Fake Me To Church

Chapter 21.1 - Deck the Halls

- STEVEN -

"A-Alice?" I asked, my voice shuddering. "Who's Alice?"

Myra sighed on the other end. "No one really knows."

"Huh?" I felt my eyebrows wrinkle. "What do you mean, 'no one really knows'? What is she, a freaking ghost?"

"It's—it's complicated," Myra drew another heavy breath. "Before Lane...there was Alice. Elizabeth Martin's first daughter."

My jaw dropped. "What!?"

"That's right," Myra affirmed. "Lane had a sister...well, depending on who you believe."

"Mrs. Gravestepper, what are you even saying? Who is Alice, and...and why hasn't anyone thought to mention her before?"

"Because the only people who knew about her still care about Elizabeth..."

"I—I don't understand," I mused. "I mean, I get that Lane's mom might be upset about her daughter's disappearance, but—"

"No, Steven, that's not it. It's...oh, it's all so terrible—so wretchedly horrid! And now Alice is...and Lane, and...and I just can't believe this!"

"It's okay, Mrs. Gravestepper," I heard Ahmed whisper, no doubt putting his arm around her shoulder. "It's okay. Why don't you start from the beginning? You said something about Alice being Lane's sister. Was she older or younger?"

"Older—so much older. And she may not even have been Lane's real sister." Myra hesitated. "Elizabeth Martin came to this town almost thirty years ago. She came with her husband, Everett, and a shameless, misbehaving teenage daughter...Alice. That girl put gray hairs on her mother's head faster than Elizabeth could dye them. Spreading nasty rumors about her teachers, running off to kiss boys under bleachers in the middle of class, writing explicit notes to the football coach—Alice did it all. And she was proud of it, proud to have her mother running after her cleaning up her messes, proud to have the boys drooling over her; it was disgusting. That child was a monster, and she—"

"Bro! What's up!?" A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, jarring my concentration and making me drop my phone to the coffee-shop floor.

"What the heck!?" I whirled around, fists balled as I faced my brother. "Cam, what gives!?" I yelled, probably louder than I should've, then stooped to pick up my fallen phone. I must've pressed End Call by accident; the screen was black when I gripped it in my right hand. "Dude, I was in the middle of something!" I barked.

"Bro, chill," Cam held up both hands. "Sorry—didn't know you were talking to the freaking pope. My bad."

I growled. "Cam, what are you doing here?"

He chuckled. "Is that, like, a real question? I'm getting coffee, bro."

"No," I pressed, "I mean what were you doing with...her?" I pointed in the direction of where that girl—Alice, Mia, whatever her name was—had been sitting.

"It's called a conversation." Cam placed a hand on my shoulder and gave another laugh. "Steven, what's the deal with you? You seem really freaked..."

"Forget it," I growled, shrugged off Cam's hand. "Just forget it, okay?" I clicked my phone screen back on to dial Ahmed again.

"Steven..." He replaced his hand on my shoulder. "Bro, come on. I'm serious."

"No, Cam!" I almost screamed, shaking off his hand again. "Just leave me alone!" I heard him shuffle uncomfortably behind me, stuffing his hands inside his pockets.