Honey

Chapter One

"Oh, boy, you're going to have a field day explaining this to your parents, Bradley," I said, nervously picking at my nail beds and looking at my toes which were hidden in the tall, green grass of the public park.

It was about midnight right now and Bradley and I had been playing catch in the park, even though we were supposed to be at home holed up in bed; that's what the curfew says anyways. You see, people have been going missing lately and basically, once the bodies were found, well, they had their throats slit and they were drained of blood. Some of the boys at Darwin McCall High started a rumor saying it was Tommy Jones, the serial killer up in New York City, but honestly I think it's a vampire. Maybe I'm just being silly though, since all them are supposedly extinct and stuff.

Oh, but that's not the dang point, we were more likely to be killed by Bradley's parents than Mr. Jones let alone a darn vampire. As I said before, Bradley and I had been playing catch in the park and we were trying to see who could throw harder and knock each other to the floor- and yeah, we know, not exactly lady like, but we aren't looking to be; much to our momma's dismay. Tragically, we had been stupidly doing this in front of the small memorial statue of the Donnivan's thirteen-year-old daughter, Marie, who died last summer. And, well, Bradley threw the ball so hard that it, uh, well, it took off her arm.

"Honey-Bell Thompson stop picking at your damn nails! You're going to ruin them!" Bradley frowned, forehead creasing in mock horror. "And I know! Everyone's going to freak on me! And the Donnivan's son, Lucas, is going to be so, so mad, and," she sucks in a breath so hard she almost chokes herself. "Oh no! His parents are going to hate me!" She starts pacing in a square form, making sharp turns, with her arms interlocked behind her back.

Stooping she picks up Gabriel, "our" cat, and kisses him smack on the eye, which prompts him to paw her face away and lick her chin. "Come on Honey, we have to go home, it's getting late and we have to get up early for swim," she says, surprisingly lightly as if all her stress had just vanished. I frown, that girl sure has some rapid mood swings, I guess it makes sense though, she is bipolar after all. That sounded bad, I just mean that she literally is bipolar. I love her to death do us part, I truly do. However, sometimes she worries me that she doesn't tell Mr., Dickens, her psychiatrist, everything that she should.

Anyways, there's 223 of us living on an island a bit north of Wisconsin, and right now it was about to pour down bucket loads of rain. Large, dark clouds were rolling up right above us, so Bradley and I hurried our butts on into our homes about two and a half blocks away from the good ol' park.

Bradley and I have been neighbors all our lives and our parents were each other's neighbors their whole lives too. So we were pretty much family, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Today was now Saturday as of an hour ago and I had decided to spend the night, so we quietly climbed the trellis along the side of her house up to her bedroom window after putting Gabriel through the kitty door.

"Bradley hurry your butt up! It's not going to be just sprinkling much longer!" I whispered loudly from below her. Her head was about an inch above the window sill and she was zoning onto something through the window, suddenly her head snapped down to me and her eyes were large and doe eyed as her face lit with fear.

"There's someone in my room, Honey. And it's not someone from my family!" She mumbles to me roughly.

If she were any other person, I'd say she was being ridiculous. Why would anyone besides someone from her family be in her room after all? This was Bradley though, her instincts had always been right in the past, not once had they been wrong. Ever. Not when George Kingsley, the only foreigner here, liked me and was going to ask me out, not when Mary from camp was going to be a teen mom, not when Lola the cheerleader was cheating on Jimmy the hottest guy at school, and not even when Mrs. Finkle, our neighbors cat, got pregnant five times in a row. So I knew she wasn't wrong now.

I could feel my own face become one carrying a look of terror that mirrored her own. "Honey move it. Now," she muttered, voice high pitched for a whisper, as if she were about to pass out. She had gone even paler than her already ivory complexion, and her breath was coming much faster as she started to hyperventilate.

I began to scramble down the trellis, my feet slipping on wet vines that encased the structure, my hands catching on the wood, giving me splinters and probably bruising my knuckles. All the while Bradley was peeking into her room, "Bradley! Hurry up! We need to go to Sheriff Vaughn before Amy and your parents are in any danger, if they aren't already!" I breathed, my voice strained, filled with tension and anxiety.

She rapidly moved her head back and forth between the room and I. "Bradley! Now!" I stammered painfully, my brow creasing in concern. Abruptly, she dropped like a sack of potatoes as she stepped off the artwork of vines and woodwork against her beautiful home, but landed amazingly delicately. Note to self: Ask Bradley how in God's name she did that; if we get the chance anyways.

The only thing not delicate about her landing was the fact that she knocked me over and I fell into a bunch of empty garden pots, swiftly knocking over three of them, which broke two small ones behind them. Besides the light patter of rain hitting the roof, everything had been dead silent, except now the sounds of shattered ceramic meeting concrete reverberated throughout the small backyard.

Bradley and I froze, immediately listening for any signs that the intruder inside had heard the breaking of the ceramics. After about twenty seconds had passed my tense shoulders had relaxed in relief, however, Bradley was still stock-still, fear tainting her pretty blue-gray eyes, pupils fully dilated.

"Br-," I moaned in desperation, only to be interrupted by her manically waving her hand across her closed mouth in a "zip it" motion. Halfway through her who-knows-what-time pass over her lips she stopped, becoming even tenser, and her brows flew up underneath her flat, pale blonde bangs. Her mouth popped open and I could remarkably still hear her labored breathing over the now spouting rain, pinging gaudily against the rooftop.

"Honey, get up, get up, get up! Now! It's time to go!" She whimpered noisily and her face fell and she looked as if she might cry. Catching me unawares she yanked me by the elbow until I was standing. Wide-eyed and dazed at how a five foot two (and a half) girl could so easily pull me up when I was eight (and a half) inches taller than her and about thirty pounds heavier, but I didn't have time to find an answer to my question because she quickly grabbed my hand tightly in her own and began to sprint.

She shoved the back fence open and we flew through it, into the street. My hand was gravely white in hers, unusual considering how tan I am, and I could no longer feel my fingertips. Tearing down the first block, in the opposite direction of the park we had been at not too long ago, we ran into a large alley between a huge hotel and a cluster of apartments. Although I was extremely confused I followed after her, just as fast.

With no streetlights, it was difficult to see through the thick fog and pouring rain, and I dashed aimlessly behind her through the path. Barely clearing large trash cans, buckets of junk, and bags full of who knows what, we finally made it into a vast clearing of tall grass and tons of weeds that came up to Bradley's shoulders and to the middle of my upper arms. In large winding trails we ran through the thick grass and weed mixture in the direction of... the Mayor's house?

I slowed down, Bradley pulling my arm roughly to keep me moving, but I was now beyond confusion, and I was definitely stunned, almost into absolute silence. Almost. "Bradley, why are we going to the Mayor's house?" I asked, raising my voice enough to be heard over the shower of rain.

She looked back at me as if I were stupid, "We're not going to the Mayor's house we're going to Miranda's mom, Layla's, house. We need to see her. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, but I couldn't, you'll understand later, okay? But right now we really need to get to her house," She said, practically screaming to be heard over the rain now.

I didn't even think about it, I just hastily started running again, nodding hysterically, my mouth now set in a firm line. This was Bradley Stevens, my best friend; I trusted her deeply, with my life even, possibly.

Our blonde hair slicked against our skin, long tendrils sneaking their way into our mouths, and our breath coming in puffs which looked like smoke, as we ran.

We ran like hell was nipping at the backs of our ankles, and I was afraid that that feeling was going to become all too familiar.