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driveway and onto the road. Loose gravel spewed behind the tires. He then floored it in first gear. The Jeep roared around the corner and then disappeared behind the trees.
    “No…” I said. At least I tried to, but my voice was caught in my throat. I knew what was happening. I knew exactly what was happening, but even still, the idea was too frightening to put into words.
    “What was that all about?” said Zoey. She cast a sideways glance at me, noting the alarm in my face. “Monica? You okay?”
    “Cate…” I said, breathless. “Casey is going after the thing that killed Cate.”

3
    Into the Mist
    My body reacted faster than any sort of common sense could kick in. I raced around the bed and attempted to stuff my feet in my shoes. It was a moment before I caught on to the obvious problem.
    Damn foam.
    Pulling the foamy shit out from between my toes, I slid my shoes on successfully, and flew—fucking FLEW!—out of Zoey’s room.
    “Monica!” Zoey shouted. Her footsteps clapped desperately behind me. “What the hell are you doing?”
    What the hell was I doing? I had no clue. My brain had taken a backseat to my overriding instinct at the moment. Should I tell Mom and Dad?
    No. There was no time. If I did, we’d stand no chance of catching up to Casey. There was only one option, and I was dead set on it before I even realized what it was.
    “I’m going after him!” I said. I flew past Cookie Monster and bolted out the door. The bulldog cocked his head, half-interested, and then laid back down.
    “Wait!” said Zoey. “The police don’t even know for sure what killed Cate!”
    Her voice was already fading. The girl may have had enough spunk for ten people, but I was the one with the legs and lungs for running. Two years of track and field saw to that.
    “That why I have to catch my brother!” I yelled. “I have to talk some sense into him! Go get my parents, Zoe! Tell them what’s happening!”
    I didn’t even know if she heard me, but at this point, it didn’t matter. Crossing the road, I reached the old silver Camry I had received for my sixteenth birthday. Thankfully, I still had my keys on me from Leonardo’s. Jerking the keys in the ignition, the vehicle revved to life. Mimicking Casey’s reckless reverse move, I squealed out of the driveway and roared across the gravel.
    Trees rushed past me in a green and brown blur. The road peaked after a brief incline. Then it dipped down, exposing the curves ahead. Casey’s black Jeep was nowhere to be seen.
    This was insane. What the hell was I doing? From my vantage point, the road ahead forked in opposite directions at several points. Most of these were quickly lost in thick forest and swampland.
    Then I saw it—a metallic flash in the distance. Black separated from black as the Jeep veered right onto Saints Street. I knew exactly where he was heading. A mixture of relief and HOLY FUCK wrenched my insides. The relief came from the fact that Saints Street was not intersected by any other roads. It was a straight shot to its final destination, fifteen miles from here.
    However, the greater part of me—the part which was now having difficulty breathing—knew that Saints Street ended at the Saint Salazar Cemetery.
    I had been there only once. Me, Zoey, and a couple other friends went on a dare, and rest assured, it was as creepy as advertised. Unfortunately, I was way too familiar with the folklore. Nobody tends to it anymore, so naturally, the place is in shambles. I don’t blame them for abandoning it either. Names are scratched off of headstones. Graves are dug up with caskets left open. Corpses have been tampered with. There were even tales of gravediggers from the 1800s found dead in their half-dug graves, impaled by their own shovels. Just really swell stuff, lemme tell ya.
    Why Casey was taking his vengeful hunting trip there was beyond me. Cate sure as hell wasn’t buried there. No one had been in over a century.
    I shot an uncomfortable