Dying Is The Easy Part

Chapter Eight: January 10th

Quinn was on edge all throughout the weekend. Every time there was a rustling sound, every time something moved in their peripheral vision, every time they felt a cold breeze, their head snapped around in hopes of seeing Vincent.

The two nights before, they had gone to their usual classroom, but Vincent had been nowhere to be found. The only thing keeping Quinn company had been the image of him in the narrow alley, flickering in and out of existence as he stared at the spot where his home had once been.

Thinking back to it, Quinn felt sick—even more so because they hadn't noticed the exact instant he'd disappeared. What if that moment in the alley had been the last time they'd seen him, and they hadn't even known? What if, in taking him there, Quinn had unintentionally made him even weaker? Vincent hadn't exactly been solid before, but the day before, with the snow simply drifting through his fragile form, he had been even less; the shadow of the shadow of a boy.

Monday night, Quinn entered the art building minutes after the last evening class had ended. They curled up on one of the uncomfortable chairs, one knee drawn to their chest as they watched the minutes tick by on the clock. The uneasy feeling that had settled in their stomach grew with every passing second. With Vincent nowhere to be seen, they became acutely aware of just how alone they were. After the nights spent with him, they had almost forgotten how long the hours between dusk and dawn could stretch, how the shadows tended to move and the wind seemed to whisper when you were afraid.

When the clock struck eleven and there still hadn't been a single sign from Vincent, Quinn got to their feet. Their steps echoed loudly from the walls as they made their way through the dark corridors, their shoulders drawn to their ears. By the time they were outside, stumbling down the narrow path that led to the dorm building, the familiar anxiety was digging its claws into their marrow as if it had never left.

They had almost reached the front door when a distinct snap behind them made them spin around, Vincent's name already on their tongue.

Instead, they turned to face two children standing a few feet down the path.

"Hello," one of them tentatively said. It was a girl who looked to be around eight years old—younger than Hannah, for sure, but older than the little boy hiding behind her. "Are you Quinn?"

Quinn could only nod, their brain still trying to process what they were looking at. The pair looked more solid than Vincent, more solid than Hannah, even more solid than the girl with red hair. The only hint that they weren't entirely here was the fact that, despite being barefoot in the snow, neither of them had left any footprints or seemed to be particularly cold. In addition, they seemed to be wearing pajamas; the boy a blue one with the Monster's Inc. logo, the girl a pink one with Ariel from The Little Mermaid.

"I'm Josie Thompson," the girl offered when Quinn didn't say anything. "And this is my brother, Caleb." She gave him a small nudge. "Caleb, say hi to Quinn."

The boy peeked out reluctantly from behind his sister's back. "Hello."

Josie turned back to Quinn, beaming expectantly. Meanwhile, Quinn suddenly felt sick to their stomach. "Thompson," they murmured. "Is... is your dad Adam Thompson?"

Both of them nodded.

Caleb and Josie Thompson. The children of the man who had been Oakriver's mayor for one week in 2001 before he, his wife and his children had been killed in a house fire caused by Valerie's family. Their names still echoed around the town; when they'd visited the cemetery, Quinn had noted that their headstones seemed to be the most frequented, barely visible under the number of flowers and toys people had left there.