Daria Porn Story: Seven Days Chapter 1

Seven Days

A Daria/The Ring fanfiction by E. A. Smith

–

Monday

Jane marched into Winds vacated room, armed only with an
empty trash bag and a sense of mission.
The room was in the usual disheveled, filthy state in which Wind usually
left it, with candy bar wrappers and food scraps left everywhere, scattered
like the place had been ransacked by a hungry ten-year-old. Wind, she mentally addressed her absent sibling as she tossed the refuse
into the plastic bag, are you incapable of doing anything for yourself,
other than mooching off us and screwing up relationships? I dont ask much out of a living space,
but I draw the line at attracting rats and mice. She couldnt abide the
vermin; they nibbled on her paintings.
Which is why, every time Wind departed after one of his unannounced
visits, she found herself playing maid, scouring his room for every last bread
crust and empty soft drink can he had left behind, leaving nothing that might
attract art-destroying rodents.

Wind had been visiting for the past two days, and had just
up and left the night before (a circumstance Jane welcomed, despite the extra
work it brought her). It had been
an odd visit, though; he hadnt shown up crying, so he wasnt on the outs with
his girlfriend du jour, and he hadnt asked
for money. Instead, he had holed
up in his room, barely making his way outside those four walls. And then, he had just left, with no
more explanation given than when he had arrived. He hadnt even spent any time inside the new naming
gazebo. All of which just made
the usual littered state of his room even worse.

Having picked up every visible scrap of food, Jane gave the
room a final once over, and noticed something she had missed, or ignored, the
first time around. Lying on Winds
bed was a plain, unmarked videotape.
She picked it up and examined it from all sides, but there was nothing
to give a clue as to its origins or contents. I guess Wind forgot it. Theres something intriguing about unmarked tapes, but its
probably just one of those marriage counseling TV shows hes so addicted
to. Or maybe its something a
little more . . . private. Did Wind make videos like that? Jane didnt know whether to be
titillated or disgusted with the possibility. Well, I have to watch it now, just to find
out. If its one of those, Ill turn it off right away.

Normally, the TV in this room didnt have a VCR, but Jane
noticed that there was one hooked up now.
Looking closer, she realized that it was the set from the living room
television. Wind must have
brought it up here to watch the tape in private; maybe it really is him and
some girl . . . ew. Jane stuck out her tongue at the
thought, but was still curious enough to try it out. She slid the tape into the deck, and pressed play . . .

–

Daria was sitting at her computer, searching for a starting
point for her new Melody Powers story, when Jane burst into her room, waving a
videotape over her head.

Yo, amiga, youve
gotta see this! she exclaimed as she walked over to Darias television. Daria herself was surprised by her
friends enthusiasm; of the two of them, Daria was much more the film
buff. Before Tom had provided a
new viewing companion, Jane had accompanied her to a few arthouse screenings,
but had never shown more than cursory interest. Janes taste in film ran more towards the exploding head
variety, which Daria found amusing only in small doses.

What is it? she asked somewhat cautiously as she walked
over to her bed and sat down at her usual TV-viewing position.

Im not really sure, Jane replied, somewhat distracted by
getting the tape into the built-in VCR.
Daria cocked an eyebrow in curiosity.

So youve decided to start showing me random videotapes?

I found it in Winds room this morning, while I was cleaning
up after him, Jane said, now paying fuller attention, having gotten the tape
in and activated the unit. She
took the remote and joined Daria on the bed. Her voice betrayed none of her usual irritation at having to
pick up after her older brother. Its
this weird collection of images, very surreal. Very creepy.
Im not sure what it all means.

And you think I should see this why, exactly? Not that Daria wasnt up for the
surreal and creepy, but if it had been found in Winds possession she doubted
that there could be anything particularly special about it.

Because I havent been able to get the images out of my
head all day; its given me all sorts of great sketches. She pulled one of her pocket-sized
sketchbooks out of her jacket and waved it in Darias face, then flipped very
rapidly through it. Daria wasnt
able to catch a good glimpse of the contents, but it appeared nearly full. I cant remember the last time Ive
produced so much. So I thought you
might appreciate the inspiration; besides, I want to see what you make of it
all. Daria couldnt deny her
friends enthusiasm, and seeing as how her own inspiration seemed elusive at
present, she gave Jane the affirmative.
Jane started the tape.

. . . a ring of light . . . static . . . red water . . . a
woman in a mirror . . . a girl with long hair in the mirror . . . a man in a
window . . . a coastline with a twisted tree . . . a mouth with a long tube
running out . . . a barren tree . . . a crescent of light . . . a fingertip
impaled on a nail . . . writhing maggots . . . a centipede crawling out from
under a table . . . a horses eye . . . severed fingers in a box . . . the
barren tree on fire . . . the woman standing in front of the mirror, turning to
look at the viewer . . . the window . . . the chair hanging upside down in the
air and spinning . . . a single ladder propped up against a wall . . . dead
horses on the coastline . . . the woman falls off a cliff . . . the ladder . .
. the ring of light . . . a well . . . static

As the images flashed by, Daria found herself transfixed,
unable to turn away. The images
made no sense, but somehow they were compelling, entrancing, disturbing, and by
the time it was over, Daria was annoyed to find herself fighting down an
extreme sense of unease, as though she had just woken from a nightmare. She was even breathing a bit heavily,
and she wondered if she had been holding her breath without noticing.

So, what do you think? Jane asked, ejecting the tape and
slipping it into her jacket pocket.
She was eager to hear her friends considered opinion, but Daria didnt
know what to say. She wanted to
shrug it off with a joke, some sarcastic comment that would trivialize the
strange effect it had had on her, but she found she couldnt dismiss it that
easily. Then, downstairs, the
phone rang; the sound was faint, and only occurred once, but it was enough of
an outside stimulus to bring her out of the hold the tape had put on her. Jane was grinning sadistically.

It had that effect on me, too, when I first watched it,
she said, but after an hour or so I started to get all sorts of great
ideas. Im thinking of doing a
whole series of paintings inspired by it.

We should send it in to Sick, Sad World, Daria said, finally finding her voice. They would love to get their hands on
something this bizarre.

Yeah, I thought about it, Jane replied, but since I dont
know who created it, there would probably be some copywrite issue.

Wind didnt say anything about it?

Nope. Jane
shook her head. He didnt breathe
a word. I just found it in his
room. Maybe hes trying his hand
at filmmaking, or has a friend who is.
But speaking of Sick, Sad World .
. . She flipped the channel, and
familiar lone eye filled the screen.
Its familiarity helped to soothe Darias nerves, and soon things were
back to normal again. The only
sign that the tape had ever existed was that, every few minutes, Jane would
pick up her sketchbook and draw a few quick lines, then return it to her
pocket. Daria was curious to see
what she had come up with, but the images of the tape were too fresh in her
mind for her to want to see, at this very moment, what Janes mind had done
with them; she could take a look later.

About an hour later, Helen called Daria to dinner, and Jane
stood up to leave.

Are you sure you want to go? Daria asked. Weve got all the lasagna you can
eat.

I think Ill pass.
Id rather spend my time working on these new paintings than playing
Twenty Questions with your parents.
Daria accompanied her down the stairs, and as Jane exited the door, she
turned towards the kitchen, and walked in just as her mother was removing the
lasagna from the oven. She was the
first one there.

Daria, please tell your friends that I dont appreciate
practical jokes, especially when Im waiting for a call from Eric, Helen said,
dropping the pasta onto the table, her voice stern.

Ill be sure to pass that on to my hoard of
practical-joke-playing companions, Daria replied. She smirked at Helens baleful stare.

Seriously, Daria, she admonished, I was waiting for a
very important call about an hour ago, but when the phone rang, it was some
girl. She just said seven days,
and then hung up.

Jane was in my room an hour ago, and thats not her style
anyway. What did she sound like?

Young, Helen said, as if just realizing it. She had a very high voice.

It was probably one of Quinns fashion fiends; sounds like
Stacy. Though from what she knew
of the pig-tailed sycophant, that sort of joke wasnt really her style
either. Or maybe just a wrong
number.

Maybe, Helen conceded, just as Jake and Quinn entered the
room.

Daria didnt give the incident a second thought.

–

Tuesday

Daria sat on Janes bed, pen scratching rapidly across the
paper in her notebook, ideas flooding her mind. She had woken up that morning feeling disturbed, off-kilter,
though she couldnt put her finger on exactly why; she couldnt remember any
bad dreams, which were the usual cause of such morning jitters. The mood had lasted throughout
breakfast, and it hadnt mixed well with Quinns dissertation on the pros and
cons of short hairstyles for hot summer months. She had told Quinn that if she wanted a truly striking look
for summer, than she should go for the cool bald look, giving her admirers the
chance to compliment her on her shapely skull, adding that maybe shorter hair
would not sap so much energy from her brain. Quinn had replied that only weird artsy girls still thought
that the bald look was in, that she had already been the recipient of several
approving comments on the symmetrical shape of her head, and had finished with
the suggestion that she and her weird artsy friend should sit in on a gathering
of the former Fashion Club to find out what would be fashionable for artsy
types in the next season. To the
dismay of both their parents, the conversation had just gone downhill from
there, and by the end of the meal Daria knew that she was going to have to
spend the rest of the day not just isolated in her room, but totally out of the
house. Daria had felt a twinge of
guilt over slipping into her older patterns with Quinn, when they were finally
starting to find some common ground, but by the time she was halfway to Janes,
any residual remorse was crowded right out of her head by a flood of ideas for
her new Melody Powers story, all of which took their inspiration from one of
the images from the tape Jane had brought her yesterday.

Which is where she found herself now, writing furiously to
try to capture all the nuances and details she saw in her head before they
slipped away into the ether. With
an unoccupied corner of her mind, she wondered why the disjointed and enigmatic
scenes from the video could be so strongly suggestive, how they could form a
narrative in her mind almost of their own volition, with what felt like very
little shaping on her part. But
while she was curious, she would not argue with such instant inspiration; one
of the first things that any writer learned was to capture such momentary
flashes as quickly as possible.

She was not the only one so in the grip of her muse; Jane
was painting furiously, barely finishing one image before tossing it aside and
starting on another. Pictures of
ladders, wells, twisted and leafless trees, dead horses. And on every canvas, somewhere, out in
front or hidden in the background, a ring, a slightly uneven but unbroken
circle of paint. All of them drawn
in a curious angular style, quite unlike Janes former works; in subdued colors
and black and grey, in contrast to her accustomed colorful approach. If Daria had not been sitting in the
same room, watching her in the throes of creation, she would have been willing
to swear that these were the work of another artist completely. But isnt that what every artist wants
to do, to progress, to never produce the same work twice? If Jane is using the tape as the means
to that end, then all the better for her.

They had spent most of the day in silence, appreciating each
others company without feeling the need to interrupt the creative process; but
after several hours the rush began to wear off, or at least to recede
temporarily like a tide, and conversation began to leak out.

So, any news yet on the Boston housing front? Jane
inquired as she ran her brush along the canvas. The very thought of that situation was enough to make Daria
flop onto her back, hanging her head off the end of the bed.

Its a nightmare, she said after a few seconds of inward
groaning. Real estate in Boston
is a buyers nightmare, rent is sky high, and Raft has no single-bedroom
dorms. Even with my scholarships,
Im not going to be able to afford an apartment all to myself until you
arrive. Mom was right; I am going
to end up with a psycho roommate.

Just watch out for the showers, Jane said, head still
pointed towards the easel.

Its what I get for being optimistic, Daria groaned. I was counting on college being the
start of my exit from the purgatory of high school into the beginnings of my
real life. An environment where I
am surrounded by people chosen for their intelligence instead of their physical
proximity.

Without actually having to live in contact with any of
them.

Id like to be able to ease into the experience, yes. She sat back up and watched as Jane
continued to apply color to canvas.
High school isnt real life at all; its not even preparation for
it. I just dont want any
additional problems to deal with as I make the transition.

I told you before, I can do some work for Garys Gallery,
send you my half of the rent.
Daria frowned, wishing she could say yes to the offer.

I cant do that to you, Jane, she said. You cant afford artist burnout right
before you head off to BFAC. Ive
shared a house with Quinn for seventeen years; I can share a room with an
unknown irritant for four months.

Maybe I can sell some of these at Garys, Jane mused as
she put the final touch on her newest piece, then replaced the filled canvas
with a blank one. She considered
for only a few seconds before starting up.

Yes, nothing says artistic sophistication in the suburbs
like a painting of a dead horse.

Its a comment on the death of nature in modern society,
Jane said, even as she sketched the outline of spreading branches. Its environmentally conscious art,
perfect for the walls of SUV owners and hairspray addicts.

Just the thing to hang on the wall next to the mounted deer
head. Suddenly, Daria knew what
had to happen next to Melody Powers, and her pen was moving again. She would have to transfer all of this
to her computer later, which is where she usually did her writing, but it was
critical to capture the ideas as they came and not censor herself merely to
shorten that future repetitive task.
The room faded back into silence.

–

Wednesday

It took several of Darias insistent rings of the bell
before Jane finally opened the door.
Despite the early hour (early for Jane, anyway), there was little of her
usual morning dishevelment about her she was wearing her usual daytime
clothes, her hair was combed, and her movements didnt drag with morning
fatigue; however, there were large dark circles under her eyes, and her face
was pale, giving her a completely different morning zombie appearance. Daria knew that she herself couldnt be
looking all that good; she had ran all the way from her house, or at least
walked very fast, and she was panting heavily and feeling a little sick to her
stomach. Of course, the nausea had
more than one cause.

As she stepped through the doorway, she wordlessly handed Jane
several sheets of paper; it was the computer printout of her latest Melody
Powers work, the one she had so meticulously typed into her word processor from
her handwritten text of the day before.
Except that when she had woken up this morning and opened the program to
do a little more work, she found that that was not what she had written at
all. Filling the pages was a
simple three-word phrase, repeated over and over again.

Everyone will suffer.

Writing your manifesto? Jane asked as she flipped through
the pages, each one identical to the last.

That is what I found this morning in the Melody Powers
folder on my computer, Daria said, finding her voice, though the words were
still forced out between panted breaths.
She hadnt appreciated just how much gym class had kept her in shape,
hated though it was; two months without it, and her chest was on fire.

Could it just be somebodys prank? Janes voice was choked; her face paled
yet another shade, and she bit down on her bottom lip. Daria shook her head, wishing that
things were that simple.

I keep my work password-protected, she said, the shortness
of breath receding, though the roiling of her stomach continued strong. Hacking it would be way out of Quinns
league, and writing about suffering would rank a bit too high on her ew meter
anyway. I dont think that Ive
pissed off any computer geeks lately.
She started to pace around Jane, who stood still at the center, perusing
the papers with rising alarm. If
this is what was in my story file, its because I put it there. But either
I didnt realize I was doing it, or I dont remember it. She stood still, facing Jane once
again, though she tried not to concentrate on the papers her friend clutched in
her hand. I wonder when Im going
to start chasing Quinn with an axe.
Or a crimping iron.

Daria, Jane finally said, a tremor in her voice, theres
something I think you need to see.

–

Janes room was littered with paintings, tossed about the
room in careless fashion. But the
first thing Daria noticed was the easel.
On it was a white canvas, its purity violated by a single image a
black ring, painted over and over again until the paint was visibly piled up,
with the paintbrush embedded in the center. It looked to Daria as though Jane had just run the brush
around and around until she had finally run the brush right through the canvas.

This morning, I tried to go back to my old projects, Jane
said from behind her. I
couldnt. No matter what I tried
to draw or paint, it always came out something from the tape; at first, I
didnt even realize I was doing it, and when I did, I couldnt stop. It was like my hands didnt even belong
to me anymore. Daria, look at
these paintings! She stepped into
Darias line of sight and waved her arm to take in the entire room and all the
images contained therein. Do
these even look like my work! How
could I have ever thought that I was the one doing this? And thats not even the worst of
it. She pointed to a stack of canvases
in one corner of the room. Daria
walked over to look, and found that they were all her old works, piled
chaotically. But every face in
every picture was painted over, not neatly, but as though a child had taken the
brush and scribbled furiously, obliterating all traces of identity.

I did all that after I finished the new pictures, Jane was
saying. It was like I just went
insane. It didnt wear off until I
had defaced every single one. At
the last few words, her voice sank to a husky whisper.

Im sorry, Jane, Daria said, not knowing what else to say
to comfort her friend. But Janes
loss was not the only question at issue.
That tape did something to both of us. Some kind of hypnotic suggestion, or mind control.

Have you been getting visits from those black helicopters
again? Jane asked, giving her friend a skeptical glance.

No, just the usual flying saucers. Daria paused, wishing they could just
trade clever retorts and ignore the unnerving events behind them. But her unerring sense of reality
brought her back to face them. I
know that I sound like Artie on one of his stranger days, but I cant think of
anything else that makes sense.

I dont know, Daria.
I dont feel all that controlled. Jane clamped down suddenly after her last word, and Daria
knew she had something more to say.

Jane, what are you thinking?

You wont want to hear it. Jane smirked grimly.

Good; I havent heard anything I didnt want to hear in at
least a few minutes.

Jane sighed, and visibly braced herself.

I feel like Im being haunted, like some thing is looking over my shoulder, guiding my hand, she
said haltingly, converting her sensations into words even as she said
them. I know, it sounds
ridiculous, and you dont believe in things like that. But, when I was really young, my
parents had some friends who were into some really weird mystical stuff, like
ouiji boards and sances and things like that, and I saw things that you would
never believe in.

And when I was four, Daria replied, I was convinced that
there were monsters waiting in my closet to get me at night; there were even
times when I was sure that I saw them.
But I outgrew it; kids with active imaginations see a lot of things that
arent there. Jane shook her head
emphatically.

This wasnt like seeing a few shadows and hanging shirts in
your closet at night, she said, knowing that her friend would never believe
her, knowing what she had seen, knowing the sensation of the presence she now
felt. There was no way these
could have been anything but spirits, ghosts, demons. Im not saying that Im certain thats whats happening now,
but it feels pretty damn familiar.

Daria knew that this kind of discussion could go on for
hours, with neither of them making headway against the others basic worldview;
normally, she would have welcomed the game, but there were more important
things right now than fun.

Wind has to know something about this, she said. What the tape means; what its doing
to us. Who he got the tape from,
if nothing else. Can you call him
and ask?

I already tried, earlier today, Jane replied,
frustrated. I couldnt get a hold
of him; he probably didnt pay his cell phone bill. Well have to go see him in person. His houseboat is usually moored in
Baltimore harbor; Ive been there a couple of times, so Im pretty sure I can
find it again.

Good. Well
take my new car, but you drive.

–

About two hours later, they were standing at a pier in
Baltimore harbor, Winds somewhat-decrepit houseboat floating in the water
before them. At their backs was
the bustle of the activities of seafarers and dockworkers. Daria wasnt a huge fan of crowds, but
she could usually tolerate them; today, however, she couldnt shake the
impression that someone was staring down her neck, raising the short hairs with
a prickle up and down her spine.
It had to be nerves, and she told herself that the day had given her
every reason to feel out of sorts.
She just wanted to get in, get the information they needed from Wind,
and get out of the city as quickly as possible, back to the solitude and safety
of her own room, or Janes.

Wind is the Lane-est of the Lanes, Jane said, surveying
the floating domicile with amusement.
Even his house is made to move around.

And yet he keeps tying himself down with wives, Daria
replied, which seemed to her to be the most un-Lane-like characteristic of
all. Vincent and Amanda Lanes
absentee relationship, from each other as much as from their children, was
proof of that. But at least
theyve managed to stay married, in name at least.

Well, he never was able to get life completely right, Jane
said. She stepped onto the boat
and rapped on the door.

So, who is he with right now?

Havent kept up; its time to open the wrapper and unveil
the surprise. There was no answer
to her knock, so she tried again, louder and more insistent.

Can I just keep the Cracker-Jacks instead?

As they waited for an answer to their overture, Daria looked
down into the water flowing before her feet. The play of light in the depths, blue and violet flashes
flowing and melding, was fascinating, and she felt the mysteries of the deep
beckoning to her, calling to her to plunge into their depths, to be submerged
in the all-encompassing embrace of deep water. She felt a rush, and suddenly the water surrounded her; she
was floating in an unknowable expanse.
But it wasnt the warm, loving experience that had been promised she
felt oppressed, entrapped, as the water quickly changed from blue to black and
an ocean of darkness closed in around her. Lost and abandoned, she opened her mouth to scream . . .

DARIA!

The world of light and air snapped back into place, and
Daria found herself once more standing on the pier next to Winds houseboat,
both her arms firmly grasped in Janes hands, her frightened expression only a
few inches from Darias own.

Daria, what happened? Jane asked with slowly-receding
panic. I saw you about ready to
fall into the water, and when I tried to stop you, you didnt answer. Are you okay? Daria had to take a few deep breaths
before she felt she had the strength to answer.

I thought that I hadfallen
in. It was still had to
believe that she had not. It
seemed so real, not like a daydream at all. I thought I was going to
die in black water. The last statement didnt seem to allay
Janes worry. Jane, if I was going
to commit suicide, I wouldnt do it by drowning; its too clean. I want
to leave a more memorable
corpse. Daria stepped back,
removing herself from her friends concerned grip; she could stand on
her own
now. I think weve just
discovered another side effect of the tape. Jane swallowed nervously.

Were not going to be getting information on that, she
said, at least not right away.
While you were contemplating life as a mermaid, I had a very quick chat
with the lady of the house. Looks
like Winds been kicked out again, just yesterday.

Shouldnt that make it easier? Daria responded. Wont he just show up at your place in
tears? Jane shook her head in
unfortunate denial.

He
only does that when hes been kicked out and had no
money to go anywhere else; he would have turned up yesterday if that
had been
the case. She sighed, knowing
that the road ahead had just lengthened considerably. When he does
make it out with some cash, he usually ends up
in a bar, or lying in an alley somewhere, drunk out of his mind. And he
can do it for days on end. Right now, hes almost certainly having
a few drinks somewhere in Baltimore.

Well have to search for him, Daria said. Normally, the idea of looking for a
drunken Wind Lane, or for a sober one, would have never entered her list of
priorities, but Daria didnt know how many of these ever-more-disturbing side
effects she could take before snapping completely, or falling into the ocean
and drowning. And since Quinn (or
Brittany or Mr. ONeill or another suitable victim) would not be around to take
the brunt of her psychosis after her brain did snap, she thought that was an
outcome that should probably be avoided.
Unless were very lucky, we probably wont find him in an afternoon,
and its too far to commute to and from Lawndale every day, so we need to get a
hotel room in town. I think Ive
got enough saved in my Montana Cabin Fund to keep us out of the roach motels,
for a few days at least.

We might not have longer than a few days anyway, Jane
said, a disturbing scenario piecing itself together in her mind. Right after I watched the tape, I got
a phone call; it was a little girl, and all she said was seven days. I thought it was just a wrong number,
but now . . .

Daria felt her face go white, and a chill spread through her
chest.

We got the same call, she said, voice carefully
level. Mom picked it up, and
thought it was a joke. But it
would have come about the time we were watching the tape.

Then it would probably be a very good idea to find out
whats going on before that time is up, Jane said, mentally calculating the
time left in her head. A little
less than five days, if shes punctual.
Or it.

Jane, there is no it,
Daria said, determined not to fall prey to superstition, even though it seemed
to have overtaken her best friend, normally the most rational person she knew.

What else could it be? How could any normal person know exactly when we watched the
tape?

I dont know, Daria admitted, but that doesnt mean there
isnt a way. Jane, even if ghosts
and goblins existed, I dont think they would be able to use the telephone, or
even want to. Why not just appear
in person, since they can go anywhere they want?

Because its scarier this way, when we dont know whats
happening.

I think the automatic writing and the visions are scary
enough, thank you. I dont need
any extra mystery to add to the terror.
Daria realized that they were once again falling into a fruitless and
distracting discussion. Either
way, I think we can both agree that we need to find Wind before this seven
days is up, so we cant afford to lose any time. If we head back to Lawndale now to pack, we can have a hotel
room in the city before too late tonight.
Ill just tell my parents Im staying a few days with you; theyll be
glad to have the house to themselves.
Daria never thought too hard about exactly why her parents enjoyed their
solitude.

Right, Jane said as they walked back to the car. Two women, one car, one mission on the
road. Partners in crime!

If you start to drive off a cliff, Im jumping.

–

Daria tossed a few pairs of clean socks into her tiny
suitcase, which was already nearly filled. She felt the need to pack lightly and quickly; no reason to
give Helen or Jake a chance to change their minds about their daughters week
at Janes (though there was no reason that they should), and she wanted to get
back to the city while there was still time to find a decent vacant hotel
room. No doubt, at her place, Jane
was doing the same thing, while trying to drill into Trents laconic skull
their instructions to let them know immediately if Wind should show up. Of course, that was no guarantee of
anything; Trent could sleep through Winds arrival, or intend to call and
decide to take a nap first. And
that didnt even include the possibility of Mystik Spiral having a gig someplace
that would keep them away for a while.
Still, he was the only watchdog they had. But Daria didnt think he would be that necessary anyway; no
doubt Jane was right, and if Wind was going to show up, he would have done so
already.

Daria closed her suitcase, and, pressing down hard on the
locks, managed to snap it shut, just in time.

Daria, have you seen . . . Quinn asked as she walked
briskly through the door, then stopped cold. Daria, where are you going? Her eyes narrowed dangerously.

To Janes, Daria replied, as naturally as if it was the
unvarnished truth. You were
standing right there when I told Mom and Dad.

You never pack when you go to Janes, Quinn replied,
sibling detective mode on in full force.
You keep a toothbrush there already, and several selections from your .
. . wardrobe. Where are you really
going?

Damn, when did Quinn get so perceptive? I dont have time for this; Ill have
to settle it the old-fashioned way.

How much? she asked, business-like but bitter. Quinn didnt immediately answer;
instead, she looked slowly around, scoping out her environs. She smiled, and Daria was suddenly very
worried.

I want your room, Quinn declared, as though it were the
most reasonable request in the world.
After you go off to college, I mean. I think it has real potential, once I take down the padding
from the walls and remove the bars from the windows and replace that door with
the awful poetry and . . .

Quinn, Daria broke in, trying to nip this in the bud
before her sister really got started, Ill still need this room over the
summer; you cant have it.

Daria, Quinn replied, sounding as though she was reasoning
with a person who was somewhat slow-witted, do you really plan to move back
here for the summer? Could you
enjoy Lawndale after living in Boston?

I dont enjoy it now,
Daria thought, but her sister had a point. Living within these four walls again, after having enjoyed
relative freedom, would be unbearable.

Ill even give you an extra incentive, Quinn offered
magnanimously. In addition to not
telling Mom or Dad what you are planning, Ill even provide a distraction so
you can make it out the door without them seeing you or your suitcase. Deal?

Deal, Daria said, deciding that she had most of the summer
to win or bargain her room back into her possession. Im leaving now, so if you could provide your distraction,
it would be most helpful.

Quinn nodded, and headed out the door. A few seconds later, Daria heard her
sister tell their parents something about her new older boyfriend who was
coming by to pick her up on his motorcycle. Taking her advantage, Daria slipped out of her room, down
the stairs, and out the front door without so much as a sideways glance from
either of her parents (though she thought she caught a quick wink from
Quinn). Then, she was off.

–

Thursday

Since it had taken most of the night to find a decent hotel
room, they started their search for Wind bright and early the next day; at
least, they had intended to start bright and early, though fatigue kept them
under the covers for most of the morning.
Even with the ample sleep, Daria still did not feel rested; her
sensation of being watched had not waned, and during the night she had had to
continually resist the urge to flip over in bed and check if someone was
standing behind her. Though she
had been terrified to see who it might be. In the bright, fully-awake light of day, such fears seemed
absurd, but the desire to glance over her shoulder remained.

The only experience that Daria had with police stations was
from the incident with Mystik Spiral, out in the middle of nowhere, and she
found the central police headquarters of Baltimore their first stop
slightly different. It was
cleaner, for one thing, and the various officers and employees went about their
jobs with what looked to bear some resemblance to competency. Nevertheless, the place still felt
oppressive, badly lit and close.
The man sitting at the front desk barely looked up as they approached.

Were looking for my brother Wind . . . Jane started.

You can fill out a missing persons report after forty-eight
hours, he interrupted in a bored, distracted monotone.

No, its not like that, Jane replied. You might have brought him in for
being drunk or disorderly or passed out in the street. Have your guys arrested a Wind Lane in
the past two days? The officer
sighed and typed at his computer a few moments.

We dont have anyone named Wind, he said, putting a
particularly derisive emphasis on the name. Not here, or anywhere else in the city.

What about John Does? Daria asked.

What does he look like?

Jane opened her mouth to give a description, then visibly
changed gears.

Get me a pencil and some paper, she said, her voice
excited, and Ill sketch him for you.
Daria was shocked; she had been nervous at the idea of even picking up a
pencil since the incident the morning before, not wanting to see what she might
produce.

Jane, are you sure you want to do this? she asked.

Ive got to try, Jane replied, determined. Im not just going to give in to this;
maybe if I really concentrate, I can control it. She gripped the provided pen so tightly that her knuckles
paled. The phone at the desk rang,
and the officer answered, leaving the two of them ignored once again.

Jane started in on her work, and it seemed to be going
well. Winds features quickly took
shape under her hand, with his vapid stare and lost expression, and soon she
had completed a convincing likeness, formed from just a few lines of ink. Then, as evenly and calmly as though it
was merely her finishing touch, she ran the point up and down over the face,
until no features could be seen.

Jane! Daria said sharply, and Jane jerked her pen up from
the paper with a tiny cry.

Damn! Jane exclaimed. I thought I was doing so well, too. She crumpled up the paper with a
frustrated clench of her fist.
Im not going to lose my art to this thing; Ill try again later. She looked up, to make an oath to the
sky above her, and stopped dead.
Or maybe its not just me.
Daria, look at that. She
pointed to the security monitor attached to the top of the wall across the
room. Daria looked to see the
image of the two of them standing at the desk; at least, she saw two figures
standing at the desk, wearing their clothes, but it was impossible to tell that
it was the two of them their faces were smeared, distorted, as though viewed
through extremely flawed glass.
Daria waved her hand in front of her face; the image wavered like water,
and snapped back into place.

How courteous, Daria said. Identity screened to protect the innocent.

No one else here looks like that, Jane said. She was right; several other people
were visible in the screen, and they were all normal.

No one else here is innocent. It was weird, to be sure, but to Darias relief, this was
the most benign symptom of the tape they had yet seen. Daria wondered when she had reached the
point when she could shrug off as minor an event this bizarre. Still, at least it was just the two of
them in the picture; the way she had been feeling, she would not have been all
that surprised (horrified, but not surprised) to see a shadowy third figure
behind them. Damn, it sneaks up
on you. I dont believe in ghosts. Theres no such thing as
hauntings. I sound like the
scarecrow.

The officer hung up the phone, and turned back to them.

Well? he said impatiently. Is the sketch ready?

I . . . um . . . dont think I can do him justice, Jane
said, recovering quickly. I can
describe him, though. Hes about
five foot ten, with brown eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair. Not very muscular. I dont know what he would be wearing.

We havent had anyone like that come through here, the man
replied shortly.

Well, what about the other precincts? Daria asked, trying
to stay reasonable and not sound like she was addressing a Kevin-clone. She longed to slip in a subtle barb,
but her opponent held too much potentially valuable information for her to risk
antagonizing him. The man turned
to his computer, spent a few minutes bringing up the records leaving Daria
and Jane to drum their fingers on the desk in apprehension and then finally
turned back to them.

We arent holding any John Does of that description
anywhere in the city, he said.
Jane thanked him, and they both made a beeline to the door.

Time to check the hospitals now, Daria said, fighting off
discouragement at having come up with nothing at their first stop.

If hes not in one now, Jane replied, her tone not a
threat but a promise, he will be after I find him.

–

From the second they entered the first hospital on their
list, Jane wanted to pivot on her heel and walk out as quickly as
possible. The large, spacious
building felt like a prison, the white-clad doctors and nurses who were rushing
about seeming more like jailors and tormentors than healers. She felt a horrible premonition that at
any second they would take hold of her and lock her in a small, barren room
where they could work their tortures at their leisure. But she forced herself to place one
foot in front of the other; she was starting to question whether such strange
sensations and urges belonged to her, or whether they emanated from the
enigmatic presence she now felt continuously looking over her shoulder. She took satisfaction in allowing none
of her anxiety to show as she questioned nurse receptionists in building after
building, to see if they had any patients matching the description of her
brother.

After a couple of futile stops, the questioning had finally
borne fruit. The woman at the
reception desk had informed her that they indeed had just this morning brought
in a John Doe matching who resembled Wind, found unconscious in the alley next
to a seedy downtown bar, his
wallet and ID already lifted.
Jane, as a possible relative, had been allowed in to see the man, though
Daria had to wait in the entrance room; now, she was walking down a long
highway, a friendly nurse leading the way. The womans expressions of concern for Janes brother fell
on nearly deaf ears, however, as Jane could not drag her awareness away from
the fact that she was burrowing ever further into the warren of
persecutors. At every door they
passed, Jane found herself wondering what horrors lay behind it, what poor soul
they had imprisoned therein; these insane fears would respond to no reason she
could command. Her own fears of
losing herself to this interloping spirit, as she already seemed to be losing
her art, were only an extra layer to add to her apprehension.

Though the corridor looked to stretch on into eternity,
eventually the nurse stopped at one open door and gestured Jane inside. There, lying on a bed, was a man, in
his early thirties, with blonde hair down to his shoulders. Tubes in both his arms connected him to
IV bags, while his heartrate was monitored through several electrodes attached
to his chest. The steady beep, beep,
beep of the EKG reminded Jane of every movie and television show she had ever
seen that was based in a hospital.
The man, though bearing a superficial resemblance, was clearly not Wind,
but Jane did not tell the nurse this; instead, she walked slowly up to the
patients side, staring not at his face, but at his chest. The tiny white circles connected to his
skin fascinated her; of their own accord, her hands reached out to touch them,
to trace their circumferences and feel the slick plastic against her
fingers. Then, suddenly,
fascination turned to rage, and with an explosion of fury she yanked every one
of them from his body in a single jerk.
The machines went haywire with alarms and protests, reading only that
the heartbeat they had been detecting was no longer there, certain that the man
in their care was now near death.
Jane felt herself seized from behind, but the restraint was no longer
necessary; she was once again in her own mind, her body under her control, the
outburst now nothing but a memory.

Young lady, the nurse said, sounding more shocked than
angry, what do you think youre doing?

Im . . . Im sorry, Jane replied, and then stopped
cold. What could she possibly say
to explain this? What possible
rational reason could she give that anyone would accept? How could she say that the actions were
not hers, that some thing had been
operating through her, using her arms as though she was nothing more than a
marionette for its amusement? In
the end, she said the only thing she could think of that would not make the
situation infinitely worse.

This isnt my brother. Ill go now.

She stumbled backwards, for a few seconds unable to tear her
eyes away from the sight of the nurse rapidly reattaching the monitors she had
so rudely removed, then she turned and ran, out the door and down the corridor,
as fast as she could without toppling over the denizens of the hospital that
walked or rolled up and down the hall.
When she reached the entranceway, where Daria was waiting, she didnt
even stop for explanations, but simply grabbed her friends arm and propelled
her outside.

Daria bore this odd behavior for a few seconds, then shook
her off and demanded to know what the hell was going on.

Something happened to me inside there, Jane said. Up until now, Ive made some weird
sketches, including some that I didnt want to make, and Ive had some weird
feelings, but it still always seemed like me who was doing it But I just did something in there that
wasnt me at all; it
was working
through me. Whatever it is, it
hates hospitals and doctors and maybe machines, Im not sure. But for a
few seconds in there, there
wasnt a separation between what I was feeling and what it was feeling.
It was like an out-of-body experience. I dont think Ive been more
terrified
in my life.

For a few seconds, Daria didnt respond, just stared into
Janes eyes as if trying to read her soul.

Daria, its still me, I promise, Jane said
desperately. For now, at least.

I know that, Daria responded. I recognized the red blur. But when you said that, I had to wonder if I wasnt hearing my
own voice instead.

Daria, whats going to happen to us?

She had no response.

–

Daria lay collapsed on the hotel room bed, changing channels
with just the merest flick of her thumb.
She had brought along Going After Cacciato in case she had the time and the desire to read, but after the
harrowing day Jane and she had experienced, with nothing to show for their
efforts and agonies except a few possibilities checked off their list, she was
too physically and emotionally exhausted to absorb the story. So she entertained herself through the
only means left to her, the television.

At least, that had been the plan, but it seemed that the TV
had other plans. Even with the
cable connection, static filled the screen as the picture rolled up and down;
it was doing this on every channel.
Even the little bit of image that Daria could catch between the snow was
disappointing; Daria couldnt identify a single object, but everything looked
in black and white. She was
certain that she had paid for a better room than this, but there were more
important things to do with their time tomorrow than make complaints. Finally, she gave up and just turned it
off, lying staring at the wall in front of her.

Off to her side, she could hear Janes pencil scratching. Jane was determined to reclaim her
talent, and from the second they had returned to their room from their last
hospital stop she had been attempting to capture the figures and faces of the
more colorful characters they had seen since coming to Baltimore Wednesday
morning, at the harbor and the police station and the hospitals. Her concentration was intense, her eyes
boring holes into the paper held in her hands, so Daria had not interrupted to
see how things were going. But
now, Daria noticed that the scratchings were becoming rapid and harsh, frantic
even; she swung her head over to see Jane holding her pencil like a psycho
wielding a knife, attacking her sketchbook with the point, first pressing down
with such force that the paper buckled, and then actively stabbing, ramming the
point through the leaves again and again and again. Then, with a bellow of raw anguish, she shot to her feet and
hurled the sketchbook across the room, and stood there fire-faced, chest rising
and falling as she sucked in air, eyes wild.

Training for Olympic sketch throwing, Daria said, falling
back on the familiar since she had no idea of what else to say, or are you
planning on going pro?

My art has been hijacked! Jane wailed. I cant stop it! Theres nothing left in me but that! She
waved in the direction of her pictures, now lying against the far wall. Daria opened her mouth to say something
she hoped would be comforting and reassuring, but switched gears when she
noticed a dark line on Janes face.

Jane, your nose is bleeding.

Jane put her hand up to her face, and her fingers came away
wet with the red fluid. Hissing an
obscenity through gritted teeth, she ran to the restroom to wash her face. Daria pushed herself up from the bed
and walked over to where the sketchbook was lying open, picked it up, and began
to flip through the last few filled pages. At first, it looked as though Jane was starting to succeed;
there were several renderings of dockworkers and some of the criminals they had
caught glimpses of at the police station, all done in Janes inimitable style,
but in each case the face was obliterated. Then, further on, all those disappeared, and the last few
pages were filled with nothing but rings, small, large, thick, and thin, all of
them scratched out with little consideration for neatness or elegance, just
passion. And, in the center, there
was a single human figure: a woman whose long black hair covered her face. The figure was disconcerting,
unsettling; Daria felt that her mysterious hidden face was staring out at her
from the drawing. Nervously, she
carefully closed the cover and laid it back down on the floor, not wanting to
have any more to do with it.
Through the entrance to the restroom, Daria heard Janes voice raised in
irate frustration.

Im gonna kill
Wind!

–

Friday

They spent most of the next morning at the local Kinkos,
designing and copying flyers. The
papers were straightforward, including only a description of Wind, their phone
number at the hotel, and a cash reward for information leading to Winds
discovery, calculated by Daria out of what she projected would be left over
after the hotel bill and food for the week was subtracted from her cabin
fund. She hated parting with the
fruits of years of saving, but after the events of the day and night before,
finding out what Wind might know was looking less and less like an option and
more like an absolute necessity.
Jane hadnt said a word about her outburst since, but she had been more
quiet than usual, and Daria could tell that it was weighing heavily on
her. She had tossed off a comment
that it would have been nice to have a picture of Wind to include on the flyer,
and had even managed to make it sound casual, but the bitter undercurrent was
plain to Darias ears.

After tossing down another large pile of cash for the
flyers, Daria and Jane proceeded to spend the early afternoon plastering them
up all over downtown. Separating
would have been quicker, but Jane said that the kind of places in which Wind
might have ended up were not the sorts of environments two young women should
be alone in, even during the day.
So they walked along together, taping up paper to poles already covered
in a thick layer of it, and commenting on the contents of those older
advertisements. Once, Jane even
thought she saw a fragment of the Mystik Spiral logo, but after a little
digging they discovered it was a flyer for some goth-metal band named Mystikal
Warriors; Jane commented that Baltimore was a bit out of the Spirals league
anyway. Altogether, the afternoon
was the closest they had come to forgetting, for a little while, the horrors
that were pursuing them.

When they got back to the hotel, late that afternoon,
several messages were already waiting for them. Jane pressed the button next to the blinking red light, and
routed the calls through to the speakerphone.

Hey, dude, I saw your guy, man. He was comin out of a monkeys ass! The caller dissolved into coarse
laughter, or at least as far as they could tell. The rowdy bar noises behind him made his voice a bit
difficult to make out. Jane hit
the skip forward button with unnecessary force, and the next message
played. Unfortunately, it was of
the same sort, as were the three that followed it.

Im beginning to think, Daria commented, that there might be a downside to
getting information from people hanging out in bars in the middle of the day.

Its just a good thing that we arent both using video
phones, Jane replied. These guys
are asses enough without actually having to see theirs.

Even among all the dreck, though, there were a few gems; a
few callers reported what sounded like legitimate sightings, and free of
charge, while a few others left their own numbers for them to call, just to
make sure that money would be paid if everything panned out. Jane contacted them, and within the
hour they had a list of locations where men who looked like Wind had been
spotted; of course, they would have preferred some confirmation of the
possibility, but most of the callers didnt know what the man was wanted for,
and so were hesitant to approach him.
Still, it was a start, and better than nothing.

They had a quick bite to eat, and were walking through the
streets of downtown by nightfall.
The sun was setting, and the streets were filling up with Friday night
revelers; Daria soon wearied of dodging back and forth to avoid enthusiastic
and inebriated pedestrians, and wished that they had timed their search better,
maybe come on a Monday night when people were too depressed by the workweek
ahead to crowd the sidewalk so inconveniently. The mass of people was not helping her now-constant sense of
being watched, and her nerves were starting to fray.

After what seemed an eternity, they reached the first
establishment on their list; from the line of people moving in, it looked
pretty popular. They were carding
at the door, but hopefully that would not be an issue both Daria and Jane had
fake IDs, procured for them by Trent (who of course kept his source a secret,
with vague mysterious hints of his connections) so that they could get into
McGrundys Pup to see the Spiral play.
They were good enough to pass inspection there, though that wasnt a
really high standard, and Daria was hoping that the bars here operated by the
same principles. And she was
right; the bouncer waved them in with only a cursory glance at their
credentials.

Inside it was dark, crowded, and noisy, most of the light
coming from the televisions that lined every wall, showing various sporting
events. Idly, Daria wondered what
would happen should a particularly sadistic person should slip the videotape
into one of the broadcasts; how many people would see it, and how many would be
able to handle the aftereffects. We
dont even know if weve seen all the aftereffects yet.

Do you see anyone who could be Wind? Daria asked Jane; she
had to yell to make her voice heard over the din. Jane looked around for a while, and then, saving her voice,
wordlessly pointed to a man sitting on a barstool, his back to them. He certainly looked like Wind, with his
blonde hair to his shoulders and slight build, along with a slight slouch. They walked up behind him, and Jane
tapped him on the shoulder. He
turned around to reveal his face . . .

. . . and he had no face. His face looked warped, melted, very much like how she and
Jane had looked in the security monitor.
Daria gasped and jumped back, almost tripping on a stool. She blinked hard, and when she opened
her eyes, everything was back to normal; the mans face was completely normal,
but it wasnt Winds. Damn
nerves. Damn tape. Damn Wind. Jane was already
apologizing for disturbing the man; she didnt seem to have even noticed.

The next couple of stops were uneventful, then they
encountered a wrinkle. When they
passed over their IDs to the bouncer, he looked both of them up and down, and
gave their cards back with a scowl.

Well, I can believe her,
he said, gesturing at Jane, and then turned to Daria, but theres no way youre twenty-one.
Youll have to stay out here.
Jane turned to leave, but Daria stopped her.

Wind could be in there, Jane, she said, and we cant
afford to miss him. Ill be fine
out here for a few minutes. Jane
didnt look too certain, but she assured Daria she would be out soon and then
ducked inside. Daria wandered over
to the side of the building; she knew exactly why she had been left out. It wasnt hard to guess that they were
both underaged; that wasnt why Jane had been let in and she left out. But even with her eccentric dress and
deliberately-odd makeup, Jane was attractive. Not a great beauty, but certainly enough to attract male
interest; on the other hand, though Daria knew she could be that way if she put
the effort into it, it had never seemed important to her, so she disdained
it. Usually, that was the way she
liked it, and it had rarely caused what she considered to be problems; but when
it did, such as now, it rankled her.
She had been separated from her friend solely because the bouncer had
been on the lookout for pretty girls, and she hated him for it.

Daria was so engrossed in her thoughts that she did not, at
first, notice the approaching stranger.
He was obviously drunk, swerving left and right on his feet, his face
bearing the too-wide smile of the pleasantly intoxicated. Then he started to get just a little
too close, and Daria became suddenly very aware indeed.

Hey, gorgeous, he said, you feeling lonely tonight? At least, that was what she thought he
said; the individual words were rather difficult to make out. Not that she wanted to make them out in
the first place.

I was, she replied coldly, but soon my muscular biker
boyfriend Knuckles is going to be here, and if he finds another man talking to
me, hell fly into a homicidal rage.

Well just have to hurry then, he said, and reached out
for her. Daria backed up out of
his reach, but to her dismay found herself pressed up against the wall, with
too many other people around to run very far to either side. His hand reached up to her neck.

And suddenly there was long, black hair covering her face,
and she was being choked, but from behind. She could feel two strong hands wrapping around her
windpipe, crushing the life from her body, the world growing fainter and
fainter by the second. She wanted
to scream, but couldnt get the air.
The hair covering her face got into her mouth; she tried to spit it out,
but whenever she gasped for air she would get another mouthful. Panic rose until coherent thought
became impossible, and all she could do was pant instinctively for air, but
there was no air to be had . . .

Then it was over, and Daria found herself slumped against
the wall, lungs heaving, as several people bent over her, asking if she was
alright. Others were carrying off
the man who had accosted her.
Daria couldnt speak, but just kept searching the sea of worried faces
until she finally found Janes, pushing her way through the crowd.

My god, Daria, she exclaimed, what happened? I heard you screaming inside the
bar. Janes eyes were wide with
shock, and she quickly looked Daria up and down, searching for wounds. Finally, Daria found the air and the
composure to speak.

It
. . . it was another vision, she whispered, not wanting
to have this conversation go beyond the two of them. Her hands and her
voice were shaking. When he touched my neck, I felt like I
was being strangled, but not by him. And it wasnt me, either. She looked into Janes eyes, and saw
that her friend knew exactly what she meant. Jane slung Darias arm over her shoulders, and helped her to
her feet; they started to walk down the street, the crowd parting before them,
connected together.

Come on, amiga,
Jane said tenderly. I think its
time for both of us to get some rest.

–

Daria shot straight up in bed, heart pounding, as the final
image of her nightmare faded into the dark hotel room around her. Turning towards the one source of light
available to her the window, which was starting to show the grey glow of
pre-dawn she saw Janes figure silhouetted against it, head down, staring at
the hands folded in her lap.

Jane, she said, her voice still morning-hoarse, what are
you doing up so early?

I had a nightmare, she said flatly, bluntly. Her voice quivered.

Yeah, so did I, Daria replied. I guess its not so surprising, considering whats been
happening to us. What did you dream about?

Jane took a deep, stabilizing breath, than began.

I was standing in someplace cold and dark, and wet. I was waist deep in water, and the
ground was muddy, so anytime I stepped I had to yank my foot up. Not that there was a lot of room to
walk; there was a stone wall all around me. I could feel it with my hands, though I couldnt see
anything. The walls were slimy
with algae, and the whole place stank.
As far as I could tell, there wasnt any roof, and all I could see above
me was a ring of light, just like the one at the beginning of the tape. I panicked, and tried to climb up and
out of the place, but I didnt get anywhere, and the rough walls just tore the
skin off my fingertips. Finally,
just before I was going to really flip out, I woke up. That was hours ago now. The whole time she was talking, her
gaze did not leave her lap.

That definitely sounds disturbing, Daria acknowledged,
and Im sure Freud would have lots of things to say about it, but why didnt
you just go back to sleep?

Because I havent told you the worst part of it yet, Jane
replied, her tone heavy. Then,
silently, she held up her hands so that Daria could see them in the light. The fingers were bloody, all the skin
missing from each one of their tips.

Good God, Jane! Daria yelped, shocked out of her fatigue
and any sense of restraint. She
knew this was impossible (though her sense of what was and was not possible had
already come under considerable strain these last few days), but her brain
couldnt deal with that yet, so it resorted to more pragmatic matters. She jumped out of bed and ran over to
Jane, taking her hands gently and examining the wounds. These havent even been washed. You need to clean these, and bandage
them, right now.

Sorry, I didnt bring my first-aid kit.

Ill rip up some of my clean socks to use for
bandages. While Im doing that,
wash your hands in the sink.

Obediently, Jane did as she was told, but while Daria was
tearing her socks into strips, she heard a cry of pain from restroom, followed
by a plea for assistance. She
stepped through the door to find Jane fumbling with the soap, unable to hold it
without it slipping from her blood-slicked hands. Without words, Daria took one of her hands in hers, and with
the other started to rub the bar of soap along her wounds.

There has to be some rational explanation for this, she
muttered, half to herself. Now
that the pragmatics were being taken care of, there was nothing left to
distract her from the more disturbing implications. Maybe you clawed the wall or the bedframe while you were
sleeping.

Sorry, amiga, Jane
responded, theyre clean as a whistle.
I looked.

Well, there has to be something. Dreams just dont become real.

Maybe the mind makes them real.

Great theory, Morpheus.

Man, I wish this was the Matrix. I could take that blue pill and forget any of this ever
happened.

There are other blue pills that can do that.

Yeah, I can get a prescription for them, and maybe a room
like yours. Ow!

Sorry. I wish
we had some disinfectant.

A bottle of bourbon does sound like a good idea right now.

Oh, no, Daria said emphatically. The last thing I need right now is alcohol. My dreams are strange enough, thank
you.

What was your dream about? Jane asked, as Daria turned off
the water and began to wrap her fingers with the strips of her sock.

It
started with me waking up in this room, she said
slowly, remembering, almost reliving, the vivid dream, half-afraid of
what was
going to happen next. I needed to
pee, so I went into the restroom and turned on the light, but instead
of seeing
my own reflection in the mirror, I saw someone else. She shivered
involuntarily. It was a little girl, about ten years old or so. She
was dressed in a flowing white
dress, and had long black hair that fell to her waist, framing an
extremely
pale face. She made me look like I
have a tan. She wasnt ugly in
fact, she was even kind of attractive but there was something about
her that
seemed very wrong, very eerie. She
even looked familiar to me, like someone I had seen before, out of the
corner
of my eye. I walked up to the
mirror and tried to meet her gaze, but I couldnt quite make eye
contact; there
was something hideous in her stare, and I just didnt have the
courage. Her pulse and breathing had quickened,
and Daria had to pause to take a few calming breaths. To this point,
the dream had seemed almost mundane, and yet,
even in her sleep when she was experiencing it for the first time, she
had
already become quite uneasy. I
asked her who she was, and she didnt answer, just kept looking at me
as though
she were examining an insect pinned to her card. I asked her what she
wanted, and she still didnt answer,
but she smiled. Daria stopped
abruptly, and swallowed. The
memory of that smile had made her heart nearly stop, she felt.

If you dont want to go on, Jane said, looking concerned,
thats fine.

No,
Im all right. Its just still a bit disturbing. But that smile, Jane
it was like nothing I have ever seen before. It was pure evil, hatred,
malevolence;
thats the only thing I can think of to describe it. I could tell right
then what she wanted she wanted me
dead, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it. Then she reached
out from the mirror and grabbed my arm, and
started to pull me in. It was like
being touched by living flame; Ive never felt anything like it. I
screamed, and then woke up. Daria finished tying up the bandages on
Janes fingers, and just in time; her hands were shaking so much that
she could
barely finish the knots. Jane was
staring at Darias arm.

It looks like Im not the only one with a souvenir from a
dream, she said quietly, almost in a whisper.

What do you mean? Daria replied, puzzled, and not sure she
wanted to know the answer.

Jane took Darias arm and pushed up her sleeve, tilting her
forearm into view. There, formed
from what looked like scar tissue from a long-healed burn, was the print of a
small hand.

–

Saturday

Come on, Daria, after last night, you have to admit
something unnatural is going on.

Daria and Jane sat across from each other, sitting at a
booth in a pizza place near the hotel.
Daria welcomed the familiarity of the situation; it felt like the last
support shoring up the increasingly shaky construct that was her life. After last night, her skepticism had
taken a nasty blow, and she was struggling to find some kind of rational,
ordinary cause that could explain it all.
The bandages on the tips of Janes fingers were mocking her, challenging
her for an explanation; she made sure to keep the long sleeves of her own jacket
all the way down, completely covering her arms.

That girl you saw in the mirror, Jane said, has to be the
same one I drew in my book; the woman with the long hair. She has to be the spirit behind it
all. Why else would she be trying
to scare us? Why else would you
have dreamed her?

Probably because I saw that picture you drew, Daria
replied, trying to maintain her normal monotone in the face of rising doubt and
frustration. I will admit that
the picture disturbed me, but thats all the more reason my mind would have
included her in my nightmare.

Do girls in pictures do this? Jane demanded, and pushed up
Darias sleeve to reveal the brown handprint. And, of course, that was the clincher, the thing that Daria
could not explain, the fatal flaw in her argument. But that didnt mean she was quite ready to concede the war.

Just because I dont know how it happened, she said,
doesnt mean there isnt a rational cause. There are a lot of weird things in the world that I cant
explain; that doesnt mean Im going to blame them all on ghosts and
goblins. If we did that, then
hundreds of years of science would be worthless; we might as well start making
offerings to the rain gods in the hopes of a good harvest.

Jane held up her fingers.

Daria, this doesnt just happen on its own. We both know there is no way something
like last night could just happen naturally; if it could, then people would
wake up wounded from nightmares all the time. She did this to
us. Shes just as real as you or I
are. And I dont think we are
going to be able to stop her until you acknowledge that she exists.

Its not that simple, Daria snapped, almost losing her
temper at her friends insistence.
She paused for a few seconds to calm down. This isnt a movie, Jane, where the lifelong skeptic can just
see a ghost and be magically transformed into a believer. Ive lived my entire life under the
assumption that this is all there is,
that if I cant see it, hear it, feel it, or test it, then it doesnt
exist. There is no god ruling over
us, no angels guarding us, and certainly no ghosts haunting us. The possibility that there might be,
that there is a reality beyond what I have always known, is not just a new
piece of information I can stitch on to my worldview and go on as before. If I believed that, I would have to
reevaluate every aspect of my life, rethink every important decision I have
ever made. It would completely
revolutionize my outlook on life.
So, before I make such a staggering change, I need to be absolutely
certain of my reasons for doing so.
Jane pierced her with an assessing gaze.

So its not really that you cant believe, she said slowly, piecing it all together,
but that it would be a lot of trouble to change your mind. She paused; Daria knew she was waiting
for her to contradict that statement, to explain that she had it all wrong, but
though Daria thought that Jane was putting too much of a negative spin on her
position, she was essentially right.
But the Daria Morgendorffer I know would never allow inconvenience to
stand in the way of truth; she would believe it if it was true, no matter what
the cost to her might be, or prove it to be false. What are you going to do?

Fortunately, the waiter chose that exact moment to arrive
with their pizza, sparing Daria from the necessity of an answer to a question
she had yet to be able to solve, despite having turned it over and over in her
head continuously the entire morning.
Or maybe the arrival of the pizza was not so fortunate after all, for as
soon as it was set down on the table, its accustomed shape sprang out at both
of them; they couldnt see the greasy cheese or the steaming toppings, just the
ring formed by the outer crust.

Daria, do you see . . . ? Janes voice was small.

Yes, I do, Daria replied. Maybe we should have rethought our meal choices. I think Ive lost my appetite.

Me, too. You
know, when this thing interferes with our pizza time, it really has gone too
far.

Or maybe its just trying to save us from an early,
cholesterol-induced death.

So shes sort of a Casper the friendly ghost type of
thing.

Except for the visions and horrible nightmares.

Are you going to eat this?

I dont think I can.
You?

Nope. Lets
get out of here.

Leaving their money on the table, they walked out of the
restaurant and started the short walk down the street to their lodgings. An inescapable feeling of futility
overwhelmed Daria.

Were never going to find Wind this way, she said, not
unless we get very lucky, and I think weve both seen the extent of our
luck. There must be another way to
go about it, some clue that were not seeing. Daria tried to think of something they might have missed,
some heretofore un-thought-of method of searching that might produce Janes
elusive brother, but couldnt think of anything other than to just keep on
doing what they were already doing, and hope that they stumbled upon him in the
next two days.

Ill call Trent when we get back to our room, Jane
replied. Maybe Wind showed up and
he forgot to call, or just never got around to it. Jane shrugged.
Its worth a try, at least.

–

Trent!

Hey, Janey.
Hows Baltimore?

Frustrating.
Has Wind come home?

Nah, havent seen him. Isnt he with you?

No! Weve
looked all over the city for him, and we cant find him. Weve tried the jails, the hospitals,
the bars . . .

Did you look at the cabin?

What are you talking about?

That place Mom and Dad used to take us when we were
little, for those nature experiences?

Trent, I dont know what the hell youre talking about.

Oh, yeah, thats right; you werent around yet. Or maybe you were just too small to
remember. Mom and Dad used to take
us to this cabin in the middle of nowhere so we could get in touch with nature,
away from everything man-made.
They built it with some friends of theirs back in the late sixties, when
they were trying to start a commune.
No TV or phones, and we even had to catch our own food and cook it over
a fire. They didnt even let me
bring my guitar because they said it would interfere with the music of
nature. God, we hated that place.

What about Wind, Trent?

Oh, yeah.
He was the only one of us who really liked it. He told me once that he still goes up there, when he needs
to get away from everything.

Where is it!

Whoa, Janey.
Be cool. I dont know where
it is. We stopped going when I was
still pretty young, and I havent been back since. All I know is that its way out in the woods, a long drive
from Baltimore.

Thanks, Trent.
Youve been a big help.

Cool. See
ya, Janey.

Bye, Trent.

–

Jane slammed down the phone switch as she quickly summarized
to Daria her conversation with Trent, and immediately began dialing another
number.

Who are you calling now? Daria asked, feeling hope for the
first time in days.

Summer, Jane replied shortly, concentrating on her
dialing. Shes the oldest, so she
would probably have the best memory of where this place is. Hi, Summer, its Jane . . . no, I dont
know where Courtney and Adrian are; the last time I saw them was the last time
I saw you . . . Summer, I dont have time to chat. I need to know where to find some cabin Trent said Mom and
Dad used to take you guys to . . . yes, I guess thats the one . . . West Virginia!
. . . Fine, do you know how to get there? . . . yeah . . . uh huh . . . hmmm, I
think so . . . got it. Thanks,
Summer. Gotta run. Bye. She made a few more notations on the note pad she was
holding, then turned to Daria, her expression nervous but hopeful.

The cabin is in West Virginia, Daria said, stating what
she knew as a fact rather than asking for confirmation.

Yeah, Jane answered, sounding unsure. When my parents wanted to get away,
they didnt do it half-assed. Its
about a four-hour drive, and then we have to hike the last few miles through
the mountains. The problem is,
getting there and back will use up most of our remaining time, especially since
well probably have to spend tonight there, even if we leave now. Do we want to risk it?

We havent really had much success here, Daria pointed
out, and if I never see another bar scene again, I will die a much happier
person. Plus, maybe the reason we
couldnt reach Wind on his cell phone was not because he hadnt paid his bill,
but because he was out of range in the mountains. Id say we have as good odds there as here, and Im more
willing to risk hillbillies over barflies. I vote that we go.

Sounds good enough for me. Lets ride.

–

At first, the highway trip through Maryland was nothing out
of the ordinary; Daria and Jane talked of normal subjects, doing their best to
not dwell on the disturbing events of the past few days, or on the uncertainty
of finding Wind at their destination.
But the tension didnt fade; Daria still felt like her nerves were on
edge, and their situation hung over the conversation like a black cloud that
neither of them wanted to acknowledge but of which both could feel the shadow.

But as the straight highway gave way to country roads and
then to winding mountain trails, Daria felt her tension begin to ease up, at
least a little bit. The
now-constant feeling of being watched didnt subside, but the change of scenery
helped in putting the events of the last few days behind her. Of course, she had her own bad memories
of mountain county at least, she had thought that they were bad memories, but
viewed in the light of her newest recollections they seemed almost
paradisiacal. Were Lawndales
Wilderness Adventure Club, Mark 2. Even Janes adventurous sense of
driving seemed tame in comparison.

Finally, they reached the end of the road; it dead-ended
into a wooded slope, with a narrow dirt trail leading up the mountain. Another car was there waiting for them,
a beat-up old Ford. Jane parked
the car behind it, and they got out.

Please tell me this is Winds, Daria said, resting her
hand on the hood of the jalopy.
Toms had been in worse shape, but not by much.

Yep, this is it, Jane said, and for the first time in
days, she smiled. Looks like
Trent had it right after all. Ill
have to get him a set of guitar strings or something. Come to think of it, I think this place looks a bit
familiar. Its vague, but it does
feel like Ive been here before.
She looked around, taking in the natural scenery. Yknow, its not all that bad out
here. Pretty relaxing,
actually. Wind rustling the tree branches,
babbling brooks, the song of birds . . .

Banjos, Daria interjected.

Maybe its time for you to start practicing squealing like
a pig. Jane smirked, and wiggled
her eyebrows suggestively.

Sorry, Daria quipped back. High-pitched, inhuman squeals are Quinns department.

Jane stared up at the trail before them.

I would love to hear the sound shed make at the thought of
a climb like this. She took a
deep breath, and stepped onto the dirt.
Daria followed.

The climb was hard.
If her run from Glen Oaks Lane to Howard Drive Wednesday morning had
shown her how much gym had kept her in shape, this ascent seemed determined to
pay her back for every complaint she had ever made about Ms. Morris. Even Jane was having a difficult time
apparently running took different muscles than climbing and conversation soon
faded out, replaced by a few murmured imprecations and a lot of heavy
breathing. Rest stops were as
frequent as they could justify them, balancing the necessity of recovery with
the driving desire to get to Wind as quickly as possible. But, every time, they dragged
themselves to their feet long before they felt rested, and made their way up
again.

Finally, just as the sun was setting behind the trees, the
path leveled off. They were
walking almost directly into the sunset, and the glow cast everything around
them into a red hue. It looked as
though they were walking through a forest of fire. Then, in so smooth a transition they almost didnt notice
it, the trees that surrounded them were
on fire, tongues of flame licking at their newly-bare branches, turning each
bough into a torch. They looked
around them in surprise, but little shock; there wasnt much left that could
shock them.

This isnt real, right? Jane asked, in the tone of someone
who knows the answer but feels the need to say something in acknowledgement.

Im pretty sure its not, Daria replied, in much the same
way. I think wed be dead if it
were.

Well, at least this is pretty mild, Jane said. If this is all she has left to throw
at us, maybe things are starting to wind down. Maybe it all wears off in seven days, and weve been worrying
for nothing.

Or this is her resting until she really throws the shit at
us. Daria realized that she had
just spoken of Janes hypothetical spirit as though she were real. Do I think that she is? When did that happen? Should I just let myself slide into
this paradigm shift? Whether or not she wanted to, she
didnt have the time or energy to fight it just then; shed have to give the
whole matter serious thought later on, when she could devote all her energies
to the question. For now, the only
thing that mattered was to continue moving forward.

The sun was now completely set, and with the trees blocking
out almost all moonlight and starlight, and no manmade illumination within
miles, the trail became almost pitch-black. The fiery trees burned on, but the flames shed no light
beyond their own borders; soon, they could only make out the trail by the path
it blazed through the light of the illusory inferno. They kept walking, they didnt know how long.

Then, ahead of them, they saw another flickering firelight
glow, but this one was on the ground.
The trees thinned out into a clearing, in the center of which stood an
old-fashioned log cabin, looking in dire need of repair. The light was coming from inside,
shining through the open spaces between the logs, its wavering orange glow a
beacon. The door opened with a
creak, and they stepped inside.

The interior was only a single room, its walls and floor
glowing and flickering in time with the fire, built in a fireplace in one wall;
a single figure sat in front of it, staring into the flames. It was Wind.

He turned when they came in, his expression mournful instead
of surprised. He attempted a
sickly smile.

Janey, he said, and . . . He stared at Daria, brow wrinkling.

Daria, she quickly filled in, before he could make another
humiliating guess. He nodded
absently. He was about to say
something else, but Jane didnt give him the chance.

Wind, she said briskly, walking up to stand beside his
sitting form, did you leave a videotape at the house? Winds eyes opened wide, and even
through the firelight his face paled.
Janes voice hardened.
What is it? Wind
swallowed nervously.

I heard that it was made by a little girl, he said,
sounding choked. Her mother
strangled her and threw her in a well.
Her ghost made the tape to tell people what happened. Her name was Sam . . . Sammy . . .
Samantha . . .

Samara, said a voice
in Darias ear. The high-pitched
voice of a young girl. Chills
enveloped her bones.

My friend Danny gave it to me, Wind continued, looking up
at his younger sister looking lost and helpless. He said it was the best trip he ever had. Kathy and I dont have a VCR, so I
brought it home, but I never could get up the courage to watch it. He drew in a deep gasp, and his eyes
opened even wider, if that were possible.
I didnt realize I had left it there until days later. Janey, did you watch it? His voice rose in panic.

Yes, we both did, she replied. Her voice was dangerously level. What is going to happen to us?

Oh, Janey, Wind said, on the verge of tears, you have to
make a copy and show it to somebody else, or else youll die exactly seven days
after you watched it!

Daria felt as though she had been punched in the stomach by
a hand wearing an iron gauntlet.
She sank to the ground. Die,
die, die . . . The word reverberated around her head until it had no
meaning.

Wind, how are we going to die?

I dont know, he said, now weeping openly. Nobody does. The only person Ive ever heard of who saw it happen went
crazy. Shes in a nuthouse now.

Are you sure about this, Wind? Jane asked, fury growing in
her voice. Do you know anyone who
has actually died from this?

Wind looked up at her in agony.

Danny. Two
days after he gave it to me. The
paper said he died of a heart attack, but I know better. He finally dissolved completely into
tears, clutching Janes feet. She
stood above him like an avenging angel, or a wrathful demon.

Get out, Wind, she said, at first a whisper, then with
increasing fury. Get out. Get out! GET OUT! She
drew back her foot, looking as though she was going to kick him, but he jumped
away and ran out into the dark.
His cries and sobs faded into the noises of the mountain night. They never saw him again.

For a minute, everything was silent. Then Jane came over and sat down next
to Daria.

Jane, were going to be killed by a kid, Daria said, and
almost laughed at the grim absurdity of it. A kid who was hurt, and now she wants everyone else to hurt
as well. Everyone will
suffer. Daria had never been fond
of kids; now she knew why. How
typical. But what if I had
that kind of power, when I was at that age? How many times did I think of hurting all the other children
who teased or bullied me? If I
could have, would I have? Just how
much actually separates her from me?

I dont think thats all that it is, Jane said, at least,
thats not the feeling Im getting from her. From Samara.
Daria looked at Jane in mild surprise, and then they both knew that the
other had heard as well. I think
she wants everyone to know how it felt, what it was like to be her. I
doubt that her life was a happy one.

That may be so, but we cant help her. Daria inhaled deeply, steadying herself
to shore up her decision, the only one that in good conscience she could
make. We cant pass this on; I
cant have another persons death on my conscience. This has to stop here.

Daria, Jane said in surprise, surely you cant think that
our tape is the only copy? Theres
probably hundreds of them out there.
Letting ourselves die isnt going to stop her. Besides, if we copy it and give it to someone else, well
let them know what to do with it.

Yes,
but then hell make a copy, and the person he gives it
to will make a copy, and that person, and the next, and the next. Its
exponential growth, Jane; thats
her plan. And all of those copies
will be out there, each one descended from us. And, eventually, each
one of them will be viewed by someone
like us, someone who doesnt know what they have. And each one of them
will die. Jane, I cant kill off all those people, just so I can keep
living; if I did that, I dont think that I could live.

Jane didnt look convinced, and she avoided her friends eyes.

Jane, Daria said, the words cracking, if you want to make
a copy, I wont try to stop you, or even talk you out of it. I dont want you to die. But Jane shook her head.

No, amiga, youre
right. If I did that, I couldnt
live with myself either, knowing what I had done. And after all the grief you put me through about BFAC, dont
think that youre going to leave me here to face it alone. She smiled, but there was little of
mirth in it. Daria responded in
kind. So, what now?

Well stay here for the night, Daria replied, now that
your brother has so graciously made way.
Tomorrow, well go back to the hotel, destroy the tape, and head back
home. I dont remember exactly
when I watched the tape, but Ill at least have most of the day with my family
before the end. I dont think Ill
tell them about it, though; they cant do anything to prevent it, and if they
try, Im afraid they might end up in Bedlam. Where they belong anyway, I suppose. The joking insult was a reflex, but
Daria regretted it as soon as it was out of her mouth. Her family, usually the source of
annoyance and caustic humor, was suddenly precious to her.

I suppose Ill do the same thing; I hope Trent is around
for at least part of it. I want
the chance to say goodbye. Jane
looked mournfully at Daria. Will
you be going straight home once we reach Lawndale? She didnt ask it directly, but Daria knew what she wanted.

No, Ill stay with you until the end; and if I go crazy for
it, well, I wont have that long to suffer. Jane reached over and touched her on the shoulder, and
before either of them knew it, they were locked in a sorrowful embrace, each
giving comfort to the other, as only best friends could. They held each other like this long
into the night.

–

Sunday

They started their climb down the mountain as soon as they
woke up the next morning. Going
down proved to be even more strenuous than coming up, so conversation was once
again held to a minimum. The trees
surrounding them were back to normal, leafy branches green and lush, and the
forest teemed with the sounds of a thousand forms of life. It seemed almost a mockery of their
situation, having to walk through such an explosion of life when their own lives
were now so close to their ends; but it was also a comforting reminder, that
though their own existence was drawing to a close, that the world would keep
going, that Samaras victory was far from complete. Though there were clouds gathering on the eastern horizon,
the sky above them was clear and blue, and the sunlight reached them
unhindered, making their coming demise seem distant and unreal; ghosts were
creatures of night and shadow, how could one reach them in the bright light of
day? Daria knew that such feelings
were an illusion, hardly borne out by their experiences, but she appreciated
the relief from the heavy dread and the sense of impending doom that had
haunted her night.

Eventually, after several hours of exhausting decent, they
finally reached the car, parked unmolested right where they had left it. Daria took the wheel for their drive
back to Baltimore. After just a
few minutes of rest, they started to talk, but it was not of the great and terrible
revelation of the night before.
Daria told Jane of her life in Highland, the armpit of Texas; she told
of her isolation and loneliness, of how the only two people who came close to
being her friends were two degenerate morons with whom she only associated for
the sake of amusement. She told of
her parents fights, her trouble in school, her increasing desperation at her
own position. She told her of
first hearing about the move to Lawndale, of her pessimistic assumption that
there would be no one for her there, since she had come to assume such a person
did not exist. Jane told Daria of
her growing up almost abandoned by her parents, since they had begun to place
their own muses call above their own children; of being raised almost
completely by Trent. She told of
settling into her grip of her own muse, seeing the world and the people around
her as mere grist for her artistic mill.
She told of taking the schools self-esteem class month after month
after month, because she had no other way to spend her time. She told of growing up with Kevin and
Brittany, Jodie and Mack, Upchuck, Andrea, and everyone else they knew; how
they had started off as friends, in the manner of young children, but how age
had separated them into groups, and how Jane had found herself in a group of
one.

They both talked of their three years together, recounting
old escapades and reviving old jokes, and recalled the stupidity and conformity
of their classmates. Of their
families and their teachers and their peers, all observed through a distancing
filter of bemusement and frustration.
There were no new stories here, they had heard them all before, but they
found that, while these memories had once been objects of scorn, they were now
fondly treasured, despite their absurdities, because of their absurdities. Little snippets of life, with all the
slings and arrows that it is heir to; they did not want to let it go. Neither of them admitted to feeling
this way, but it was growing in their hearts all the same.

But as they clouds started to roll in, and the world turned
to grey around them, their minds came around once again to face what was ahead
of them, instead of what was behind, and conversation stalled. They spent some time in silence, Daria
focused on the road ahead, Jane staring out the window. Then, turning to face Daria once again,
she broke the silence.

Yknow, she said, people always say to live every day
like it is going to be your last, and I always thought that was what I was
doing. Her voice was soft,
reflective. Carpe diem. Follow
your dreams. Live every day with
gusto, and you will have no regrets.
They think that means
living every day as though you werent going to get another one. But now, I dont feel like any of that
at all. It was fun, but I want to
spend my last day just being with the people I care about, and screw all the rest
of it. If I can spend my last few
hours with you and Trent, Ill feel like Ive really spent my last day well,
even if I cant tell Trent thats what it is. Ill have no regrets.
She fell silent, but after a few moments, Daria filled the hush.

I
dont think Ive lived that way at all, she said slowly,
heavily. Ive been treating my
life so far as a prologue, just a waiting period or a purgatory, before
my
real life begins. I thought
grade school was just what was leading into my life, preparing me for
it; but
what I thought was prologue has turned out to be the whole story. It
all feels so unfinished; I feel like
I have left nothing completed, neither my writing nor my relationships.
And now its all over. Daria felt sick, her stomach twisted in
knots, and so heavy she found it hard just to make her arms move to
steer. Jane contemplated her quietly for a
while, then spoke.

Daria, what do you think is going to happen to you after
you die?

Ill be buried in a plot with green grass and a relatively
expensive headstone, she replied, her voice bitterly humorous. Dad will come visit me every day and
spend the whole time yelling at his father about how its his fault Im in
here. Mom will come, when she
finds the time between cases, and spend most of the time talking to Eric on the
cell phone. And Quinn will never
visit, because nothing can destroy a girls popularity faster than being
associated with death.

Really?
Personally, I plan on being stuffed and mounted. Jane attempted a smile, but it died
quickly. But seriously, Daria,
weve never actually discussed it; what do you think is going to happen to you
after you die?

Weve never discussed it because, despite what Mr. ONeill
might think, I dont like to sit around thinking about death. Her hands tightened on the wheel; even
with the topic unavoidably in the air, she still didnt like the idea of
speaking of that dark unknown which now seemed all too near.

But you must have some opinion. And if youre going to think about death, nows the time.

I suppose I think that, once you die, thats it. The brain stops working, and its
pretty much lights out. The body
decays, and in the end, its like you were never here to begin with.

So you dont think theres any kind of afterlife?

I dont see how there could be; once the brain is gone, the
persons gone.

And what about this last week? What about that girl that Wind says was murdered, the one
that supposedly made the tape, the one you and I have both seen? You act like youve accepted her
existence. Doesnt that change
your mind? If there is an
afterlife, dont you think there might still be a way to complete everything
that you dont think youve finished?

For a long moment, Daria was silent.

I dont know. But I dont think I would want to be part of an afterlife
with such creatures as her in it.

The rest of the drive was mostly silent.

–

They arrived back in Baltimore by early evening, stepping
wearily into their hotel room.
Daria wanted nothing more than to see the end of this place and return
home to the family that now felt to precious to her. But she wouldnt see them for a while yet; they had decided
that the Morgendorffer family would have enough on their plate with Darias
death. Having Jane die in their
home just a few hours earlier would be too much to ask them to deal with. So they would stay at Janes place, the
two of them and Trent, until Janes death the following morning. Only then would Daria go home, to spend
a few final hours with her family.

But she was ready to take the initial step the night drive
back to Lawndale. They both packed
their things quickly.

Dont forget to make sure you still have the tape, Jane
said. Daria turned to look at her
in surprise.

I thought you had it.

Their eyes widened as they realized what had happened.

How could we have done that? Jane exclaimed. I thought for sure that you said you
were going to bring it.

I thought you were going to, Daria replied, and then
clarity hit her. Its
Samara. She wants the tape to keep
moving on. Shes the one who made
Wind leave it for us, and now weve left it for . . . She sucked in her breath in horror.

TRENT!

Jane ran for the phone.

–

Hey, Janey.
Did you find Wind?

Yeah, we found him, for all the good it did us. Trent, have you seen any videotapes
lying about?

Yeah, mostly around the VCR.

Yes, I know about those. Have you seen any others, any unmarked ones?

Yeah, there is this one. I found it when I went into your room looking for CDs. I was going to put it in, but I took a
nap instead. Should I watch it?

NO!
Sorry, Trent. I need you to
promise me that you wont watch that tape.

Whats on it?
Is it dirty?

Nothing like that.
Its nothing important, but I need you to promise me you wont watch
it. I want you to put it in Moms
kiln and bake it until its a puddle.
Trent, swear to me youll do it right after we get off the phone.

Janey, youre acting really weird.

I know, but this is a matter of life and death. Please, Trent, please destroy it.

Okay, Ill do it.

Right after we get off the phone. Swear it.

Fine, Janey.
I swear.

Good. Im
very glad to hear that. Were
coming home now; Ill see you in a few hours.

Nah, the Spirals got a rehearsal tonight, then a late
gig in Swedesville. In fact, I
should have already been there, but I fell asleep. Well crash there, so I probably wont be home until
tomorrow afternoon. Ill see you
then, though.

Yeah, Ill see you then. Goodbye, Trent.

–

Trent put the duck back onto its base. Janey had sounded pretty stressed; he
wondered what the big deal was.
She should learn to just take life as it came, learn to take it all in
stride. Be cool.

He told her that he would destroy that videotape, but he
really had to go; Max had nearly gone ballistic the last time hed shown up two
hours late for a pre-show rehearsal.
He should learn to cool down too.
Hed destroy the tape when he got back.

–

Jane hung up the phone. Daria had been impressed by how normal she had sounded
talking to Trent, but as soon as the connection was cut, Jane fell on her
knees. She didnt yet know what
had happened, but Daria held her grieving friend in her arms as she wept.

–

Daria and Jane finally stepped through the door of the Lane
home late that evening. No lights
were on, and the place was steeped in shadow, the only illumination coming from
the streetlights seen through the window.
The house was vacant, but it was not empty; it was filled with a
palpable presence, brooding and malevolent, awaiting its time. Now that Daria knew she was being watched, she no longer had the urge to
constantly check over her shoulder; in fact, she had become, not comfortable,
but accustomed to this ever present consciousness. But now, back in familiar surroundings not associated with
the horrors of the past week, it was like she was feeling Samaras presence for
the very first time, and the hostility she sensed in it made her insides
quiver. Were you always
like this, Samara? Were you born
with this evil inside you? Or, at
one time, were you just a scared child, wondering why your Mommy wanted to hurt
you? No answer was forthcoming.

Daria followed Jane to her bedroom, where everything was as
they had left it: the defaced older works in a haphazard pile, the
Samara-induced paintings scattered across the room as though flung about in a
frenzy, and at the epicenter of it all, the mutilated white canvas emblazoned
with a dark ring. The insignia
Samara had taken as her own, a silent reminder of the influence she now held
over them. Wordlessly, Jane took
out the embedded brush, and grasping both sides of the hole she had made,
ripped the painting apart in a feat of furious strength, then hurled the ruined
frame against the wall. The frame
broke, and it fell limp to the floor.

She
may take me, Jane said, and it sounded like a vow,
but she wont control what it is I leave behind. She wont take my
legacy. And with that, she took up a hammer and walked around the
room, systematically destroying every painting she had made while under
Samaras influence. Daria just watched
in silence, knowing Jane was doing what she had to do. Finally, they
both stood in a room full
of ruined works of art; the hammer dropped from Janes nerveless
fingers.

Listen to me, Samara! she declared to the air surrounding
her. I am going to paint. I may not be able to control myself if
you take me over, but I wont stop trying to create my own work. I will fight you every inch of the
way. I am Jane Lane, artiste
extraordinaire. And that is what I will be until the brush drops from
my dead fingers.

She picked up a blank canvas and set it on the easel. Taking up a brush, she began to paint.

–

Monday

Daria was awakened the next morning by a gentle shake from
Jane. Before she even opened her
eyes, she could hear the sound of heavy knocking and an angry voice being
filtered through the front door.
Daria was lying sprawled on the bed, having finally given into
exhaustion after spending hours watching Jane paint with a vengeance, starting new works time after time, and
then discarding them as soon as the first hint of Samaras influence became
noticeable. Her efforts had yielded
no clear successes, but there were no complete failures either; there were no
faces anywhere to be seen, and there were many images of wells, ladders,
horses, and rings. But there were
also many pictures Jane had nearly completed before detecting such intruders,
and these were enough to keep her going without fail, determined to not just
give up and let Samara win this battle as well. Jane was still working as Darias eyes slowly opened,
standing at her easel, brush in hand; from the number of new paintings
scattered about, it was clear that she had worked straight through the
night. She smirked at Daria; the
voice coming through the door was clearly that of Helen Morgendorffer.

Sounds like weve been found out, amiga, she said, her voice raspy from the early hour.

Ignore her and shell go away, Daria replied. Jane didnt know the exact time she
watched the tape, but it was sometime in the morning, and Daria didnt intend
to leave her friends side until that moment. The yelling and pounding continued unabated, Helen calling
for her daughter to come out and explain herself. Jane turned her head towards the door for a moment, and then
looked back to Daria.

Go on and talk to her, she said, jerking her head towards
the door. I dont think shes
just going to go away. Im sure
that shes noticed that your car is here.

Are you sure?
Daria was nervous about the idea of leaving Jane for even a few moments.

Sure, Jane responded. Ill be fine by myself for a couple of minutes. Besides, do you really want your mother
angry at you today? She was
right; this was the last day that her mother would see her alive, and Daria
didnt want to her spend it cross.
That wasnt the kind of final moments she wished to have with any of her
family, and she didnt want Helen to feel guilty afterwards. She levered herself up off the bed, and
set off to answer the door.

From the looks of her mother as she opened the door, the
chance of Helen getting out of this with a cool head was pretty slim. Her face was red, partially from
exertion, but also, Daria thought, from pure anger. Helen didnt give her a chance to speak; as soon as they
made eye contact, she started in on her.

Daria Marie Morgendorffer, she exclaimed, and Daria knew
that this would have a bad ending, what the hell have you been doing the past
few days! Where have you
been! Ive called and called over
here and never gotten an answer; I drove over and your car was gone, every
time! You disappeared for almost a
week; do you know how scared I was?
And then, finally, we got out of Quinn that you had gone to Baltimore! What
the hell possessed you to do that, without even telling us? Daria had no chance to interject
anything into her mothers tirade, but when Helen reached out to take Darias
arm she shook it off.

Young lady, Helen continued in righteous anger, you are
coming home this instant, and I assure you Family Court will not look favorably
on you trying to get out of it.

Mother, Daria finally managed to get in, I cant leave Jane right now. I promise, Ill be home in a couple of hours, but right now
I have to stay.

You do not get to plea bargain here, Helen replied. I know you think that youre
independent, now that youve graduated high school and are off to college soon,
but as long as you live in my house youll obey my rules, and my rules say to
come home with me now. She reached out once again to take her
arm, and Daria stepped back further into the house.

No, mother, she said as calmly as she could. She couldnt believe that her last day
with her loved ones was starting so badly, and every second she was away from
Jane felt like an eternity during which anything could happen; she had to fight
down a rising sense of panic, of everything spinning out of control. Im sorry, I really am; I dont want
us to fight like this. But I made
a promise to Jane, and I cant leave yet.
But I swear I will come home as soon as I can, and I will take whatever
punishment you give me without reply.
But, please, dont force me to come with you. Helens anger seemed to recede slightly as she heard what
Daria was saying.

Why cant you leave yet? she asked, the heat still there
but tempered with a measure of curiosity.
Whats wrong with Jane?
Why does she have to have you around right now?

I cant say, Daria replied. She wished she could tell her mother everything, pour it all
out to her and ask for support and comfort for all of them; but Helen couldnt
know what was really happening, not and remain safe. Shed try to stop Samara and possibly be driven insane, or
demand to see the tape herself.
(At the back of her mind, Daria wondered if Trent had actually destroyed
the tape as he had promised, but she couldnt afford to dwell on that issue
right at this moment.) It was
obvious that her simple and uninformative reply did not improve Helens mood,
but she made no further move to physically budge her daughter. After a long, tense moment, Helen spoke
again.

Fine, she said briskly, and gave a short nod of her
head. You can stay, for now, but
I want you home by noon. Do you
understand? Daria nodded and gave
her word, and Helen strode back to her car and drove away.

Daria closed the door with a sigh, and leaned against it for
just one moment, grateful to have finally seen one thing in this terrible week
go her way.

Then, from Janes room, she heard it: a piercing,
blood-curdling scream, the sound of pure terror. It pierced her ears and reverberated through her brain and
her bones, turning her heart to ice.
For a moment, she was frozen in horror, then her legs were moving
towards the sound, no real thought in her mind other than that Jane needed her,
and the horrifying feeling that she was too late.

She dashed through Janes door, almost falling headfirst in
her haste. Then she stopped; at
first glance, everything looked normal, exactly as she left it. She saw Jane lying on the bed, face
pointed the opposite direction; she looked like she was merely resting, with no
signs of terror or any kind of struggle.
Daria wondered if maybe, somehow, through all the stress, she had
imagined the whole thing; if maybe Jane had finally just succumbed to
fatigue. She walked over to the
reclining form; her boots splashed through a puddle of water on the floor, but
she didnt even notice. She took
hold of Janes shoulder and rolled her over to see if she was okay.

And Daria saw Janes face; she saw what had been her
face. Now it was horribly
disfigured, green and bloated, the skin hanging off the skull like it was already
rotten. Her hand jerked back of
its own accord, her conscious mind shut down; wanting to close her eyes and
refuse all that she had seen, but feeling them open ever wider in shock and
horror, Daria backed away. Her
whole body was seized with an icy grip, her arms and legs vibrating with the
instinct to flee as far away as they could; her heart felt constricted, and she
couldnt breathe.

Then her vision clouded over, and she knew no more.

–

Daria regained consciousness wet and with a sore head. She was lying in a pool of water, and
using her hand to probe the back of her skull she found a painful lump; she
must have hit her head on the floor when she blacked out. Damn, what time is it? How long have I been unconscious? Opening
her eyes to see Janes ceiling above her, at first she wasnt sure of what had
happened, why she would be lying out cold in Janes room. Then memory came flooding back to her,
and in shock she bolted upright, which her head immediately protested. She barely noticed, for the first sight
that met her eyes was Janes ravaged face; she rapidly averted her gaze, and
felt like she was going to be sick. Jane. Oh, god,
Jane . . . Then she was
sick, but when it was over and her stomach was empty, it still did not compare
to the void that was her heart.
She wanted to stay here, to slowly absorb what had happened and grieve
for her friend, to guard her body until she was ready to let her go; but the
clock on the wall said that it was past four in the afternoon. That means Ive got about an
hour, maybe less. I cant stay
here; Ive got to get home. Keeping her eyes on the door, she stood
up and slowly walked out of the room, still a bit unsteady on her feet. When she reached the door, she paused. Farewell for now, my
friend. I dont know where you
are, but wherever it is, Ill be joining you soon.

The rest of the house was empty; either Trent had not yet
returned from the gig, or he had already come and left again, without knowing
what had happened. Daria knew that
there was one more thing she had to do before she left; she called 911 and
anonymously reported a death on Howard Drive. All she could do now was hope that the paramedics arrived
before Trent did; she didnt want him to remember his sister like that. Then
she left for home.

When she stepped into the Morgendorffer house, the first
thing she saw was her mother, standing in the den with her arms folded,
furious. Daria had been expecting
this, but that didnt make it any easier; she didnt want to fight, and she
knew her mother would regret it later, but she could see no way out of it.

You gave me your word, Daria, Helen began, her voice hard,
and I trusted you, because Ive never known you to go back on a promise. But youre over four hours late, on top
of going missing for almost a week, and I dont know whats come over you. Family Court will meet later to discuss
judgment, but I think its safe to say that you will be grounded for a very
long time, and dont even think that you can bore us out of it. But for now, I want you to go to your
room and stay there until supper.
She pointed up the stairs.

Supper would be around six or seven; Daria knew that she
wouldnt make it that long. Daria
wanted to beg for a reprieve, to ask for the chance to spend her final precious
minutes in the company of her family, but she knew that the situation was too
far gone for that; her mother would never listen. But she couldnt let those words be the last exchanged between
them.

I love you, mom, she said calmly, masking an overflowing
heart, and then walked up the stairs to her room, not waiting to see Helens
reaction. As she walked up the
stairs, she heard sirens in the distance; her 911 call was bearing fruit. She hated to think that soon the sirens
would be coming much closer.

Inside her room, she looked around, examining the place
where she had spent so much of the past three years. The padded walls, the barred windows, the broken TV bolted
to the ceiling, the door with the insane poetry these were all reminders of
the former occupant, these were the marks she had left on the space that had
been hers. But what have I
left? Once my things are packed
away to storage, what will remain to let people know I was ever here? Determined to leave some concrete evidence of her own existence, she
took a key out of her pocket, and scratched on the wall the first lines that
came to her head.

Here we go

The world is spinning

When it stops

Its just beginning

Sun comes up

We laugh and we cry

Sun goes down

Once she was finished, she examined what she had
written. Is that my work? Is it Samaras? Is it some blend of the two? Whichever it is, I like it; I think it
sums up what Im feeling right now pretty well. Itll do for a memorial.

It was that moment that Quinn chose to burst into the room,
nervous and contrite.

Oh, Daria, she began in rapid-fire speech, Im so sorry
about telling. I didnt mean to, I
swear I didnt, but Mom and Dad were all on me to tell them if I knew where you
had gone and it was like the Spanish Intermission and I finally just couldnt
take it anymore and I hope you dont want to hurt me and . . . gah, what are
you doing! Quinns train of
thought was derailed at the completely unexpected sensation of being wrapped in
a firm embrace by her sister.
Daria knew she didnt have much time left, and didnt think that Quinn
would give her the chance to verbally express her feelings, so she took the one
formerly-unthinkable avenue left to her.
Quinn was frozen in surprise for an instant, then started to
squirm. Daria, whats wrong with
you? Are you trying to scare
me? Is this some kind of weird,
geeky revenge? Ewww! She finally wriggled free and ran out
of the door, leaving Daria alone.

Im not going to get the chance to say a proper goodbye
to any member of my family, anyone I care about. But I cant just leave them without letting them know how I
feel; Ive spent my life too isolated to just assume they know. And I want them to know how I died,
that Jane and I didnt have some weird suicide pact or something. Not
that there were many ways to commit suicide that would leave a corpse like the
one Jane did or Daria very soon would . . . she cut off that train of thought,
not wanting to be reminded. Then,
she realized what she had to do.
Sitting at her desk, she picked up a pen and a sheet of paper. The written word was her chosen medium,
her greatest talent; it was only appropriate that her final message to the
world be conveyed through it. She
would tell Jake, Helen, and Quinn all that they had meant to her, individually
and together, and how much she valued them, even though it had not often seemed
that way. She would tell them all
that had happened in the past week, and warn them to avoid the tape at all
costs, no matter what steps they had to take to do it. She would let them know that she was,
not exactly happy, but proud to sacrifice her own life to stand in the way of
such an evil, and there was no better end to her life that she could have asked
for, even if it was coming too soon.
She set to work with greater passion than she had ever possessed before.

She was so engrossed in her work that she didnt notice when
her TV clicked on, first with static, then the picture of a well . . .

–

Epilogue

BALTIMORE, MD (AP)
The investigation continues into the deaths of Daria Morgendorffer and
Jane Lane, both 17, of Lawndale, MD.
The two teenage girls were found dead in their homes last Monday, of
still unknown causes. The time of
death for Jane Lane is approximated at 10:30 AM, and for Daria Morgendorffer at
5:00 PM. The cause of death was
initially diagnosed as cardiac arrest, but this diagnosis has been rescinded
due to the presence of additional symptoms that do not fit this
conclusion. Their deaths are now
tentatively believed to be the result of an unknown biological agent; symptoms
include interruption of cardiac activity and rapid necrosis of the skin,
especially that of the face.
Documents left behind by Miss Morgendorffer also suggest the onset of
dementia and hallucinations prior to death.

To combat the possible spread of contagion, both the
Morgendorffer and Lane houses have been declared off-limits by the CDC, and the
Morgendorffer and Lane families have been placed into quarantine under Level 3
biohazard conditions. Because the
two girls were known to have spent several days in Baltimore prior to their
deaths, where Daniel Corbett, 37, recently died of what are now believed to be
similar symptoms, additional quarantine measures are being considered for the
city and the surrounding suburbs.
Inhabitants of these areas are advised to stay in their homes and limit
contact with others; visitors are discouraged.

Experts are considering this incident as a possible case of
bio-terrorism; however, citizens are urged to remain calm and not spread rumors
that could lead to a panic situation.
Other rumors that this condition is not biological but supernatural in
origin and spread by a cursed videotape are considered harmful to the public
health, and the CDC is asking anyone who hears such rumors to disregard them
and continue to abide by the health regulations that have been set up.

–

“The police say it’s a new kind of terrorism, but
we’ll talk to a man who says that Baltimore syndrome is something far more
sinister. See the tape and decide for yourself! When video vixens kill, next on
Sick, Sad World!”

The End

–

Acknowledgements: First of all, I would like to thank
everyone who commented on this story on PPMB The Angst Guy, jamesanatidae,
nmorgendorffer, Kristen Bealer, Mr. Orange, Sleepless, Decelaraptor, jedah,
Orpheus, Gregor Samsa, Ranger Thorne, Roentgen, et alia, and Dave the
Insane. I didnt have beta readers
per se, but I think you guys qualify. Thanks for the encouragement and suggestions.

And many thanks to the creators of Daria and of the various
incarnations of The Ring mythos.

Legal Blather: Daria and all associated characters are
the property of MTV. The Ring is
the property of Dreamworks SKG.
The story is my own.