Somewhat ironically, in her later years when Shannon Malone would think of her first year at Briargate she would think, before anything else, of her first meeting of Allison Groves. She would never remember what exactly had been said, or what she'd taken as her first meal at the school, but she would remember, clear as a bell, a tall, blonde girl sitting down across the table from her, hazel eyes amplified behind a pair of rectangular glasses. She would wonder every so often if things would have gone differently if Allison had chosen a different place to sit, or if the way everything would turn out had already been written by fate or something like it, and it would have gone the same either way.

The beginning of the year banquet at Briargate was held on Labor Day, just a few days over a week after Faye's birthday. August had skid into September before anyone was truly ready to give up the summer, the way it is every year. That particular year there was something different lingering behind the fondness for warm weather and the dread of the coming snow-shoveling and the insidious villainy of black ice: the constant awareness that time was drifting on without an answer to what happened to Sarah. And with that came the fear, so strong and so real it was nearly palpable.

Shannon was, at the time, too young to have articulated any of this if she'd been asked, but she'd felt it all around her that August and that September, lingering in the air and hiding just out of sight and out of reach like a phantom, and she'd feared it would be a long, long time before it went away. If it ever did.

Una, Liam, and Shannon Malone piled into the family car under a dome of hazy orange sky. She was dressed in her Sunday best; her mother had done her hair, forcing the long black locks into tight braids. Her palms were sweaty. As her father pulled out of their driveway that Labor Day evening, 1955, she stared out the window but didn't see a single thing.

Una and Liam kept up a steady conversation through the drive. Their voices were a soft drone that soothed Shannon's touchy nerves. A sense of finality hung over her like a cloud: there was no turning back now from what she was about to begin, whatever that may be. There is perhaps a kind of intuition that's always alerting people when things are going to go south. Some listen and some don't. It seems stronger in children. They aren't yet hampered by more sensible reasoning. Adults think. Children feel.

Briargate was situated in the far northwest corner of Clearwater, enclosed by a ring of trees. There wasn't much in terms of grounds; the back of the school opened right up to The Forest. The Forest didn't have a true name, but the way the townspeople talked about it commanded the proper noun: The Forest on the edge of town, where some kids said you could find werewolves and the ghosts or the skeletons of their victims. Others thought that to be nonsense, but everyone knew to stay out of the place; a group of teenagers had gone out one night in June, 1950 to have a smoke and drink and hadn't reappeared until three days later, scratched up and scared out of their wits. They'd never said a word about what had happened those three days—the most widely accepted theory being they had simply gotten terribly lost—but parents cautioned their children to stay out of The Forest ever since.

The abandoned woodworking factory could also be found in The Forest, but even those with the loosest tongues didn't like to talk about that.

Shannon was hyperaware of all of this as her father drove on under the canopy of trees, following the slightly winding road that led to a gravelly parking lot. Briargate loomed out of the windshield, tall and vine-covered and ominous. Only a handful of other cars occupied the parking lot; most of the students had already been moved in throughout the past week. These were the vehicles of Clearwater residents, the parents inside chatting with faculty or taking care of last minute business, the children preparing for another (or perhaps, like Shannon, a first) year in this place. The stone building, aged but unyielding, beckoned.

A pathway of stone slabs led from the parking lot to the double door entrance. They had been there since the building itself was founded in 1857; many were cracked and splintered, little pieces of rock littering the ground. There was a well-kept little garden of flowers that spanned the front of the school, adding shades of red, yellow, and pink to a brown and green background. Carved into the stone arch over the entrance, worn and almost rendered illegible by vines, were the words BRIARGATE SCHOOL FOR THE GIFTED. Underneath, much smaller and almost like an afterthought, it read 1857.

"Lived here all my life and I've never made it out here to see this," Shannon's father said, his voice carrying a tone of something like awe. It was a beautiful building, certainly, and large—larger than even the Clearwater high school with its newly added auditorium. But it was blocked mostly by the trees that surrounded it—the trees that would eventually thicken and become The Forest—and it was easy for a person to go about one's business in town without even knowing the school was there.

"Reminds me of my Catholic school days in Milwaukee," Una said thoughtfully. "All that's missing are the nuns."

Two teenagers stood like sentinels outside the double doors. Nearest to the Malones was a cherub-faced girl, about sixteen, with long blonde curls kept back in a ponytail. She smiled widely when she saw them.

"Hello," she said cheerily, but in a way that was somehow reserved. She had a kind air about her, Shannon thought, a reassuring air. This was a girl you could trust. Looking at her, Shannon felt her jumpy nerves smooth just a touch. Even her parents seemed more relaxed than they had a moment ago.

Her parents greeted her and each took the hand she offered and shook it. She cast her smile at Shannon and Shannon returned it, unable to do anything else if she wanted to.

"I'm Bernadette Armstrong, I'm a student here," the girl said. "Can I get your last name?"

"Malone," her father provided.

Recognition lit behind Bernadette's eyes. "Oh, of course." She looked to Shannon. "You must be Shannon, then? The new second year?"

"That's me," Shannon replied. Her voice was a touch uncertain. Bernadette smiled again, that same wide, sweet smile.

"Wonderful. You can go on in. When you get into the entry hall, the very first door on the right will take you to the dining hall. Sit anywhere you like; the food's all set up."

"Thank you very much," Shannon's mother said appreciatively to the girl. Bernadette nodded and pulled one of the doors open for them.

The entry hall was grand and expansive, with a high ceiling and a large staircase directly across from the front double doors. Two more staircases branched off from the main, to the left and to the right, leading out of sight. On the ground floor, dotted around the walls at equal intervals, were extravagant wooden doors, carved in flowery designs. Shannon assumed they led to the classrooms. The very first on the right, just as Bernadette Armstrong said, was propped open and Shannon could see the excitement of the dining hall through it.

"This is quite an operation," Liam said, impressed. His eyes scanned the length of the room, moving from top to bottom. A crystal chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling, casting yellow light on the marble floor.

Shannon nodded, taking in the sheer size of the place. There was little in terms of decoration and the hall felt hollow because of it. Grandiose but cold. With only the three Malones to occupy it, it seemed endless.

"Well, I suppose you should get going," Una said, dragging her eyes from the expanse of the room. She offered Shannon a reassuring smile, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Wouldn't want you to waste away, a growing girl needs food."

"She's right, you know," Liam said, squinting at Shannon. "Why, you're all skin and bones. I hope it's not too late."

Shannon smiled indulgently. The clamor of the dining hall seemed to be growing as they spoke.

"We'll be here to pick you up at seven-thirty," Liam reminded her. "Out in the parking lot."

"Right," Shannon said dutifully.

"Have a good time, dear," Una said, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

"Thanks, Mom," Shannon said, but she looked at the dining hall furtively. All those people made her feel like an outsider.

"We'll see you later," Una said, and, with a quick hug, her parents were headed right back out the double doors. She watched their backs as they disappeared and left her standing there, probably looking rather foolish. She stared at the doors until another person—a young boy—came through them. He smiled briefly at her—he seemed slightly familiar, but she could not place him—before turning on his heel and making off for the dining hall with the ease of someone who'd done it a million times before. He was not new here, that much she could tell. She followed after him, trying to appear at ease.

The dining hall felt cramped after the sprawling emptiness of the entry hall. The dining hall was still a very sizable room, but much of the space was occupied by tables, chairs, and students. The tables were long and wooden, running parallel to each other and the walls. There were plates and utensils set up already to go with every chair, and along the middle of each table ran a steady line of food. Students swarmed all up and down the aisles made by the tables.

The boy had disappeared into the groups of other kids by the time Shannon got to the room. She walked carefully between the tables and the students, looking for an empty spot away from most of the crowd. In the far corner, far away from the door, there were a handful of empty chairs. Shannon picked one somewhat at random, diagonal from the only other person sitting at that end of the table.

It was another boy, about her age. His head was low over his plate of food but he looked up when she sat down, seeming almost surprised to see anyone else there. Or perhaps surprised to see her there.

You don't belong here.

The boy had a nice smile, which he showed her a second after he'd gotten over his surprise. Shannon smiled back easily at him, and he seemed about to introduce himself, about to offer his hand to be shaken by her own when Allison sat down.

Allison Groves had a way of commanding attention that, even when she became a grown woman, Shannon Malone never quite understood. It reminded Shannon of Toni, but it was also entirely dissimilar to the way Toni did things; Toni ensured attention was on her, doing all she could to get it. Allison was a different animal. Perhaps it was her confidence, the way she always seemed to know what she was doing. Perhaps it was her intensity, the way her eyes held onto everyone she spoke to. Perhaps it was something else entirely, something not yet fully developed but lurking under the surface all the same. Something that would show itself, someday.

She didn't acknowledge Shannon at first, opting instead to knock the back of her hand on the boy's arm.

"So you still go here?" she said amiably enough.

The boy grinned lazily. "I'll never leave you."

"Right." She reached out and began piling food on her plate, causing Shannon to realize she hadn't touched anything. Allison glanced at her for the first time over a plate of vegetables, and Shannon had the uncomfortable feeling she was being sized up. Finally, after Allison had come to some sort of decision, she said, "First year?"

It had taken Shannon a moment to realize what she was asking.

"Oh!" she said dumbly. "Um, sort of. I'm a second year, but I'm new. So...it's sort of my first year, I guess."

"Oh," Allison said. "We're second years, too, me and Caleb." She jerked her thumb in the boy's direction. "You from Brackenfield?"

Shannon screwed her eyebrows together. "Huh?"

"You know," Allison said, giving her a strange look, "the school in Milwaukee. Did you go there last year?"

Shannon shook her head.

"Well, where'd you go?" Allison looked at her expectantly, and Shannon was certain that she didn't have the answer the girl was looking for.

"Clearwater grade school," she said, catching the short glance Allison cast to Caleb and the way Caleb shook his head. She was too nervous to ask about it. Caleb looked back at her.

"Allison actually wanted to ask for your name," he said with a lopsided smile. Allison shot him a dirty glance.

"Shannon. Shannon Malone."

"Caleb Vance," he said, and offered his hand over the plate of carrots and celery and broccoli for real this time. Shannon shook it without hesitation; she could read this boy easier than she could this girl. Then and oftentimes afterward Shannon found it hard to figure out what Allison was thinking.

"Allison Groves." Allison didn't offer her hand, but she smiled for the first time since she'd sat down. "Welcome to Briargate, Shannon Malone."

Shannon began to dish out food for herself.

As the three of them began to eat in earnest, the grand table at the end of the room, running at right angles to the rest, began to fill. A slight hush fell over the room as it did—not total silence, but Shannon could feel the quiet settling in her bones. The usual ritual at the beginning of the year banquet at Briargate, Shannon would come to learn. The faculty filed in last, staying in their offices until the last moment to see to any parents or students that came through their doors. There were many of them: last minute jitters and concerns and first years and their parents who were all nerves and students with no parents, at least not to speak to, just shooting the breeze.

The last was a woman, and she took her place at the head of the table. As soon as she took her seat, the chatter recommenced, like a spell had been broken. The faculty was all present and accounted for.

"Headmistress Lea," Allison said, nodding at the table. Despite the vagueness of the gesture, Shannon knew she meant the woman at the head. "Take a good look; you probably won't see her for the rest of the year. Unless you get in trouble."

"What does she do all year?" Shannon asked curiously. Allison shrugged, the only answer she offered.

The woman—Headmistress Lea, graying black hair with a surprisingly youthful face—watched the tables of students with hawkish eyes and an impassive expression. The other teachers and staff members had gotten down to business, passing meat and vegetables down the line, chatting and laughing amongst themselves in their high-backed chairs, looking like some imitation of The Last Supper.

All except one. At the very end of the table, a man stood, like Headmistress Lea, surveying the scene. He was young, early thirties at the oldest, and his blue eyes had bags so deep under them it seemed he'd been awake for years. Shannon watched him and he watched all else, and at one moment Shannon was sure their eyes met.

"Who's the one standing at the end of the table?" Shannon asked, looking away from him. Allison and Caleb's eyes floated to the table in unison and Allison frowned impressively once she got a look.

"What's he doing here?" she asked no one in particular. "That's Mr. Kenfield—doctor. He's a doctor."

"But rarely of the living," Caleb mumbled under his breath. A flash of ice water shot through Shannon's veins at his words.

Allison turned, leaning over her plate of food and calling, "Hey! O'Brien!"

A girl a ways down the table, a tiny girl with a monstrous mane of red hair tied into pigtails, looked over. Across from her, Shannon realized idly, was the boy she'd seen coming in earlier.

"What?"

"Why's Kenfield here?"

Allison cocked her head in the direction of the faculty's table. The redheaded girl's eyes followed. She stared at the man for a moment, considering him, her green eyes wide spheres that were practically bugging out of her head. Finally she shrugged a shoulder and made an inarticulate noise that sounded a lot like 'iunno.'

"Did someone drop over dead?" Allison asked.

"Maybe," the girl responded, shrugging again. She turned away, back to the boy Shannon had seen before and her other friends.

"That's strange," Allison said. "Maybe he got a job."

"I don't think that would be a good thing," Caleb said.

"Would be a good thing for the dead ones," Allison said casually. Shannon's eyebrows shot up involuntarily.

"What is he?" she asked. "A coroner?"

A word Shannon hadn't known—and still didn't completely understand—just weeks ago, before she'd overheard her parents say it in the living room while she washed the dishes with her sister. She hadn't caught a lot of their conversation, but she knew they were talking about Sarah. It had been days after she'd been found. She'd asked her mother later about it, what a coroner was, and her mother told her gently it was the person a dead body was taken to. A coroner could figure out what had happened to the dead body.

A coroner hadn't figured out what happened to Sarah.

"Something like that," Allison said doubtfully, picking at her supper. The word was obviously no stranger to her. "I don't really know. I don't know if he knows himself."

She looked back in his direction and nearly jumped when she found his eyes already upon her. She looked down immediately, but she could still feel his gaze. Anxiously, looking for something to do, she took a sip of the lemonade that had been put out on each table. It bubbled strangely in her mouth for no more than a millisecond and then it was fine. Very good, even. She shook it off—just her imagination.

She risked another glance at Dr. Kenfield. He was no longer regarding her. In another moment, he swept his eyes across the table the faculty sat at and then slinked away, across the room and out of the dining hall.

"Huh," Allison said. Her eyes were on Dr. Kenfield until the last moment as well. "I wonder..."

She did not finish her thought. Instead her eyes settled on Shannon, sharp and clear hazel behind her glasses.

"Clearwater grade school," she stated. "So, you're from around here?"

Shannon nodded. "Lived here my whole life. What about you?"

"Medula," Allison said simply.

Medula was a town over, the closest "big" city. To the north, past The Forest. Truthfully, if a person was looking for a big city, Madison to the east was a much better bet, but it was also further away