I told Cecil I would meet them at the vigil and drove to the apartment where the mortician's cat lived. I then looked through the window, checked around, and even knocked and tried to talk to the apartment owner, although that was hard as she really was as deaf as a rock. But no dice, the cat was nowhere to be found.

Well, no use now. I would have to check on him from time to time, hoping to run into the animal.

After getting something to eat, I finally went to the place of the vigil, picking up a candle on my way to blend in properly.

The school offered the football field behind it so that everyone could come. Judging by the number of people, the townsfolk seemed to care about one another. I'd wager not everyone here even knew the victim or the mother. Many people came just to show support.

Most were deep in prayer, murmuring slightly as they stood with the candles.

As it turned out from the police report, I was after five in particular: two girls and three guys who were around when the overdose bodies were found.

The problem was that people came with their children and parents, so the teenagers didn't gather in one spot. I slowly walked around, being silent enough not to disturb the praying people. I had descriptions and names, but that wasn't exactly helpful in this situation.

However, finding them turned out to be much easier than I anticipated. I felt it around the middle of the group. Someone wasn't feeling well, and it was way beyond the grief I sensed all around. The most significant difference was one emotion that wasn't supposed to be present.

Fear.

Why would someone be practically trembling with fear at a candlelight vigil?

I got closer and discreetly looked the person over. It was a teenager about Sandra's age. By the looks, he fit the description of Andrew, one of the people who were there when the overdose happened.

Using emotion as my guide, I found the remaining four. They stood in different parts of the gathering, but all of them radiated fear, uncertainty, and guilt.

I stood to the side, where I had three of the four in my line of sight, and pretended to pray.

I also noticed the ghost hunters at the side. They were recording the gathering, and it seemed they were doing close-ups on the same people I was interested in. Hopefully, they wouldn't get the idea of doing an interview right now. Even I had enough sense not to bother those in prayer.

The vigil took about an hour and ended with a short speech from the mother thanking all those who came to show support during this trying time.

And finally, once it was done, the gathered people began to return home. I kept my eye on the teenagers, but then something interesting happened. I saw that all of them went to their parents and started talking or even arguing. I furrowed my eyebrows and got close to listen in.

The kids were saying they wanted to grieve together in their own way. The parents finally agreed to that and let them go.

After around ten minutes, the group of five gathered on the side and, after looking around, tried to slip away.

I raised my eyebrows at that. I did like it when people made my job easier.

While checking the ghost hunters, I saw a policeman talking to Rey, stopping them from doing anything.

Good.

I then followed the kids. They left the field and moved towards the side where the audience sat during matches.

I walked behind them, extending my consciousness to sense their location, and kept my distance. They finally managed to get under the audience stands. Once under there, they started talking and paid little attention to the surroundings. I approached the wooden construction from the other side and, sitting down, listened in.

"So what do we do?" whispered a male voice.

"I don't know. Why do you think it's because of us?" asked one of the girls.

"Yeah, we don't know for sure…" someone said, clearly not certain about their own comment.

"Oh, please, really, you think this has nothing to do with Peter? What if we die next?"

Silence hung in the air for a few seconds.

"Maybe we can tell the police?"

"I asked my dad, and the police are already looking for him."

"So we can't do anything? We could tell the–"

"Do you want to end up in jail?" Interrupted someone.

Another bit of silence.

"Well, if our plan is to sit around and wait to be killed, then I can go back home and be killed away from you," barked a clearly scared male voice.

"Oh, don't play the saint. You were all for the idea back then. Don't put this on us just because you don't have the strength to lift someone up."

"Fuck you," swore the same voice.

The teens started arguing, and it seemed their talk was winding down.

Perfect time to reveal myself.

I walked around the stands and approached them slowly. They were focused on throwing accusations around and swearing at each other, so it was easy until one of the boys saw me and froze like a deer in headlights.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Why would you need to lift anyone up, I wonder?" I asked as I approached.

I saw that they were panicking, and one of them was preparing to run.

"I need to talk with you about Peter, and if not with you, then maybe your parents," I said quickly, and saw that they all froze on the spot.

That did the job.

"W-What does Peter have to do with anything?" asked the smallest of the guys.

"Well, you tell me," I replied with a smile as I sat down on one of the support beams. "How about you tell me the story? And I promise I won't tell a soul."

"There's nothing to tell," snapped one of the girls.

The rest nodded.

"And who are you, even? You don't look like the police," said Andrew.

"Doesn't matter who I am. What matters is that I got a rather interesting story from Sandra before she died. And all five of you and the two in the morgue had rather significant roles in it. Now, I can go to the police, have them question you, and learn the story from them. Or I can get it from you directly and skip the whole police part. How about that?"

"Sandra told you?" asked one of the girls with wide eyes.

"Parts of it. She did say how guilty she felt about Peter, that for sure. And to be honest, it's not a surprise. So how about you tell me your side, with a proper explanation, so that I can understand why you would do something like that."

The kids looked at one another. That was a lot of generalization on my part, but they were scared, guilty, and confused, so finally, the more petite boy, Oscar, according to the file, started speaking.

"I-It wasn't supposed to go that way. We didn't want to hurt him. Just, you know—"

I raised my hand. "From the beginning."

It was the girl, Macy, who spoke up this time.

"It was about our friend Emma. About a month ago, she told us that the preacher's son was acting strangely, popping up around her, stalking her."

"Yeah, she was scared, and the guy was always weird," Andrew added.

"Weird how?" I asked, curious.

"You know… silent, looking around… creepily. He sat in the back and never spoke to anyone. You know… weird."

"Uh-huh."

That sounded like just some introversion, but whatever. I let them continue.

"We went to the same class for two years, but at the beginning of this semester, Peter's father pulled him from school. So Emma was weirded out when she saw him around. They never spoke in school, and he lived in another part of town. At first, she joked about it, but then it became worse and worse until she finally saw him in the bushes next to her window in the middle of the night."

I furrowed my eyebrows. I would need to meet her. What was it in her that caused such a fascination?

"Okay. Have you tried confronting him about it?" I asked.

"We did. But he acted like he didn't know what we were talking about or just didn't say anything, never acknowledging it. So we started asking around about him. Some kids from the Protestant community said that he was weird and that he did something evil, so his father had to keep him in the house."

That was a lot of "weird." Was it due to some magic, or was it teenage gossip? I hated getting my info from kids.

"So we got scared that he would finally, you know, do something to Emma. We asked Andrew's father about it, but he said in cases like that, the police can't do anything if no crime was committed. So we wanted to warn him…" The teenager ended with awkward silence, looking at the rest in hesitation.

"Finish the story. I promise I won't go to the police."

This pushed her on.

"We asked around and heard from one of the party organizers that Peter came last time. So we came up with an idea to scare him off. We made sure he knew that Emma would be going to the small party. And he did show up…"

It was becoming harder and harder for her to speak until finally the other girls took the lead.

"When we saw him at the party, we told him that Emma was waiting for him and wanted to speak. We lured him to one of the old slaughter boxes. And um.. We wanted to piggy him…"

"Piggy?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.

"When someone gets too drunk at a slaughterhouse party, the older kids hang them on the hook by the belt or trousers, you know, like a pig. Because they're drunk like a pig... It's like– um, a joke…"

A bit of silence descended.

"The plan was to hang him on the hook by his belt and have him hang there until we could record him apologizing and admitting to stalking and swearing he would never do it again. Tell him to squeal like a pig… to, you know… scare him off, so he knows we meant business…"

I saw the people blush and look down in guilt. I imagine saying it aloud without the righteous emotion of "it's to save Emma" made them realize how cruel that was.

"Anyway, so we lured him in and got him restrained, and we wanted to hang him, so we picked the hook and… well, I don't know, it was like… well, the hook."

She tried to explain something she clearly didn't know how to. That was a sign for me. That usually meant magic.

"Describe it without making sense, just the way you felt," I said.

"Well, we wanted to hang him on one of the hooks. They were old and dull. Nothing should have happened. We hung drunk people like that before, many times, but there was this one hook. It wasn't rusted. It was even… nice? It was like we needed to pick that hook to hang him on."

That sounded like one of two things: an anchor or an artifact. They drew the eye naturally, but the fascination she described was much more palpable than I would expect. Was it both? Or something else entirely?

'Abyss, I hate anomalies.'

"So the guys picked him up and got it under his belt. It was just a hook. It wasn't supposed to be sharp on the inside, right? It's just a dull bent piece of metal, but somehow… it had an edge on the inside part. It cut through his belt so easily. When the guys dropped him, it went into his body and cut deep... There was blood…."

I furrowed my eyebrows. I didn't see much blood on the floor of the room, and I did check it quite thoroughly.

"We–we wanted to help. But then…"

I gave them some time to breathe and gather their thoughts. Andrew started to speak now.

"The blood. It, like, started to flow in reverse, and then he grabbed the metal pole and broke the hook free from the clamp while still in his body. And, I don't know, he spoke something, pointed his finger at the guys who lifted him, and they just fell over… d-dead."

The kid shuddered. "He then started to sway and just ran through the doors and then into the forest. We called the police. We didn't want to go to jail. We thought they would find his body in the woods, and we would be murderers. So we said they just fell over after taking something. But then a few days passed, and nothing, no police, no tragedy. And we found out that Peter went back home that night and got grounded."

The kid finished his story.

So I had my patient zero. This sounded like possession, but it happened way too quickly, almost instantaneously.

"So the two who fell over put him on the hook. And whose idea was it? Who gave the command?" I asked, expecting the answer.

"Sandra."

Yep, there it was.

"So do you think he will be after us next?" asked one of the girls.

I couldn't tell, but it was possible.

I shrugged. "Your secret's safe with me. But I don't know who he blames and who he doesn't. Was Emma here today?"

"No." The girl shook her head. "She was feeling too guilty to show up."

"Give me her address. And maybe I will help you with the whole situation."

"How? And who are you, exactly?" Andrew asked, a mixture of anger and fear in his voice. "What can you do? We would need an exorcist for this shit, not a cop."

I smiled. "Well, funny you should say that."

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