Have you ever woken up DEAD? Well I did... when I was eight years old I woke up in my bed covered in blood. I found my mother, father, and baby sister all dead in their sleep. Soaked in blood. From then on I felt like death. Everyone around me dies...
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LYDIA WHIRLS THROUGH THE CROWD, smiling brilliantly while a strange atmosphere descends over the party. People dancing close, couples making out. Everyone drinking now, Lydia hands a cup to someone who hasn't tried the punch, Matt.
Raising the plastic cup to his lips, he pauses, finding Allison. Catching his eye, she slips behind a group of people, disappearing from view as fast as she can. Disappointed, Matt tosses the full drink into the trash and moves into the crowd while Scott steps back, eyes locked on Jackson standing near the guest house, alone.
Breath tightening, Scott glances to his fingers. No claws yet. Before he can lower his hand, a drink is placed inside his open palm by a smiling Lydia.
"I can't drink tonight."
"Are you driving?"
"No."
Lydia smirks, "Are you incredibly lame?"
"I hope not."
"Then drink it. I worked on this thing for hours. There's no alcohol in it. Just have a sip. One sip."
About to protest, Scott notices Allison talking to Matt by the door to the main house. Eyes darkening, Scott watches her nod, acquiescing to some request of Matt's.
"No."
"Are you working early?"
As Allison follows Matt inside the main house, Scott raises the cup, seeming to not even think about it. Lydia waiting expectantly beside him, Scott finally drinks.
Lydia smiles, "It's good, right?"
Scott stares at the punch in awe before nodding, "Actually, yeah. Really good." With a few quick gulps, he finishes it and grabs another one.
Allison steps into a bedroom with Matt. She takes a last sip of Lydia's punch, sets the empty cup down and turns to him.
"You get two minutes."
Matt moves to close the door. But Allison gives him a look.
"Right, okay. So, I know I took some pictures of you, I should've told you about. But try to look at it another way. Is it really that bad? That I think you're beautiful?"
Allison keeps her eyes on the door. People pass by, stepping around an odd figure in dark clothes and black boots.
"Matt, some of those pictures--I don't even know how you took them. And it wasn't just me... I-I saw the ones of Luna too."
"I-I just think both of you were too beautiful to not be the subjects of a perfect photograph. And how they were taken was with a telephoto lens. Come on. Photographers call them candids."
"And police officers call it stalking."
For a brief second Allison sees the figure in black again, a crossbow held low. But in the flash of bodies passing, the figure is gone.
