Seven Minutes to Midnight

13

We found out what the "reconnaissance mission" was the following week at school.

"There's this old graveyard, really old, over in Oakridge," Frank told us at lunch. "It's hidden away, and the cops don't really patrol it. I saw one tombstone from the 1600s."

We hadn't had much trouble with cops at our own cemetery gathering place, but we knew not to bring flashlights or talk too loudly. We also knew that the cops drove by around eleven p.m., and that Mr. Mazur, the cemetery groundskeeper, didn't work late at night. We surmised that he got up very early in the morning to do any grave digging, if he didn't do it during the day outright. Thus, I didn't understand the need to move to a different graveyard.

"What does this cemetery have that Hillside doesn't?" Veronica glared through slitted eyes at Frank. It was clear she didn't think the reconnaissance mission was necessary, which meant she was now jealous of Frank.

"Lane wants to take pictures, and do some vampire rituals that might get loud," Frank explained.

I thought about this. Vampire rituals? "Will this involve sacrificing animals or small children?"

Frank shrugged.

My mouth tightened into a line. I couldn't think of any other rituals that didn't involve killing someone.

Veronica could, and her excitement exploded in a high-pitched squeal. "He wants to turn us!" She was all but clapping her hands together. I imagine that if we weren't in school, she wouldn't have thought twice about bouncing up and down and shrieking like a twelve-year-old girl at a boy band concert.

Frank and I stared at her, as did several other students sitting nearby.

Placing a hand on Veronica's jittering arm, Frank said in a low voice, "We are already vampires, Veronica. We do not need to be turned. Remember?"

A few deep breaths later, Veronica had calmed down. "Yes, I recall."

Still, her eyes gleamed for the rest of the day.

After Veronica dropped me off at home for the afternoon, I pondered these new revelations. If Lane was going to "turn" us, and he needed this hidden graveyard to do so, then the turning was not going to be pleasant. There would be screaming. There would be pain, pain that would make most humans scream.

And this was only if Lane was indeed a vampire, which I suspected he was not.

Thus I could only begin to imagine the trap Lane was setting for us. Many serial killers have a similar level of charisma—women even write to them when they are in prison, wanting to marry them. They lure victims into their lives and torture them until they wish for death, and only then do they kill them. Perhaps this was the unease I felt when Lane looked at me. He was a cold-blooded serial killer.

A kernel of dread planted itself in my stomach.

It grew there all week, and by Friday I was so wrought over by the whole thing that I had made myself sick. The dark circles under my eyes were real, brought on by lack of sleep. I felt weak and quivery because I hadn't been able to eat, because my stomach hurt. When I almost fainted in science class, Mrs. Mathis sent me to the nurse's office. She asked Bethany Caleb to walk me down—she thought Bethany and I were friends.

(Bethany has changed quite a bit from the days in middle school when she looked like a cheerleader wanna-be: since starting high school, she has dyed her hair black and dressed in black and started dating boys in the art crowd. That's the strange thing about going to school with the same 90 kids, year after year. You see them grow with you, and you think you know them, but you have no idea what's really going on. I'm sure Bethany thought my transformation was just as sudden and bizarre as her own. Anyway, Bethany and I both dressed in a gothic manner, and did a lot of art stuff, and sat near each other in Biology because no one else wanted to sit near us, and ended up as lab partners, hence why Mrs. Mathis thought we were friends).

"You look really pale," Bethany said with a completely straight face. I supposed she knew what pale looked like underneath face powder, since she wore it too.

I attempted to be brave. "I think it's just stress—"

I didn't get to finish my excuse, because I vomited all over the tiled floor. And my shoes. And a little bit on Bethany's shoes.

"Oh, gross," Bethany said, quietly like I might not have been able to hear her in Vomit Land.

"Clean up on aisle twelve!" crowed a boy down the hall, and he and his friend cracked up laughing.

"I'll go get some paper towels." Bethany dove into the nearest bathroom and took so long that I figured she was cleaning her shoes first.

I finally made it to the nurse's office, and she called my mother, who came to pick me up and drop me off back at home before rushing back to work. A few more heaves into the toilet and I curled up into bed, waking up only when my cell phone buzzed against my hip.

" 'Lo?"

"Amy! Are you okay?" Veronica actually sounded concerned.

"I'm sick."

"Well, I heard all about that. You threw up in the hallway! Are you feeling any better?"

"Not really."

"Okay." I could hear Veronica chewing on her lip. "We're supposed to go to that new cemetery tonight."

"I know," I croaked.

"Is it okay—I mean, do you mind if we go without you?"

If I'd had the strength to roll my eyes I would have. "Go. Have a great time."

"Oh, Amy, don't be like that. I mean, it's not our fault you're sick—"

"No, seriously. Go. I don't care." It was worrying about the stupid thing that made me sick, and I wanted them to go and get it over with.

"Okay. But don't be mad at me tomorrow, okay? You know we only get to hang out with Lane like once a week, and I didn't get to see him last weekend. I have to see him. You understand, right?"

"Yeah. Really, have a good time. I'm going to go back to sleep."

"Good—you get some sleep. Then you'll be all better in the morning and I'll come over with bagels and tell you everything that happened."

"Sounds great," I said after gagging a little. I hung up and then immediately staggered into the bathroom, where I sat hunched over the toilet for a good three hours.