enter an unfamiliar neighborhood. “You grew up and found other friends. End of story.”

But the lack of conviction in his voice doesn’t convince me. There’s more he’s not willing to share. “I don’t think that’s true.”

“Why not?” he asks. “Look at where we both ended up. As soon as we moved to middle school, you and Zoe found each other. The rest is history.”

“I’m sure I would’ve preferred to stay friends with you instead,” I say.

He grunts in amusement. “Maybe now, but not back then. I wasn’t all that great.”

The houses here are definitely not as large and extravagant as the ones in my neighborhood. It feels homier, more lived in, like the people here are down to earth, even in the dark. We drive around for a while until we slow to a stop in front of one house in particular.

“Here we are,” Mason announces unceremoniously.

I stiffen, sitting up straight again and peering out of the window. The siding looks yellow, though it’s hard to tell in this lighting, and the motion lights are flickering, lending to the unsettling feeling building in my belly. I press my fingers to the glass, focusing all of my attention on the house, trying to see if it will trigger anything or bring something new to the surface.

The front door opens as a man steps out, bringing out the trash, and the action makes my blood run cold. I remember seeing that door.

A foggy image of my hands pushing it open flashes through my brain, and suddenly I feel as though I’m crying, but when I touch my fingers to my cheek to check, they come back dry.

This is definitely the house I’ve been seeing in my visions. I’m certain I’d remember more if I went inside.

My knee begins to bounce anxiously as I picture myself being followed out by my friends. That doesn’t necessarily mean they did something to me. They haven’t always been the best people to be around, but they’re the only ones who choose to be around me at all. I don’t want them to be a part of this.

“Did we just come to stare at the house?” Mason asks, reminding me that I’m still in his car.

“No,” I say, staring at the lake that’s forming in the driveway. “I just thought seeing it might help.”

“And did it?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

He gives me more time to take in the building before slowly pulling away. I already knew something bad happened to me after I left that house. But what started as a story of my own reckless behavior may be turning into one of deceit and betrayal.

14 | Deny