The morning light filtering through the classroom windows felt too bright, too normal. Vinny kept his marked arm tucked beneath his desk, the silver lines now dulled to faint scars against his skin. Around him, students whispered behind cupped hands, their eyes darting to Sheila's empty seat. The teachers pretended not to notice, their forced smiles failing to mask the fear in their eyes.
A folded note slid across Vinny's desk. He glanced up just in time to see Deborah's blonde curls disappear through the classroom door. His fingers trembled as he unfolded the paper.
*Library. Lunch. I found something about the tree. —D*
The handwriting was unmistakably hers—neat and precise with that slight tilt to the 'D' he'd always found endearing. Always. The word echoed in his mind. He *knew* Deborah, knew the way she chewed her lower lip when concentrating, the way her nose scrunched when she laughed. But when he tried to recall their first kiss, their first real conversation, his mind hit a wall of static.
The bell rang, jolting him from his thoughts. As he stood, his sleeve rode up just enough to reveal the fading mark. It pulsed once, weakly, like a dying heartbeat.
The library stood eerily quiet at lunchtime, most students choosing to cluster in the cafeteria to gossip about Sheila's disappearance. Deborah waited at a corner table, surrounded by stacks of yellowed newspapers and leather-bound yearbooks. Dark circles shadowed her usually bright eyes.
"You look like hell," she said as he approached.
Vinny managed a weak smile. "You first."
Deborah didn't return the smile. Instead, she pushed a newspaper toward him. The headline screamed up at him:
**LOCAL BOY VANISHES NEAR OAK GROVE—FOURTH DISAPPEARANCE IN A DECADE**
The grainy photo beneath showed a grinning boy with dark, familiar eyes. Deborah's finger trembled as she tapped the image.
"Daniel. My cousin." Her voice barely rose above a whisper. "He was the last one taken before you came."
Vinny studied the photo. Something about Daniel's face tugged at the edges of his memory, like a dream upon waking. The mark on his arm throbbed in response.
Deborah leaned closer, the familiar scent of her shampoo cutting through the musty library air. She flipped through more articles, each documenting disappearances spanning decades—always near the tree, always during storms, always preceded by a new student's arrival.
"And the marks?" Vinny asked, his throat dry.
Deborah hesitated. Then, with a deep breath, she rolled up her sleeve.
Three faint silver lines—older, faded, but unmistakable—curved along her inner wrist.
"I got these the night Daniel vanished," she whispered. "I was there. I saw the Lady take him. But when I tried to tell anyone..." Her voice broke. "The next morning, I couldn't remember his face. Just like you can't remember—"
"Us." The word left Vinny's lips before he could stop it.
Deborah's eyes widened. "You remember?"
Fragments flashed through his mind—Deborah's laugh muffled against his shoulder, her fingers tangled in his hair behind the gym, whispered promises in the dark. Then, like water through his fingers, the memories slipped away again.
Vinny's mark flared to life, the silver lines burning bright enough to cast shadows across the newspaper clippings. The pain stole his breath, but he clung to the fleeting images—her lips on his, the way she'd clung to him that night, the exact shade of blue her eyes turned in sunlight.
Deborah reached for him, her fingers brushing the glowing mark. "You gave her our memories to save us."
Before Vinny could respond, the library lights flickered. A cold breeze carrying the scent of damp earth and funeral lilies drifted through the closed windows. Somewhere in the distance, faint laughter echoed—too melodic, too cruel to be human.
Deborah's grip tightened on his wrist. The mark pulsed once more, then faded again, leaving behind only the ghost of what he'd lost.
Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall.