“Doesn’t Manson’s mom live here alone?” I said, my voice barely a whisper. Last I’d known, Manson had been living with his social worker’s family, the Peters, while his mom lived here and his dad went MIA again. Nate turned off the radio and drove slowly along the road, past the front gate toward the far side of the property.

“She died,” Matthew said, and the declaration made my heart lurch. I’d never even known the woman, only that she was usually intoxicated and rarely left the house. “She left this place to Manson, and that freak hasn’t done shit with it. Whole place should be burned to the ground.”

There was a large metal-sided garage on the far side of the property, illuminated by floodlights around its exterior. A mural had been graffitied on the wall that faced the road, depicting the boys’ four cars surrounded by swirls of neon colors. That certainly wasn’t something Manson’s parents would have created. Then who had painted it? One of the boys?

Nate stopped the trunk and turned off the engine. I blinked rapidly in confusion as everyone began to climb out of the truck. “Uh, what are we doing?”

“Having fun,” Danielle said, hanging off of Nate’s side, looking as though her drinks had finally caught up with her. Nate was carrying a massive pair of bolt cutters, and Alex had a hammer, along with an unpleasant smile on his face.

“They’ve actually started calling this place Losers’ Garage,” Mathew said, laughing under his breath. “Like they’re fucking proud of it.”

Panic drenched me in a cold wave as Nate used the bolt cutters to snip through the fence. This wasn’t merely a prank, this was literally breaking and entering.

“Don’t they have dogs?” Matthew whispered as he slipped through the fence ahead of me.

“Dogs?” I said. “There are dogs here?” I hung back, but Candace grabbed my arm before she crouched to squeeze through the fence and pulled me with her.

“Shut the hell up,” Alex hissed. “I don’t give a fuck if they’ve got trained elephants on the property.”

We crept along the interior of the fence, everyone staying low. This was truly unhinged. There was no way in hell we should be here.

I should have turned around. But it was like watching my own train wreck, as if some part of me had already accepted that something awful was going to happen.

We reached the side of the garage. A camera was aimed at the door there, illuminated by an overhead light, and Nate followed its trail of wires to a small gray box. More tangled wires and circuit breakers were within, and Danielle said, “Do you know which ones to cut?”

“Nope,” Nate said, before he swung the bolt cutters like a baseball bat and smashed the breakers. The flood lights flickered and went out, plunging us into near total darkness. Nate kept going, cutting through the wires with reckless determination.

“Guys, this is really —”