THIS BOOK WILL KILL YOU

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I just know I'm going to dream about the witch. But when I wake it's dawn, and all I dreamed about was water—not a dream, as such, but how sleep itself felt, a big, dark lake, perfectly smooth, not so much as a ripple on the surface.

I'm tired, though. I ache with it, even though it's the best night's sleep I've had in a long time. It hurts to move my eyes in their sockets and I think maybe mom's right, maybe my laptop is slowly killing me. There's nothing of yesterday in my head until I sit up and it slides down the inside of my skull and into my eyes. I see the cops, I see Cara's photo, I see the party, and a cramp rolls over my stomach.

I reach for my laptop, the same way I do every morning, remembering it's out of juice. I grab my cell instead, seeing five messages and two missed calls from Flint. I know what they're going to say, and I'm right.

Where u?

Tommi you twat, answer me. You ok?

Tommi?

You oka? Gonna call your mom.

Duck you, douche move.

I write sorry as a reply, but I don't send it. She's right, it was a douche move. I should have texted her when I got home. I barely even remember getting home. Had mom been in the bath? Hovering outside my door? The whole evening feels half real, like my dreams have slipped loose, like they'd started and finished before I even went to bed. When I draw back the covers I see I'm still in my clothes, too, and with a jack-in-the-box jolt I wonder if somebody slipped something into my bottle, or if Flint somehow got me to swallow one of her little pills to help me relax, because that part of the night has gone completely.

Something moves in the bathroom, an echoing squeak of heavy flesh in the tub, the slosh of water. I need to pee but I can wait, so I head downstairs instead. I'm the first one up, the drapes drawn, the house yet to take a breath. I put coffee on, put bread in the toaster, brush crumbs off the counter while I wait, staring at that weird pattern of black mould on the kitchen wall. My brain's still catching up, little chunks of yesterday falling into place. I ought to leave it well alone, but I know I won't. That's the trouble with having a writer's brain, you cannot let a sleeping dog lie.

I must have woken mom up because she's staggering from her bedroom, half dead, when I walk up the stairs. She looks at me through her limp hair, grunts something about coffee.

"In the pot," I say as I walk into my room, closing the door behind me. I take a breath, feeling knackered from just climbing the stairs, feeling like there's not enough air in here. It's better when the windows are open, the cold air entering the room like the first explorers on a new continent, slowly, as if there's danger here.

Back under my duvet, laptop plugged in, toast eaten, coffee cooling on the table. I'd spend my whole life here if I could, if I thought mom wouldn't kick me out on my ass. I run my finger between the keys, brushing away crumbs, until the laptop finally has enough juice to crawl back up from its grave. It seems to take forever before it's ready for me, and I wonder if it's so reluctant because it knows where I'm about to take it.

I take a sip of coffee, swallowing even though it's still too hot. Then I start with Cara Pierce's Facebook page. I'm surprised to see that her profile picture has changed, and I can't for the life of me make out what it's supposed to be. It's just a black square with two out of focus yellow circles, almost like eyes, and two fat lines growing up from the middle, arms maybe. The whole thing is blurry. I click on the photo and it should take me to the next one, and it does, only this one's exactly the same, so's the next. They're all like this, some Facebook glitch maybe.

Tanner's page is still missing, deleted last night after I messaged him. I can't quite believe I did that, it feels like an utterly alien act, way too brave for me. I scroll through Cara's other friends but there's nobody there I recognize—Megan aside—so I click the creeepy.com tab and load up Cara's profile. I scan the list of stories she liked or commented on, finding the one I was looking for.