Seven Days

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

Monday

Jane marched into Wind's vacated room, armed only with anempty trash bag and a sense of mission. The room was in the usual disheveled, filthy state in which Wind usuallyleft it, with candy bar wrappers and food scraps left everywhere, scatteredlike the place had been ransacked by a hungry ten-year-old. Wind, she mentally addressed her absent sibling as she tossed the refuseinto the plastic bag, are you incapable of doing anything for yourself,other than mooching off us and screwing up relationships?  I don't ask much out of a living space,but I draw the line at attracting rats and mice. She couldn't abide thevermin; they nibbled on her paintings. Which is why, every time Wind departed after one of his unannouncedvisits, she found herself playing maid, scouring his room for every last breadcrust and empty soft drink can he had left behind, leaving nothing that mightattract art-destroying rodents.

Wind had been visiting for the past two days, and had justup and left the night before (a circumstance Jane welcomed, despite the extrawork it brought her). It had beenan odd visit, though; he hadn't shown up crying, so he wasn't on the outs withhis girlfriend du jour, and he hadn't askedfor money. Instead, he had holedup in his room, barely making his way outside those four walls. And then, he had just left, with nomore explanation given than when he had arrived. He hadn't even spent any time inside the new "naminggazebo". All of which just madethe usual littered state of his room even worse.

Having picked up every visible scrap of food, Jane gave theroom a final once over, and noticed something she had missed, or ignored, thefirst time around. Lying on Wind'sbed was a plain, unmarked videotape. She picked it up and examined it from all sides, but there was nothingto give a clue as to its origins or contents. I guess Wind forgot it. There's something intriguing about unmarked tapes, but it'sprobably just one of those marriage counseling TV shows he's so addictedto. Or maybe it's something alittle more . . . private. Did Wind make videos like that?  Jane didn't know whether to betitillated or disgusted with the possibility. Well, I have to watch it now, just to findout. If it's one of those, I'll turn it off right away.

Normally, the TV in this room didn't have a VCR, but Janenoticed that there was one hooked up now. Looking closer, she realized that it was the set from the living roomtelevision. Wind must havebrought it up here to watch the tape in private; maybe it really is him andsome girl . . . ew. Jane stuck out her tongue at thethought, 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 startingpoint for her new Melody Powers story, when Jane burst into her room, waving avideotape over her head.

"Yo, amiga, you'vegotta see this!" she exclaimed as she walked over to Daria's television. Daria herself was surprised by herfriend's enthusiasm; of the two of them, Daria was much more the filmbuff. Before Tom had provided anew viewing companion, Jane had accompanied her to a few arthouse screenings,but had never shown more than cursory interest. Jane's taste in film ran more towards the exploding headvariety, which Daria found amusing only in small doses.

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

"I'm not really sure," Jane replied, somewhat distracted bygetting the tape into the built-in VCR. Daria cocked an eyebrow in curiosity.

"So you've decided to start showing me random videotapes?"

"I found it in Wind's room this morning, while I was cleaningup after him," Jane said, now paying fuller attention, having gotten the tapein and activated the unit. Shetook the remote and joined Daria on the bed. Her voice betrayed none of her usual irritation at having topick up after her older brother. "It'sthis weird collection of images, very surreal. Very creepy. I'm not sure what it all means."

"And you think I should see this why, exactly?"  Not that Daria wasn't up for thesurreal and creepy, but if it had been found in Wind's possession she doubtedthat there could be anything particularly special about it.

"Because I haven't been able to get the images out of myhead all day; it's given me all sorts of great sketches."  She pulled one of her pocket-sizedsketchbooks out of her jacket and waved it in Daria's face, then flipped veryrapidly through it. Daria wasn'table to catch a good glimpse of the contents, but it appeared nearly full.  "I can't remember the last time I'veproduced so much. So I thought youmight appreciate the inspiration; besides, I want to see what you make of itall." Daria couldn't deny herfriend's enthusiasm, and seeing as how her own inspiration seemed elusive atpresent, she gave Jane the affirmative. Jane started the tape.

. . . a ring of light . . . static . . . red water . . . awoman in a mirror . . . a girl with long hair in the mirror . . . a man in awindow . . . a coastline with a twisted tree . . . a mouth with a long tuberunning out . . . a barren tree . . . a crescent of light . . . a fingertipimpaled on a nail . . . writhing maggots . . . a centipede crawling out fromunder a table . . . a horse's eye . . . severed fingers in a box . . . thebarren tree on fire . . . the woman standing in front of the mirror, turning tolook at the viewer . . . the window . . . the chair hanging upside down in theair and spinning . . . a single ladder propped up against a wall . . . deadhorses 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 imagesmade no sense, but somehow they were compelling, entrancing, disturbing, and bythe time it was over, Daria was annoyed to find herself fighting down anextreme 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 andslipping it into her jacket pocket. She was eager to hear her friend's considered opinion, but Daria didn'tknow what to say. She wanted toshrug it off with a joke, some sarcastic comment that would trivialize thestrange effect it had had on her, but she found she couldn't dismiss it thateasily. Then, downstairs, thephone rang; the sound was faint, and only occurred once, but it was enough ofan 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 greatideas. I'm thinking of doing awhole 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 onsomething this bizarre."

"Yeah, I thought about it," Jane replied, "but since I don'tknow who created it, there would probably be some copywrite issue."

"Wind didn't say anything about it?"

"Nope." Janeshook her head. "He didn't breathea word. I just found it in hisroom. Maybe he's trying his handat filmmaking, or has a friend who is. But speaking of Sick, Sad World .. ." She flipped the channel, andfamiliar lone eye filled the screen. Its familiarity helped to soothe Daria's nerves, and soon things wereback to normal again. The onlysign that the tape had ever existed was that, every few minutes, Jane wouldpick up her sketchbook and draw a few quick lines, then return it to herpocket. Daria was curious to seewhat she had come up with, but the images of the tape were too fresh in hermind for her to want to see, at this very moment, what Jane's mind had donewith them; she could take a look later.

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

"Are you sure you want to go?" Daria asked.  "We've got all the lasagna you caneat."

"I think I'll pass. I'd rather spend my time working on these new paintings than playingTwenty Questions with your parents." Daria accompanied her down the stairs, and as Jane exited the door, sheturned towards the kitchen, and walked in just as her mother was removing thelasagna from the oven. She was thefirst one there.

"Daria, please tell your friends that I don't appreciatepractical jokes, especially when I'm waiting for a call from Eric," Helen said,dropping the pasta onto the table, her voice stern.

"I'll be sure to pass that on to my hoard ofpractical-joke-playing companions," Daria replied. She smirked at Helen's baleful stare.

"Seriously, Daria," she admonished, "I was waiting for avery important call about an hour ago, but when the phone rang, it was somegirl. She just said 'seven days',and then hung up."

"Jane was in my room an hour ago, and that's not her styleanyway. What did she sound like?"

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

"It was probably one of Quinn's fashion fiends; sounds likeStacy." Though from what she knewof the pig-tailed sycophant, that sort of joke wasn't really her styleeither. "Or maybe just a wrongnumber."

"Maybe," Helen conceded, just as Jake and Quinn entered theroom.

Daria didn't give the incident a second thought.

Tuesday

Daria sat on Jane's bed, pen scratching rapidly across thepaper in her notebook, ideas flooding her mind. She had woken up that morning feeling disturbed, off-kilter,though she couldn't put her finger on exactly why; she couldn't remember anybad dreams, which were the usual cause of such morning jitters.  The mood had lasted throughoutbreakfast, and it hadn't mixed well with Quinn's dissertation on the pros andcons of short hairstyles for hot summer months. She had told Quinn that if she wanted a truly striking lookfor summer, than she should go for the cool bald look, giving her admirers thechance to compliment her on her shapely skull, adding that maybe shorter hairwould not sap so much energy from her brain. Quinn had replied that only weird artsy girls still thoughtthat the bald look was in, that she had already been the recipient of severalapproving comments on the symmetrical shape of her head, and had finished withthe suggestion that she and her weird artsy friend should sit in on a gatheringof the former Fashion Club to find out what would be fashionable for artsytypes in the next season. To thedismay of both their parents, the conversation had just gone downhill fromthere, and by the end of the meal Daria knew that she was going to have tospend the rest of the day not just isolated in her room, but totally out of thehouse. Daria had felt a twinge ofguilt over slipping into her older patterns with Quinn, when they were finallystarting to find some common ground, but by the time she was halfway to Jane's,any residual remorse was crowded right out of her head by a flood of ideas forher new Melody Powers story, all of which took their inspiration from one ofthe images from the tape Jane had brought her yesterday.

Which is where she found herself now, writing furiously totry to capture all the nuances and details she saw in her head before theyslipped away into the ether. Withan unoccupied corner of her mind, she wondered why the disjointed and enigmaticscenes from the video could be so strongly suggestive, how they could form anarrative in her mind almost of their own volition, with what felt like verylittle shaping on her part. Butwhile she was curious, she would not argue with such instant inspiration; oneof the first things that any writer learned was to capture such momentaryflashes as quickly as possible.

She was not the only one so in the grip of her muse; Janewas painting furiously, barely finishing one image before tossing it aside andstarting on another. Pictures ofladders, wells, twisted and leafless trees, dead horses.  And on every canvas, somewhere, out infront or hidden in the background, a ring, a slightly uneven but unbrokencircle of paint. All of them drawnin a curious angular style, quite unlike Jane's former works; in subdued colorsand black and grey, in contrast to her accustomed colorful approach.  If Daria had not been sitting in thesame room, watching her in the throes of creation, she would have been willingto swear that these were the work of another artist completely. But isn't that what every artist wantsto do, to progress, to never produce the same work twice?  If Jane is using the tape as the meansto that end, then all the better for her.

They had spent most of the day in silence, appreciating eachother's company without feeling the need to interrupt the creative process; butafter several hours the rush began to wear off, or at least to recedetemporarily like a tide, and conversation began to leak out.

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

"It's a nightmare," she said after a few seconds of inwardgroaning. "Real estate in Bostonis a buyer's nightmare, rent is sky high, and Raft has no single-bedroomdorms. Even with my scholarships,I'm not going to be able to afford an apartment all to myself until youarrive. Mom was right; I am goingto end up with a psycho roommate."

"Just watch out for the showers," Jane said, head stillpointed towards the easel.

"It's what I get for being optimistic," Daria groaned.  "I was counting on college being thestart of my exit from the purgatory of high school into the beginnings of myreal life. An environment where Iam surrounded by people chosen for their intelligence instead of their physicalproximity."

"Without actually having to live in contact with any ofthem."

"I'd like to be able to ease into the experience, yes."  She sat back up and watched as Janecontinued to apply color to canvas. "High school isn't real life at all; it's not even preparation forit. I just don't want anyadditional problems to deal with as I make the transition."

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

"I can't do that to you, Jane," she said.  "You can't afford artist burnout rightbefore you head off to BFAC. I'veshared a house with Quinn for seventeen years; I can share a room with anunknown irritant for four months."

"Maybe I can sell some of these at Gary's," Jane mused asshe put the final touch on her newest piece, then replaced the filled canvaswith a blank one. She consideredfor only a few seconds before starting up.

"Yes, nothing says artistic sophistication in the suburbslike a painting of a dead horse."

"It's a comment on the death of nature in modern society,"Jane said, even as she sketched the outline of spreading branches.  "It's 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 deerhead." Suddenly, Daria knew whathad to happen next to Melody Powers, and her pen was moving again.  She would have to transfer all of thisto her computer later, which is where she usually did her writing, but it wascritical to capture the ideas as they came and not censor herself merely toshorten that future repetitive task. The room faded back into silence.

Wednesday

It took several of Daria's insistent rings of the bellbefore Jane finally opened the door. Despite the early hour (early for Jane, anyway), there was little of herusual morning dishevelment about her - she was wearing her usual daytimeclothes, her hair was combed, and her movements didn't drag with morningfatigue; however, there were large dark circles under her eyes, and her facewas pale, giving her a completely different morning zombie appearance.  Daria knew that she herself couldn't belooking all that good; she had ran all the way from her house, or at leastwalked very fast, and she was panting heavily and feeling a little sick to herstomach. Of course, the nausea hadmore than one cause.

As she stepped through the doorway, she wordlessly handed Janeseveral sheets of paper; it was the computer printout of her latest MelodyPowers work, the one she had so meticulously typed into her word processor fromher handwritten text of the day before. Except that when she had woken up this morning and opened the program todo a little more work, she found that that was not what she had written atall. Filling the pages was asimple three-word phrase, repeated over and over again.

Everyone will suffer.

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

"That is what I found this morning in the Melody Powersfolder on my computer," Daria said, finding her voice, though the words werestill forced out between panted breaths. She hadn't 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 somebody's prank?"  Jane's voice was choked; her face paledyet another shade, and she bit down on her bottom lip.  Daria shook her head, wishing thatthings were that simple.

"I keep my work password-protected," she said, the shortnessof breath receding, though the roiling of her stomach continued strong.  "Hacking it would be way out of Quinn'sleague, and writing about suffering would rank a bit too high on her 'ew' meteranyway. I don't think that I'vepissed off any computer geeks lately." She started to pace around Jane, who stood still at the center, perusingthe papers with rising alarm. "Ifthis is what was in my story file, it's because I put it there. But eitherI didn't realize I was doing it, or I don't remember it." She stood still, facing Jane onceagain, though she tried not to concentrate on the papers her friend clutched inher hand. "I wonder when I'm goingto start chasing Quinn with an axe. Or a crimping iron."

"Daria," Jane finally said, a tremor in her voice, "there'ssomething I think you need to see."

*  * * *  *

Jane's room was littered with paintings, tossed about theroom in careless fashion. But thefirst thing Daria noticed was the easel. On it was a white canvas, its purity violated by a single image - ablack 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 brusharound and around until she had finally run the brush right through the canvas.

"This morning, I tried to go back to my old projects," Janesaid from behind her. "Icouldn't. No matter what I triedto draw or paint, it always came out something from the tape; at first, Ididn't even realize I was doing it, and when I did, I couldn't stop.  It was like my hands didn't even belongto me anymore. Daria, look atthese paintings!" She stepped intoDaria's line of sight and waved her arm to take in the entire room and all theimages contained therein. "Dothese even look like my work?! Howcould I have ever thought that I was the one doing this?  And that's not even the worst ofit." She pointed to a stack of canvasesin one corner of the room. Dariawalked over to look, and found that they were all her old works, piledchaotically. But every face inevery picture was painted over, not neatly, but as though a child had taken thebrush and scribbled furiously, obliterating all traces of identity.

"I did all that after I finished the new pictures," Jane wassaying. "It was like I just wentinsane. It didn't wear off until Ihad defaced every single one." Atthe last few words, her voice sank to a husky whisper.

"I'm sorry, Jane," Daria said, not knowing what else to sayto comfort her friend. But Jane'sloss 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 helicoptersagain?" Jane asked, giving her friend a skeptical glance.

"No, just the usual flying saucers."  Daria paused, wishing they could justtrade clever retorts and ignore the unnerving events behind them.  But her unerring sense of realitybrought her back to face them. "Iknow that I sound like Artie on one of his stranger days, but I can't think ofanything else that makes sense."

"I don't know, Daria. I don't feel all that 'controlled'." Jane clamped down suddenly after her last word, and Dariaknew she had something more to say.

"Jane, what are you thinking?"

"You won't want to hear it." Jane smirked grimly.

"Good; I haven't heard anything I didn't want to hear in atleast a few minutes."

Jane sighed, and visibly braced herself.

"I feel like I'm being haunted, like some thing is looking over my shoulder, guiding my hand," shesaid haltingly, converting her sensations into words even as she saidthem. "I know, it soundsridiculous, and you don't believe in things like that.  But, when I was really young, myparents had some friends who were into some really weird mystical stuff, likeouiji boards and sˇances and things like that, and I saw things that you wouldnever believe in."

"And when I was four," Daria replied, "I was convinced thatthere were monsters waiting in my closet to get me at night; there were eventimes when I was sure that I saw them. But I outgrew it; kids with active imaginations see a lot of things thataren't there." Jane shook her heademphatically.

"This wasn't like seeing a few shadows and hanging shirts inyour closet at night," she said, knowing that her friend would never believeher, knowing what she had seen, knowing the sensation of the presence she nowfelt. "There was no way thesecould have been anything but spirits, ghosts, demons. I'm not saying that I'm certain that's what's happening now,but it feels pretty damn familiar."

Daria knew that this kind of discussion could go on forhours, with neither of them making headway against the other's basic worldview;normally, she would have welcomed the game, but there were more importantthings right now than fun.

"Wind has to know something about this," she said.  "What the tape means; what it's doingto us. Who he got the tape from,if nothing else. Can you call himand ask?"

"I already tried, earlier today," Jane replied,frustrated. "I couldn't get a holdof him; he probably didn't pay his cell phone bill. We'll have to go see him in person.  His houseboat is usually moored inBaltimore harbor; I've been there a couple of times, so I'm pretty sure I canfind it again."

"Good. We'lltake my new car, but you drive."

*  * * *  *

About two hours later, they were standing at a pier inBaltimore harbor, Wind's somewhat-decrepit houseboat floating in the waterbefore them. At their backs wasthe bustle of the activities of seafarers and dockworkers.  Daria wasn't a huge fan of crowds, butshe could usually tolerate them; today, however, she couldn't shake theimpression that someone was staring down her neck, raising the short hairs witha prickle up and down her spine. It had to be nerves, and she told herself that the day had given herevery 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 safetyof her own room, or Jane's.

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

"And yet he keeps tying himself down with wives," Dariareplied, which seemed to her to be the most un-Lane-like characteristic ofall. Vincent and Amanda Lane'sabsentee relationship, from each other as much as from their children, wasproof of that. But at leastthey've managed to stay married, in name at least.

"Well, he never was able to get life completely right," Janesaid. She stepped onto the boatand rapped on the door.

"So, who is he with right now?"

"Haven't kept up; it's time to open the wrapper and unveilthe surprise." There was no answerto 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 lookeddown into the water flowing before her feet. The play of light in the depths, blue and violet flashesflowing and melding, was fascinating, and she felt the mysteries of the deepbeckoning to her, calling to her to plunge into their depths, to be submergedin the all-encompassing embrace of deep water. She felt a rush, and suddenly the water surrounded her; shewas floating in an unknowable expanse. But it wasn't the warm, loving experience that had been promised - shefelt oppressed, entrapped, as the water quickly changed from blue to black andan 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, andDaria found herself once more standing on the pier next to Wind's houseboat,both her arms firmly grasped in Jane's hands, her frightened expression only afew inches from Daria's own.

"Daria, what happened? " Jane asked with slowly-recedingpanic. "I saw you about ready tofall into the water, and when I tried to stop you, you didn't answer.  Are you okay?"  Daria had to take a few deep breathsbefore she felt she had the strength to answer.

"I thought that I hadfallen in." It was still had tobelieve that she had not. "Itseemed so real, not like a daydream at all. I thought I was going to die in black water." The last statement didn't seem to allayJane's worry. "Jane, if I was goingto commit suicide, I wouldn't do it by drowning; it's too clean.  I want to leave a more memorablecorpse." Daria stepped back,removing herself from her friend's concerned grip; she could stand on her ownnow. "I think we've justdiscovered another side effect of the tape." Jane swallowed nervously.

"We're not going to be getting information on that," shesaid, "at least not right away. While you were contemplating life as a mermaid, I had a very quick chatwith the lady of the house. Lookslike Wind's been kicked out again, just yesterday."

"Shouldn't that make it easier?" Daria responded.  "Won't he just show up at your place intears?" Jane shook her head inunfortunate denial.

"He only does that when he's been kicked out and had nomoney to go anywhere else; he would have turned up yesterday if that had beenthe case." She sighed, knowingthat the road ahead had just lengthened considerably. "When he does make it out with some cash, he usually ends upin a bar, or lying in an alley somewhere, drunk out of his mind.  And he can do it for days on end.  Right now, he's almost certainly havinga few drinks somewhere in Baltimore."

"We'll have to search for him," Daria said.  Normally, the idea of looking for adrunken Wind Lane, or for a sober one, would have never entered her list ofpriorities, but Daria didn't know how many of these ever-more-disturbing sideeffects she could take before snapping completely, or falling into the oceanand drowning. And since Quinn (orBrittany or Mr. O'Neill or another suitable victim) would not be around to takethe brunt of her psychosis after her brain did snap, she thought that was anoutcome that should probably be avoided. "Unless we're very lucky, we probably won't find him in an afternoon,and it's too far to commute to and from Lawndale every day, so we need to get ahotel room in town. I think I'vegot 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," Janesaid, a disturbing scenario piecing itself together in her mind.  "Right after I watched the tape, I gota 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 herchest.

"We got the same call," she said, voice carefullylevel. "Mom picked it up, andthought it was a joke. But itwould have come about the time we were watching the tape."

"Then it would probably be a very good idea to find outwhat's going on before that time is up," Jane said, mentally calculating thetime left in her head. "A littleless than five days, if she's punctual. Or it."

"Jane, there is no it,"Daria said, determined not to fall prey to superstition, even though it seemedto 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 thetape?"

"I don't know," Daria admitted, "but that doesn't mean thereisn't a way. Jane, even if ghostsand goblins existed, I don't think they would be able to use the telephone, oreven want to. Why not just appearin person, since they can go anywhere they want?"

"Because it's scarier this way, when we don't know what'shappening."

"I think the automatic writing and the visions are scaryenough, thank you. I don't needany extra mystery to add to the terror." Daria realized that they were once again falling into a fruitless anddistracting discussion. "Eitherway, I think we can both agree that we need to find Wind before this 'sevendays' is up, so we can't afford to lose any time. If we head back to Lawndale now to pack, we can have a hotelroom in the city before too late tonight. I'll just tell my parents I'm staying a few days with you; they'll beglad to have the house to themselves." Daria never thought too hard about exactly why her parents enjoyed theirsolitude.

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

"If you start to drive off a cliff, I'm jumping."

*  * * *  *

Daria tossed a few pairs of clean socks into her tinysuitcase, which was already nearly filled. She felt the need to pack lightly and quickly; no reason togive Helen or Jake a chance to change their minds about their daughter's weekat Jane's (though there was no reason that they should), and she wanted to getback to the city while there was still time to find a decent vacant hotelroom. No doubt, at her place, Janewas doing the same thing, while trying to drill into Trent's laconic skulltheir instructions to let them know immediately if Wind should show up.  Of course, that was no guarantee ofanything; Trent could sleep through Wind's arrival, or intend to call anddecide to take a nap first. Andthat didn't even include the possibility of Mystik Spiral having a gig someplacethat would keep them away for a while. Still, he was the only watchdog they had. But Daria didn't think he would be that necessary anyway; nodoubt Jane was right, and if Wind was going to show up, he would have done soalready.

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

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

"To Jane's," Daria replied, as naturally as if it was theunvarnished truth. "You werestanding right there when I told Mom and Dad."

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

Damn, when did Quinn get so perceptive?  I don't have time for this; I'll haveto settle it the old-fashioned way.

"How much?" she asked, business-like but bitter.  Quinn didn't immediately answer;instead, she looked slowly around, scoping out her environs.  She smiled, and Daria was suddenly veryworried.

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

"Quinn," Daria broke in, trying to nip this in the budbefore her sister really got started, "I'll still need this room over thesummer; you can't have it."

"Daria," Quinn replied, sounding as though she was reasoningwith a person who was somewhat slow-witted, "do you really plan to move backhere for the summer? Could youenjoy Lawndale after living in Boston?"

I don't enjoy it now,Daria thought, but her sister had a point. Living within these four walls again, after having enjoyedrelative freedom, would be unbearable.

"I'll even give you an extra incentive," Quinn offeredmagnanimously. "In addition to nottelling Mom or Dad what you are planning, I'll even provide a distraction soyou can make it out the door without them seeing you or your suitcase.  Deal?"

"Deal," Daria said, deciding that she had most of the summerto win or bargain her room back into her possession. "I'm 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 hersister tell their parents something about her new older boyfriend who wascoming by to pick her up on his motorcycle. Taking her advantage, Daria slipped out of her room, downthe stairs, and out the front door without so much as a sideways glance fromeither of her parents (though she thought she caught a quick wink fromQuinn). Then, she was off.

Thursday

Since it had taken most of the night to find a decent hotelroom, they started their search for Wind bright and early the next day; atleast, they had intended to start bright and early, though fatigue kept themunder the covers for most of the morning. Even with the ample sleep, Daria still did not feel rested; hersensation of being watched had not waned, and during the night she had had tocontinually resist the urge to flip over in bed and check if someone wasstanding behind her. Though shehad been terrified to see who it might be. In the bright, fully-awake light of day, such fears seemedabsurd, but the desire to glance over her shoulder remained.

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

"We're looking for my brother Wind . . ." Jane started.

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

"No, it's not like that," Jane replied.  "You might have brought him in forbeing drunk or disorderly or passed out in the street.  Have your guys arrested a Wind Lane inthe past two days?" The officersighed and typed at his computer a few moments.

"We don't have anyone named 'Wind'," he said, putting aparticularly 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 visiblychanged gears.

"Get me a pencil and some paper," she said, her voiceexcited, "and I'll sketch him for you." Daria was shocked; she had been nervous at the idea of even picking up apencil since the incident the morning before, not wanting to see what she mightproduce.

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

"I've got to try," Jane replied, determined.  "I'm 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 knucklespaled. 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 goingwell. Wind's features quickly tookshape under her hand, with his vapid stare and lost expression, and soon shehad completed a convincing likeness, formed from just a few lines of ink.  Then, as evenly and calmly as though itwas 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 fromthe paper with a tiny cry.

"Damn!" Jane exclaimed. "I thought I was doing so well, too."  She crumpled up the paper with afrustrated clench of her fist. "I'm not going to lose my art to this thing; I'll try again later."  She looked up, to make an oath to thesky above her, and stopped dead. "Or maybe it's not just me. Daria, look at that." Shepointed to the security monitor attached to the top of the wall across theroom. Daria looked to see theimage of the two of them standing at the desk; at least, she saw two figuresstanding at the desk, wearing their clothes, but it was impossible to tell thatit was the two of them - their faces were smeared, distorted, as though viewedthrough 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 peoplewere visible in the screen, and they were all normal.

"No one else here is innocent." It was weird, to be sure, but to Daria's relief, this wasthe most benign symptom of the tape they had yet seen.  Daria wondered when she had reached thepoint when she could shrug off as minor an event this bizarre.  Still, at least it was just the two ofthem in the picture; the way she had been feeling, she would not have been allthat surprised (horrified, but not surprised) to see a shadowy third figurebehind them. Damn, it sneaks upon you. I don't believe in ghosts.  There's no such thing ashauntings. I sound like thescarecrow.

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

"Well?" he said impatiently. "Is the sketch ready?"

"I . . . um . . . don't think I can do him justice," Janesaid, recovering quickly. "I candescribe him, though. He's aboutfive foot ten, with brown eyes and shoulder-length blonde hair.  Not very muscular.  I don't know what he would be wearing."

"We haven't had anyone like that come through here," the manreplied shortly.

"Well, what about the other precincts?" Daria asked, tryingto 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 riskantagonizing him. The man turnedto his computer, spent a few minutes bringing up the records - leaving Dariaand Jane to drum their fingers on the desk in apprehension - and then finallyturned back to them.

"We aren't holding any John Does of that descriptionanywhere 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 offdiscouragement at having come up with nothing at their first stop.

"If he's not in one now," Jane replied, her tone not athreat but a promise, "he will be after I find him."

*  * * *  *

From the second they entered the first hospital on theirlist, Jane wanted to pivot on her heel and walk out as quickly aspossible. The large, spaciousbuilding felt like a prison, the white-clad doctors and nurses who were rushingabout seeming more like jailors and tormentors than healers.  She felt a horrible premonition that atany second they would take hold of her and lock her in a small, barren roomwhere they could work their tortures at their leisure.  But she forced herself to place onefoot in front of the other; she was starting to question whether such strangesensations and urges belonged to her, or whether they emanated from theenigmatic presence she now felt continuously looking over her shoulder.  She took satisfaction in allowing noneof her anxiety to show as she questioned nurse receptionists in building afterbuilding, to see if they had any patients matching the description of herbrother.

After a couple of futile stops, the questioning had finallyborne fruit. The woman at thereception desk had informed her that they indeed had just this morning broughtin a John Doe matching Wind's description, found unconscious in the alley nextto a seedy downtown bar, his wallet and ID already lifted.  Jane, as a possible relative, had beenallowed 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 woman's expressions of concern forJane's brother fell on nearly deaf ears, however, as Jane could not drag herawareness away from the fact that she was burrowing ever further into thewarren of persecutors. At every doorthey passed, Jane found herself wondering what horrors lay behind it, what poorsoul they had imprisoned therein; these insane fears would respond to no reasonshe could command. Her own fearsof losing herself to this interloping spirit, as she already seemed to belosing 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, inhis early thirties, with blonde hair down to his shoulders.  Tubes in both his arms connected him toIV bags, while his heartrate was monitored through several electrodes attachedto his chest. The steady "beep, beep,beep" of the EKG reminded Jane of every movie and television show she had everseen 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 thepatient's side, staring not at his face, but at his chest.  The tiny white circles connected to hisskin fascinated her; of their own accord, her hands reached out to touch them,to trace their circumferences and feel the slick plastic against herfingers. Then, suddenly,fascination turned to rage, and with an explosion of fury she yanked every oneof them from his body in a single jerk. The machines went haywire with alarms and protests, reading only thatthe heartbeat they had been detecting was no longer there, certain that the manin their care was now near death. Jane felt herself seized from behind, but the restraint was no longernecessary; she was once again in her own mind, her body under her control, theoutburst now nothing but a memory.

"Young lady," the nurse said, sounding more shocked thanangry, "what do you think you're doing?"

"I'm . . . I'm sorry," Jane replied, and then stoppedcold. What could she possibly sayto explain this? What possiblerational reason could she give that anyone would accept?  How could she say that the actions werenot hers, that some thing had beenoperating through her, using her arms as though she was nothing more than amarionette for its amusement? Inthe end, she said the only thing she could think of that would not make thesituation infinitely worse.

"This isn't my brother. I'll go now."

She stumbled backwards, for a few seconds unable to tear hereyes away from the sight of the nurse rapidly reattaching the monitors she hadso 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 thatwalked or rolled up and down the hall. When she reached the entranceway, where Daria was waiting, she didn'teven stop for explanations, but simply grabbed her friend's arm and propelledher outside.

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

"Something happened to me inside there," Jane said.  "Up until now, I've made some weirdsketches, including some that I didn't want to make, and I've had some weirdfeelings, but it still always seemed like me who was doing it. But I just did something in there thatwasn't me at all; it was workingthrough me. Whatever it is, ithates hospitals and doctors and maybe machines, I'm not sure. But for a few seconds in there, therewasn't a separation between what I was feeling and what it was feeling.  It was like an out-of-body experience.  I don't think I've been more terrifiedin my life."

For a few seconds, Daria didn't respond, just stared intoJane's eyes as if trying to read her soul.

"Daria, it's still me, I promise," Jane saiddesperately. "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 wasn't hearingmy own voice instead."

"Daria, what's going to happen to us?"

She had no response.

*  * * *  *

Daria lay collapsed on the hotel room bed, changing channelswith 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 theharrowing day Jane and she had experienced, with nothing to show for theirefforts and agonies except a few possibilities checked off their list, she wastoo physically and emotionally exhausted to absorb the story. So she entertained herself through theonly means left to her, the television.

At least, that had been the plan, but it seemed that the TVhad other plans. Even with thecable 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 wasdisappointing; Daria couldn't identify a single object, but everything lookedin black and white. She wascertain that she had paid for a better room than this, but there were moreimportant things to do with their time tomorrow than make complaints.  Finally, she gave up and just turned itoff, lying staring at the wall in front of her.

Off to her side, she could hear Jane's pencil scratching.  Jane was determined to reclaim hertalent, and from the second they had returned to their room from their lasthospital stop she had been attempting to capture the figures and faces of themore colorful characters they had seen since coming to Baltimore Wednesdaymorning, at the harbor and the police station and the hospitals.  Her concentration was intense, her eyesboring holes into the paper held in her hands, so Daria had not interrupted tosee how things were going. Butnow, Daria noticed that the scratchings were becoming rapid and harsh, franticeven; she swung her head over to see Jane holding her pencil like a psychowielding a knife, attacking her sketchbook with the point, first pressing downwith such force that the paper buckled, and then actively stabbing, ramming thepoint through the leaves again and again and again. Then, with a bellow of raw anguish, she shot to her feet andhurled the sketchbook across the room, and stood there fire-faced, chest risingand falling as she sucked in air, eyes wild.

"Training for Olympic sketch throwing," Daria said, fallingback on the familiar since she had no idea of what else to say, "or are youplanning on going pro?"

"My art has been hijacked!" Jane wailed.  "I can't stop it!  There's nothing left in me but that!" Shewaved in the direction of her pictures, now lying against the far wall.  Daria opened her mouth to say somethingshe hoped would be comforting and reassuring, but switched gears when shenoticed a dark line on Jane's face.

"Jane, your nose is bleeding."

Jane put her hand up to her face, and her fingers came awaywet with the red fluid. Hissing anobscenity through gritted teeth, she ran to the restroom to wash her face.  Daria pushed herself up from the bedand walked over to where the sketchbook was lying open, picked it up, and beganto 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 hadcaught glimpses of at the police station, all done in Jane's inimitable style,but in each case the face was obliterated. Then, further on, all those disappeared, and the last fewpages were filled with nothing but rings, small, large, thick, and thin, all ofthem scratched out with little consideration for neatness or elegance, justpassion. And, in the center, therewas 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 herfrom the drawing. Nervously, shecarefully closed the cover and laid it back down on the floor, not wanting tohave any more to do with it. Through the entrance to the restroom, Daria heard Jane's voice raised inirate frustration.

"I'm gonna killWind!"

Friday

They spent most of the next morning at the local Kinko's,designing and copying flyers. Thepapers were straightforward, including only a description of Wind, their phonenumber at the hotel, and a cash reward for information leading to Wind'sdiscovery, calculated by Daria out of what she projected would be left overafter the hotel bill and food for the week was subtracted from her cabinfund. She hated parting with thefruits 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 andmore like an absolute necessity. Jane hadn't said a word about her outburst since, but she had been morequiet than usual, and Daria could tell that it was weighing heavily onher. She had tossed off a commentthat 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 wasplain to Daria's ears.

After tossing down another large pile of cash for theflyers, Daria and Jane proceeded to spend the early afternoon plastering themup all over downtown. Separatingwould have been quicker, but Jane said that the kind of places in which Windmight have ended up were not the sorts of environments two young women shouldbe alone in, even during the day. So they walked along together, taping up paper to poles already coveredin a thick layer of it, and commenting on the contents of those olderadvertisements. Once, Jane eventhought she saw a fragment of the Mystik Spiral logo, but after a littledigging they discovered it was a flyer for some goth-metal band named MystikalWarriors; Jane commented that Baltimore was a bit out of the Spiral's leagueanyway. Altogether, the afternoonwas the closest they had come to forgetting, for a little while, the horrorsthat 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, androuted the calls through to the speakerphone.

"Hey, dude, I saw your guy, man. He was comin' out of a monkey's ass!"  The caller dissolved into coarselaughter, or at least as far as they could tell. The rowdy bar noises behind him made his voice a bitdifficult to make out. Jane hitthe skip forward button with unnecessary force, and the next messageplayed. Unfortunately, it was ofthe same sort, as were the three that followed it.

"I'm beginning to think," Daria commented,  "that there might be a downside togetting information from people hanging out in bars in the middle of the day."

"It's just a good thing that we aren't both using videophones," Jane replied. "These guysare asses enough without actually having to see theirs."

Even among all the dreck, though, there were a few gems; afew callers reported what sounded like legitimate sightings, and free ofcharge, while a few others left their own numbers for them to call, just tomake sure that money would be paid if everything panned out.  Jane contacted them, and within thehour they had a list of locations where men who looked like Wind had beenspotted; of course, they would have preferred some confirmation of thepossibility, but most of the callers didn't 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 thestreets of downtown by nightfall. The sun was setting, and the streets were filling up with Friday nightrevelers; Daria soon wearied of dodging back and forth to avoid enthusiasticand inebriated pedestrians, and wished that they had timed their search better,maybe come on a Monday night when people were too depressed by the workweekahead to crowd the sidewalk so inconveniently. The mass of people was not helping her now-constant sense ofbeing watched, and her nerves were starting to fray.

After what seemed an eternity, they reached the firstestablishment on their list; from the line of people moving in, it lookedpretty popular. They were cardingat the door, but hopefully that would not be an issue - both Daria and Jane hadfake ID's, 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 intoMcGrundy's Pup to see the Spiral play. They were good enough to pass inspection there, though that wasn't areally high standard, and Daria was hoping that the bars here operated by thesame principles. And she wasright; the bouncer waved them in with only a cursory glance at theircredentials.

Inside it was dark, crowded, and noisy, most of the lightcoming from the televisions that lined every wall, showing various sportingevents. Idly, Daria wondered whatwould happen should a particularly sadistic person should slip the videotapeinto one of the broadcasts; how many people would see it, and how many would beable to handle the aftereffects. Wedon't even know if we've seen all the aftereffects yet.

"Do you see anyone who could be Wind?" Daria asked Jane; shehad 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 hisblonde hair to his shoulders and slight build, along with a slight slouch.  They walked up behind him, and Janetapped him on the shoulder. Heturned around to reveal his face . . .

. . . and he had no face. His face looked warped, melted, very much like how she andJane had looked in the security monitor. Daria gasped and jumped back, almost tripping on a stool.  She blinked hard, and when she openedher eyes, everything was back to normal; the man's face was completely normal,but it wasn't Wind's. Damnnerves. Damn tape.  Damn Wind. Jane was alreadyapologizing for disturbing the man; she didn't seem to have even noticed.

The next couple of stops were uneventful, then theyencountered a wrinkle. When theypassed over their ID's to the bouncer, he looked both of them up and down, andgave their cards back with a scowl.

"Well, I can believe her,"he said, gesturing at Jane, and then turned to Daria, "but there's no way you're twenty-one. You'll have to stay out here." Jane turned to leave, but Daria stopped her.

"Wind could be in there, Jane," she said, "and we can'tafford to miss him. I'll be fineout here for a few minutes." Janedidn't look too certain, but she assured Daria she would be out soon and thenducked inside. Daria wandered overto the side of the building; she knew exactly why she had been left out.  It wasn't hard to guess that they wereboth underaged; that wasn't why Jane had been let in and she left out.  But even with her eccentric dress anddeliberately-odd makeup, Jane was attractive. Not a great beauty, but certainly enough to attract maleinterest; on the other hand, though Daria knew she could be that way if she putthe effort into it, it had never seemed important to her, so she disdainedit. Usually, that was the way sheliked it, and it had rarely caused what she considered to be problems; but whenit did, such as now, it rankled her. She had been separated from her friend solely because the bouncer hadbeen on the lookout for pretty girls, and she hated him for it.

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

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

"I was," she replied coldly, "but soon my muscular bikerboyfriend Knuckles is going to be here, and if he finds another man talking tome, he'll fly into a homicidal rage."

"We'll just have to hurry then," he said, and reached outfor her. Daria backed up out ofhis reach, but to her dismay found herself pressed up against the wall, withtoo 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 herwindpipe, crushing the life from her body, the world growing fainter andfainter by the second. She wantedto scream, but couldn't 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 thoughtbecame impossible, and all she could do was pant instinctively for air, butthere was no air to be had . . .

Then it was over, and Daria found herself slumped againstthe wall, lungs heaving, as several people bent over her, asking if she wasalright. Others were carrying offthe man who had accosted her. Daria couldn't speak, but just kept searching the sea of worried facesuntil she finally found Jane's, pushing her way through the crowd.

"My god, Daria," she exclaimed, "what happened?  I heard you screaming inside thebar." Jane's eyes were wide withshock, and she quickly looked Daria up and down, searching for wounds.  Finally, Daria found the air and thecomposure to speak.

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

"Come on, amiga,"Jane said tenderly. "I think it'stime for both of us to get some rest."

*  * * *  *

Daria shot straight up in bed, heart pounding, as the finalimage of her nightmare faded into the dark hotel room around her.  Turning towards the one source of lightavailable to her - the window, which was starting to show the grey glow ofpre-dawn - she saw Jane's figure silhouetted against it, head down, staring atthe hands folded in her lap.

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

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

"Yeah, so did I," Daria replied. "I guess it's not so surprising, considering what's beenhappening 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 theground was muddy, so anytime I stepped I had to yank my foot up.  Not that there was a lot of room towalk; there was a stone wall all around me. I could feel it with my hands, though I couldn't seeanything. The walls were slimywith algae, and the whole place stank. As far as I could tell, there wasn't any roof, and all I could see aboveme was a ring of light, just like the one at the beginning of the tape.  I panicked, and tried to climb up andout of the place, but I didn't get anywhere, and the rough walls just tore theskin 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, hergaze did not leave her lap.

"That definitely sounds disturbing," Daria acknowledged,"and I'm sure Freud would have lots of things to say about it, but why didn'tyou just go back to sleep?"

"Because I haven't told you the worst part of it yet," Janereplied, 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 skinmissing from each one of their tips.

"Good God, Jane!" Daria yelped, shocked out of her fatigueand any sense of restraint. Sheknew this was impossible (though her sense of what was and was not possible hadalready come under considerable strain these last few days), but her braincouldn't deal with that yet, so it resorted to more pragmatic matters.  She jumped out of bed and ran over toJane, taking her hands gently and examining the wounds.  "These haven't even been washed.  You need to clean these, and bandagethem, right now."

"Sorry, I didn't bring my first-aid kit."

"I'll rip up some of my clean socks to use forbandages. While I'm doing that,wash your hands in the sink."

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

"There has to be some rational explanation for this," shemuttered, half to herself. Nowthat the pragmatics were being taken care of, there was nothing left todistract her from the more disturbing implications. "Maybe you clawed the wall or the bedframe while you weresleeping."

"Sorry, amiga," Janeresponded, "they're clean as a whistle. I looked."

"Well, there has to be something. Dreams just don't 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 everhappened."

"There are other blue pills that can do that."

"Yeah, I can get a prescription for them, and maybe a roomlike yours. Ow!"

"Sorry. I wishwe 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, thankyou."

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

"It started with me waking up in this room," she saidslowly, remembering, almost reliving, the vivid dream, half-afraid of what wasgoing to happen next. "I needed topee, so I went into the restroom and turned on the light, but instead of seeingmy 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 whitedress, and had long black hair that fell to her waist, framing an extremelypale face. She made me look like Ihave a tan. She wasn't ugly - infact, she was even kind of attractive - but there was something about her thatseemed very wrong, very eerie. Sheeven looked familiar to me, like someone I had seen before, out of the cornerof my eye. I walked up to themirror and tried to meet her gaze, but I couldn't quite make eye contact; therewas something hideous in her stare, and I just didn't 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 hadalready become quite uneasy. "Iasked her who she was, and she didn't answer, just kept looking at me as thoughshe were examining an insect pinned to her card. I asked her what she wanted, and she still didn't answer,but she smiled." Daria stoppedabruptly, and swallowed. Thememory of that smile had made her heart nearly stop, she felt.

"If you don't want to go on," Jane said, looking concerned,"that's fine."

"No, I'm all right. It's just still a bit disturbing. But that smile, Jane - it was like nothing I have ever seen before.  It was pure evil, hatred, malevolence;that's the only thing I can think of to describe it. I could tell right then what she wanted - she wanted medead, and she was going to enjoy every minute of it. Then she reached out from the mirror and grabbed my arm, andstarted to pull me in. It was likebeing touched by living flame; I've never felt anything like it.  I screamed, and then woke up."  Daria finished tying up the bandages onJane's fingers, and just in time; her hands were shaking so much that she couldbarely finish the knots. Jane wasstaring at Daria's arm.

"It looks like I'm not the only one with a souvenir from adream," she said quietly, almost in a whisper.

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

Jane took Daria's arm and pushed up her sleeve, tilting herforearm into view. There, formedfrom what looked like scar tissue from a long-healed burn, was the print of asmall hand.

Saturday

"Come on, Daria, after last night, you have to admitsomething unnatural is going on."

Daria and Jane sat across from each other, sitting at abooth in a pizza place near the hotel. Daria welcomed the familiarity of the situation; it felt like the lastsupport shoring up the increasingly shaky construct that was her life.  After last night, her skepticism hadtaken 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 Jane's fingers were mocking her, challengingher for an explanation; she made sure to keep the long sleeves of her own jacketall the way down, completely covering her arms.

"That girl you saw in the mirror," Jane said, "has to be thesame one I drew in my book; the woman with the long hair.  She has to be the spirit behind itall. Why else would she be tryingto scare us? Why else would youhave dreamed her?"

"Probably because I saw that picture you drew," Dariareplied, trying to maintain her normal monotone in the face of rising doubt andfrustration. "I will admit thatthe picture disturbed me, but that's all the more reason my mind would haveincluded her in my nightmare."

"Do girls in pictures do this?" Jane demanded, and pushed upDaria's sleeve to reveal the brown handprint. And, of course, that was the clincher, the thing that Dariacould not explain, the fatal flaw in her argument. But that didn't mean she was quite ready to concede the war.

"Just because I don't know how it happened," she said,"doesn't mean there isn't a rational cause. There are a lot of weird things in the world that I can'texplain; that doesn't mean I'm going to blame them all on ghosts andgoblins. If we did that, thenhundreds of years of science would be worthless; we might as well start makingofferings to the rain gods in the hopes of a good harvest."

Jane held up her fingers.

"Daria, this doesn't just happen on its own.  We both know there is no way somethinglike last night could just happen naturally; if it could, then people wouldwake up wounded from nightmares all the time. She did this tous. She's just as real as you or Iare. And I don't think we aregoing to be able to stop her until you acknowledge that she exists."

"It's not that simple," Daria snapped, almost losing hertemper at her friend's insistence. She paused for a few seconds to calm down. "This isn't a movie, Jane, where the lifelong skeptic can justsee a ghost and be magically transformed into a believer.  I've lived my entire life under theassumption that this is all there is,that if I can't see it, hear it, feel it, or test it, then it doesn'texist. There is no god ruling overus, 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 newpiece of information I can stitch on to my worldview and go on as before.  If I believed that, I would have toreevaluate every aspect of my life, rethink every important decision I haveever made. It would completelyrevolutionize my outlook on life. So, before I make such a staggering change, I need to be absolutelycertain of my reasons for doing so." Jane pierced her with an assessing gaze.

"So it's not really that you can't 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 waitingfor her to contradict that statement, to explain that she had it all wrong, butthough Daria thought that Jane was putting too much of a negative spin on herposition, she was essentially right. "But the Daria Morgendorffer I know would never allow inconvenience tostand in the way of truth; she would believe it if it was true, no matter whatthe 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 arrivewith their pizza, sparing Daria from the necessity of an answer to a questionshe had yet to be able to solve, despite having turned it over and over in herhead continuously the entire morning. Or maybe the arrival of the pizza was not so fortunate after all, for assoon as it was set down on the table, its accustomed shape sprang out at bothof them; they couldn't see the greasy cheese or the steaming toppings, just thering formed by the outer crust.

"Daria, do you see . . . ?" Jane's voice was small.

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

"Me, too. Youknow, when this thing interferes with our pizza time, it really has gone toofar."

"Or maybe it's just trying to save us from an early,cholesterol-induced death."

"So she's sort of a Casper the friendly ghost type ofthing."

"Except for the visions and horrible nightmares."

"Are you going to eat this?"

"I don't think I can. You?"

"Nope. Let'sget out of here."

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

"We're never going to find Wind this way," she said, "notunless we get very lucky, and I think we've both seen the extent of ourluck. There must be another way togo about it, some clue that we're not seeing." Daria tried to think of something they might have missed,some heretofore un-thought-of method of searching that might produce Jane'selusive brother, but couldn't think of anything other than to just keep ondoing what they were already doing, and hope that they stumbled upon him in thenext two days.

"I'll call Trent when we get back to our room," Janereplied. "Maybe Wind showed up andhe forgot to call, or just never got around to it." Jane shrugged. "It's worth a try, at least."

*  * * *  *

"Trent!"

"Hey, Janey. How's Baltimore?"

"Frustrating. Has Wind come home?"

"Nah, haven't seen him. Isn't he with you?"

"No! We'velooked all over the city for him, and we can't find him.  We've 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 werelittle, for those 'nature experiences'?"

"Trent, I don't know what the hell you're talking about."

"Oh, yeah, that's right; you weren't around yet.  Or maybe you were just too small toremember. Mom and Dad used to takeus 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, whenthey were trying to start a commune. No TV or phones, and we even had to catch our own food and cook it overa fire. They didn't even let mebring my guitar because they said it would interfere with the music ofnature. 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 needsto get away from everything."

"Where is it?!"

"Whoa, Janey. Be cool. I don't know whereit is. We stopped going when I wasstill pretty young, and I haven't been back since. All I know is that it's way out in the woods, a long drivefrom Baltimore."

"Thanks, Trent. You've been a big help."

"Cool. Seeya, Janey."

"Bye, Trent."

*  * * *  *

Jane slammed down the phone switch as she quickly summarizedto Daria her conversation with Trent, and immediately began dialing anothernumber.

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

"Summer," Jane replied shortly, concentrating on herdialing. "She's the oldest, so shewould probably have the best memory of where this place is.  Hi, Summer, it's Jane . . . no, I don'tknow where Courtney and Adrian are; the last time I saw them was the last timeI saw you . . . Summer, I don't have time to chat. I need to know where to find some cabin Trent said Mom andDad used to take you guys to . . . yes, I guess that's the one . . . West Virginia?!. . . Fine, do you know how to get there? . . . yeah . . . uh huh . . . hmmm, Ithink so . . . got it. Thanks,Summer. Gotta run.  Bye." She made a few more notations on the note pad she washolding, then turned to Daria, her expression nervous but hopeful.

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

"Yeah," Jane answered, sounding unsure.  "When my parents wanted to get away,they didn't do it half-assed. It'sabout a four-hour drive, and then we have to hike the last few miles throughthe mountains. The problem is,getting there and back will use up most of our remaining time, especially sincewe'll probably have to spend tonight there, even if we leave now.  Do we want to risk it?"

"We haven't really had much success here," Daria pointedout, "and if I never see another bar scene again, I will die a much happierperson. Plus, maybe the reason wecouldn't reach Wind on his cell phone was not because he hadn't paid his bill,but because he was out of range in the mountains. I'd say we have as good odds there as here, and I'm morewilling to risk hillbillies over barflies. I vote that we go."

"Sounds good enough for me. Let's ride."

*  * * *  *

At first, the highway trip through Maryland was nothing outof the ordinary; Daria and Jane talked of normal subjects, doing their best tonot dwell on the disturbing events of the past few days, or on the uncertaintyof finding Wind at their destination. But the tension didn't fade; Daria still felt like her nerves were onedge, and their situation hung over the conversation like a black cloud thatneither of them wanted to acknowledge but of which both could feel the shadow.

But as the straight highway gave way to country roads andthen to winding mountain trails, Daria felt her tension begin to ease up, atleast a little bit. Thenow-constant feeling of being watched didn't subside, but the change of sceneryhelped in putting the events of the last few days behind her.  Of course, she had her own bad memoriesof mountain county - at least, she had thought that they were bad memories, butviewed in the light of her newest recollections they seemed almostparadisiacal. We're Lawndale'sWilderness Adventure Club, Mark 2. Even Jane's adventurous sense ofdriving seemed tame in comparison.

Finally, they reached the end of the road; it dead-endedinto 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 parkedthe car behind it, and they got out.

"Please tell me this is Wind's," Daria said, resting herhand on the hood of the jalopy. Tom's had been in worse shape, but not by much.

"Yep, this is it," Jane said, and for the first time indays, she smiled. "Looks likeTrent had it right after all. I'llhave to get him a set of guitar strings or something. Come to think of it, I think this place looks a bitfamiliar. It's vague, but it doesfeel like I've been here before." She looked around, taking in the natural scenery.  "Y'know, it's not all that bad outhere. Pretty relaxing,actually. Wind rustling the tree branches,babbling brooks, the song of birds . . ."

"Banjos," Daria interjected.

"Maybe it's time for you to start practicing squealing likea pig." Jane smirked, and wiggledher eyebrows suggestively.

"Sorry," Daria quipped back. "High-pitched, inhuman squeals are Quinn's department."

Jane stared up at the trail before them.

"I would love to hear the sound she'd make at the thought ofa climb like this." She took adeep breath, and stepped onto the dirt. Daria followed.

The climb was hard. If her run from Glen Oaks Lane to Howard Drive Wednesday morning hadshown her how much gym had kept her in shape, this ascent seemed determined topay 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 soonfaded out, replaced by a few murmured imprecations and a lot of heavybreathing. Rest stops were asfrequent as they could justify them, balancing the necessity of recovery withthe driving desire to get to Wind as quickly as possible.  But, every time, they draggedthemselves to their feet long before they felt rested, and made their way upagain.

Finally, just as the sun was setting behind the trees, thepath leveled off. They werewalking almost directly into the sunset, and the glow cast everything aroundthem into a red hue. It looked asthough they were walking through a forest of fire. Then, in so smooth a transition they almost didn't noticeit, the trees that surrounded them wereon fire, tongues of flame licking at their newly-bare branches, turning eachbough into a torch. They lookedaround them in surprise, but little shock; there wasn't much left that couldshock them.

"This isn't real, right?" Jane asked, in the tone of someonewho knows the answer but feels the need to say something in acknowledgement.

"I'm pretty sure it's not," Daria replied, in much the sameway. "I think we'd be dead if itwere."

"Well, at least this is pretty mild," Jane said.  "If this is all she has left to throwat us, maybe things are starting to wind down. Maybe it all wears off in seven days, and we've been worryingfor nothing."

"Or this is her resting until she really throws the shit atus." Daria realized that she hadjust spoken of Jane's hypothetical spirit as though she were real. Do I think that she is?  When did that happen?  Should I just let myself slide intothis paradigm shift? Whether or not she wanted to, shedidn't have the time or energy to fight it just then; she'd have to give thewhole matter serious thought later on, when she could devote all her energiesto the question. For now, the onlything that mattered was to continue moving forward.

The sun was now completely set, and with the trees blockingout almost all moonlight and starlight, and no manmade illumination withinmiles, the trail became almost pitch-black. The fiery trees burned on, but the flames shed no lightbeyond their own borders; soon, they could only make out the trail by the pathit blazed through the light of the illusory inferno. They kept walking, they didn't know how long.

Then, ahead of them, they saw another flickering firelightglow, but this one was on the ground. The trees thinned out into a clearing, in the center of which stood anold-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 abeacon. The door opened with acreak, and they stepped inside.

The interior was only a single room, its walls and floorglowing 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 insteadof surprised. He attempted asickly smile.

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

"Daria," she quickly filled in, before he could make anotherhumiliating guess. He noddedabsently. He was about to saysomething else, but Jane didn't give him the chance.

"Wind," she said briskly, walking up to stand beside hissitting form, "did you leave a videotape at the house?"  Wind's eyes opened wide, and eventhrough the firelight his face paled. Jane's voice hardened. "What is it?" Windswallowed nervously.

"I heard that it was made by a little girl," he said,sounding choked. "Her motherstrangled 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 voicein Daria's ear. The high-pitchedvoice of a young girl. Chillsenveloped her bones.

"My friend Danny gave it to me," Wind continued, looking upat his younger sister looking lost and helpless. "He said it was the best trip he ever had.  Kathy and I don't have a VCR, so Ibrought it home, but I never could get up the courage to watch it."  He drew in a deep gasp, and his eyesopened even wider, if that were possible. "I didn't 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 tomake a copy and show it to somebody else, or else you'll die exactly seven daysafter you watched it!"

Daria felt as though she had been punched in the stomach bya hand wearing an iron gauntlet. She sank to the ground. Die,die, die . . . The word reverberated around her head until it had nomeaning.

"Wind, how are we going to die?"

"I don't know," he said, now weeping openly.  "Nobody does. The only person I've ever heard of who saw it happen wentcrazy. She's in a nuthouse now."

"Are you sure about this, Wind?" Jane asked, fury growing inher voice. "Do you know anyone whohas actually died from this?"

Wind looked up at her in agony.

"Danny. Twodays after he gave it to me. Thepaper said he died of a heart attack, but I know better."  He finally dissolved completely intotears, clutching Jane's feet. Shestood above him like an avenging angel, or a wrathful demon.

"Get out, Wind," she said, at first a whisper, then withincreasing fury. "Get out.  Get out! GET OUT!!" Shedrew back her foot, looking as though she was going to kick him, but he jumpedaway 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 nextto Daria.

"Jane, we're going to be killed by a kid," Daria said, andalmost laughed at the grim absurdity of it. "A kid who was hurt, and now she wants everyone else to hurtas well. Everyone willsuffer." Daria had never been fondof kids; now she knew why. "Howtypical." But what if I hadthat kind of power, when I was at that age? How many times did I think of hurting all the other childrenwho teased or bullied me? If Icould have, would I have? Just howmuch actually separates her from me?

"I don't think that's all that it is," Jane said, "at least,that's not the feeling I'm getting from her. From Samara." Daria looked at Jane in mild surprise, and then they both knew that theother had heard as well. "I thinkshe wants everyone to know how it felt, what it was like to be her. Idoubt that her life was a happy one."

"That may be so, but we can't help her."  Daria inhaled deeply, steadying herselfto shore up her decision, the only one that in good conscience she couldmake. "We can't pass this on; Ican't have another person's death on my conscience. This has to stop here."

"Daria," Jane said in surprise, "surely you can't think thatour tape is the only copy? There'sprobably hundreds of them out there. Letting ourselves die isn't going to stop her. Besides, if we copy it and give it to someone else, we'lllet them know what to do with it."

"Yes, but then he'll make a copy, and the person he gives itto will make a copy, and that person, and the next, and the next.  It's exponential growth, Jane; that'sher plan. And all of those copieswill be out there, each one descended from us. And, eventually, each one of them will be viewed by someonelike us, someone who doesn't know what they have. And each one of them will die. Jane, I can't kill off all those people, just so I can keepliving; if I did that, I don't think that I could live."

Jane didn't look convinced, and she avoided her friend's eyes.

"Jane," Daria said, the words cracking, "if you want to makea copy, I won't try to stop you, or even talk you out of it.  I don't want you to die."  But Jane shook her head.

"No, amiga, you'reright. If I did that, I couldn'tlive with myself either, knowing what I had done. And after all the grief you put me through about BFAC, don'tthink that you're going to leave me here to face it alone." She smiled, but there was little ofmirth in it. Daria responded inkind. "So, what now?"

"We'll stay here for the night," Daria replied, "now thatyour brother has so graciously made way. Tomorrow, we'll go back to the hotel, destroy the tape, and head backhome. I don't remember exactlywhen I watched the tape, but I'll at least have most of the day with my familybefore the end. I don't think I'lltell them about it, though; they can't do anything to prevent it, and if theytry, I'm afraid they might end up in Bedlam. Where they belong anyway, I suppose."  The joking insult was a reflex, butDaria regretted it as soon as it was out of her mouth.  Her family, usually the source ofannoyance and caustic humor, was suddenly precious to her.

"I suppose I'll do the same thing; I hope Trent is aroundfor at least part of it. I wantthe chance to say goodbye." Janelooked mournfully at Daria. "Willyou be going straight home once we reach Lawndale?" She didn't ask it directly, but Daria knew what she wanted.

"No, I'll stay with you until the end; and if I go crazy forit, well, I won't have that long to suffer." Jane reached over and touched her on the shoulder, andbefore either of them knew it, they were locked in a sorrowful embrace, eachgiving comfort to the other, as only best friends could.  They held each other like this longinto the night.

Sunday

They started their climb down the mountain as soon as theywoke up the next morning. Goingdown proved to be even more strenuous than coming up, so conversation was onceagain held to a minimum. The treessurrounding them were back to normal, leafy branches green and lush, and theforest teemed with the sounds of a thousand forms of life.  It seemed almost a mockery of theirsituation, having to walk through such an explosion of life when their own liveswere now so close to their ends; but it was also a comforting reminder, thatthough their own existence was drawing to a close, that the world would keepgoing, that Samara's 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 themunhindered, making their coming demise seem distant and unreal; ghosts werecreatures of night and shadow, how could one reach them in the bright light ofday? Daria knew that such feelingswere an illusion, hardly borne out by their experiences, but she appreciatedthe relief from the heavy dread and the sense of impending doom that hadhaunted her night.

Eventually, after several hours of exhausting decent, theyfinally reached the car, parked unmolested right where they had left it.  Daria took the wheel for their driveback to Baltimore. After just afew minutes of rest, they started to talk, but it was not of the great and terriblerevelation of the night before. Daria told Jane of her life in Highland, the armpit of Texas; she toldof her isolation and loneliness, of how the only two people who came close tobeing her friends were two degenerate morons with whom she only associated forthe sake of amusement. She told ofher parents' fights, her trouble in school, her increasing desperation at herown position. She told her offirst hearing about the move to Lawndale, of her pessimistic assumption thatthere would be no one for her there, since she had come to assume such a persondid not exist. Jane told Daria ofher growing up almost abandoned by her parents, since they had begun to placetheir own muse's call above their own children; of being raised almostcompletely by Trent. She told ofsettling into her grip of her own muse, seeing the world and the people aroundher as mere grist for her artistic mill. She told of taking the school's self-esteem class month after monthafter month, because she had no other way to spend her time.  She told of growing up with Kevin andBrittany, Jodie and Mack, Upchuck, Andrea, and everyone else they knew; howthey had started off as friends, in the manner of young children, but how agehad separated them into groups, and how Jane had found herself in a group ofone.

They both talked of their three years together, recountingold escapades and reviving old jokes, and recalled the stupidity and conformityof their classmates. Of theirfamilies and their teachers and their peers, all observed through a distancingfilter of bemusement and frustration. There were no new stories here, they had heard them all before, but theyfound that, while these memories had once been objects of scorn, they were nowfondly treasured, despite their absurdities, because of their absurdities.  Little snippets of life, with all theslings and arrows that it is heir to; they did not want to let it go.  Neither of them admitted to feelingthis way, but it was growing in their hearts all the same.

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

"Y'know," she said, "people always say to live every daylike it is going to be your last, and I always thought that was what I wasdoing." Her voice was soft,reflective. "Carpe diem. Followyour dreams. Live every day withgusto, and you will have no regrets. They think that meansliving every day as though you weren't going to get another one. But now, I don't feel like any of thatat all. It was fun, but I want tospend my last day just being with the people I care about, and screw all the restof it. If I can spend my last fewhours with you and Trent, I'll feel like I've really spent my last day well,even if I can't tell Trent that's what it is. I'll have no regrets." She fell silent, but after a few moments, Daria filled the hush.

"I don't think I've lived that way at all," she said slowly,heavily. "I've been treating mylife so far as a prologue, just a waiting period or a purgatory, before my'real life' begins. I thoughtgrade school was just what was leading into my life, preparing me for it; butwhat I thought was prologue has turned out to be the whole story.  It all feels so unfinished; I feel likeI have left nothing completed, neither my writing nor my relationships.  And now it's all over."  Daria felt sick, her stomach twisted inknots, and so heavy she found it hard just to make her arms move to steer.  Jane contemplated her quietly for awhile, then spoke.

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

"I'll be buried in a plot with green grass and a relativelyexpensive headstone," she replied, her voice bitterly humorous.  "Dad will come visit me every day andspend the whole time yelling at his father about how it's his fault I'm inhere. Mom will come, when shefinds the time between cases, and spend most of the time talking to Eric on thecell phone. And Quinn will nevervisit, because nothing can destroy a girl's popularity faster than beingassociated with death."

"Really? Personally, I plan on being stuffed and mounted."  Jane attempted a smile, but it diedquickly. "But seriously, Daria,we've never actually discussed it; what do you think is going to happen to youafter you die?"

"We've never discussed it because, despite what Mr. O'Neillmight think, I don't like to sit around thinking about death."  Her hands tightened on the wheel; evenwith the topic unavoidably in the air, she still didn't like the idea ofspeaking of that dark unknown which now seemed all too near.

"But you must have some opinion. And if you're going to think about death, now's the time."

"I suppose I think that, once you die, that's it.  The brain stops working, and it'spretty much lights out. The bodydecays, and in the end, it's like you were never here to begin with."

"So you don't think there's any kind of afterlife?"

"I don't see how there could be; once the brain is gone, theperson's gone."

"And what about this last week? What about that girl that Wind says was murdered, the onethat supposedly made the tape, the one you and I have both seen?  You act like you've accepted herexistence. Doesn't that changeyour mind? If there is anafterlife, don't you think there might still be a way to complete everythingthat you don't think you've finished?"

For a long moment, Daria was silent.

"I don't know. ButI don't think I would want to be part of an afterlife with such creatures asher in it."

The rest of the drive was mostly silent.

*  * * *  *

They arrived back in Baltimore by early evening, steppingwearily into their hotel room. Daria wanted nothing more than to see the end of this place and returnhome to the family that now felt to precious to her. But she wouldn't see them for a while yet; they had decidedthat the Morgendorffer family would have enough on their plate with Daria'sdeath. Having Jane die in theirhome just a few hours earlier would be too much to ask them to deal with.  So they would stay at Jane's place, thetwo of them and Trent, until Jane's death the following morning.  Only then would Daria go home, to spenda few final hours with her family.

But she was ready to take the initial step - the night driveback to Lawndale. They both packedtheir things quickly.

"Don't forget to make sure you still have the tape," Janesaid. Daria turned to look at herin 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 youwere going to bring it."

"I thought you were going to," Daria replied, and thenclarity hit her. "It'sSamara. She wants the tape to keepmoving on. She's the one who madeWind leave it for us, and now we've 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 videotapeslying 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 CD's.  I was going to put it in, but I took anap instead. Should I watch it?"

"NO!!!! Sorry, Trent. I need you topromise me that you won't watch that tape."

"What's on it? Is it dirty?"

"Nothing like that. It's nothing important, but I need you to promise me you won't watchit. I want you to put it in Mom'skiln and bake it until it's a puddle. Trent, swear to me you'll do it right after we get off the phone."

"Janey, you're acting really weird."

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

"Okay, I'll do it."

"Right after we get off the phone.  Swear it."

"Fine, Janey. I swear."

"Good. I'mvery glad to hear that. We'recoming home now; I'll see you in a few hours."

"Nah, the Spiral's got a rehearsal tonight, then a lategig in Swedesville. In fact, Ishould have already been there, but I fell asleep. We'll crash there, so I probably won't be home untiltomorrow afternoon. I'll see youthen, though."

"Yeah, I'll see you then. Goodbye, Trent."

*  * * *  *

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

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

*  * * *  *

Jane hung up the phone. Daria had been impressed by how normal she had soundedtalking to Trent, but as soon as the connection was cut, Jane fell on herknees. She didn't yet know whathad happened, but Daria held her grieving friend in her arms as she wept.

*  * * *  *

Daria and Jane finally stepped through the door of the Lanehome late that evening. No lightswere on, and the place was steeped in shadow, the only illumination coming fromthe streetlights seen through the window. The house was vacant, but it was not empty; it was filled with apalpable presence, brooding and malevolent, awaiting its time.  Now that Daria knew she was being watched, she no longer had the urge toconstantly 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 withthe horrors of the past week, it was like she was feeling Samara's presence forthe very first time, and the hostility she sensed in it made her insidesquiver. Were you alwayslike this, Samara? Were you bornwith this evil inside you? Or, atone time, were you just a scared child, wondering why your Mommy wanted to hurtyou? No answer was forthcoming.

Daria followed Jane to her bedroom, where everything was asthey had left it: the defaced older works in a haphazard pile, theSamara-induced paintings scattered across the room as though flung about in afrenzy, and at the epicenter of it all, the mutilated white canvas emblazonedwith a dark ring. The insigniaSamara had taken as her own, a silent reminder of the influence she now heldover them. Wordlessly, Jane tookout 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 ruinedframe against the wall. The framebroke, and it fell limp to the floor.

"She may take me," Jane said, and it sounded like a vow,"but she won't control what it is I leave behind. She won't take my legacy." And with that, she took up a hammer and walked around theroom, systematically destroying every painting she had made while underSamara's influence. Daria just watchedin silence, knowing Jane was doing what she had to do.  Finally, they both stood in a room fullof ruined works of art; the hammer dropped from Jane's nerveless fingers.

"Listen to me, Samara!" she declared to the air surroundingher. "I am going to paint.  I may not be able to control myself ifyou take me over, but I won't stop trying to create my own work.  I will fight you every inch of theway. I am Jane Lane, artisteextraordinaire. And that is what I will be until the brush drops frommy 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 fromJane. Before she even opened hereyes, she could hear the sound of heavy knocking and an angry voice beingfiltered through the front door. Daria was lying sprawled on the bed, having finally given intoexhaustion after spending hours watching Jane paint with a vengeance,  starting new works time after time, andthen discarding them as soon as the first hint of Samara's influence becamenoticeable. Her efforts had yieldedno clear successes, but there were no complete failures either; there were nofaces anywhere to be seen, and there were many images of wells, ladders,horses, and rings. But there werealso many pictures Jane had nearly completed before detecting such intruders,and these were enough to keep her going without fail, determined to not justgive up and let Samara win this battle as well. Jane was still working as Daria's eyes slowly opened,standing at her easel, brush in hand; from the number of new paintingsscattered about, it was clear that she had worked straight through thenight. She smirked at Daria; thevoice coming through the door was clearly that of Helen Morgendorffer.

"Sounds like we've been found out, amiga," she said, her voice raspy from the early hour.

"Ignore her and she'll go away," Daria replied.  Jane didn't know the exact time shewatched the tape, but it was sometime in the morning, and Daria didn't intendto leave her friend's side until that moment. The yelling and pounding continued unabated, Helen callingfor her daughter to come out and explain herself. Jane turned her head towards the door for a moment, and thenlooked back to Daria.

"Go on and talk to her," she said, jerking her head towardsthe door. "I don't think she'sjust going to go away. I'm surethat she's 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. "I'll be fine by myself for a couple of minutes.  Besides, do you really want your motherangry at you today?" She wasright; this was the last day that her mother would see her alive, and Dariadidn't want to her spend it cross. That wasn't the kind of final moments she wished to have with any of herfamily, and she didn't want Helen to feel guilty afterwards.  She levered herself up off the bed, andset off to answer the door.

From the looks of her mother as she opened the door, thechance of Helen getting out of this with a cool head was pretty slim.  Her face was red, partially fromexertion, but also, Daria thought, from pure anger. Helen didn't give her a chance to speak; as soon as theymade eye contact, she started in on her.

"Daria Marie Morgendorffer," she exclaimed, and Daria knewthat this would have a bad ending, "what the hell have you been doing the pastfew days?! Where have youbeen?! I've called and called overhere and never gotten an answer; I drove over and your car was gone, everytime! You disappeared for almost aweek; do you know how scared I was? And then, finally, we got out of Quinn that you had gone to Baltimore?! Whatthe hell possessed you to do that, without even telling us?"  Daria had no chance to interjectanything into her mother's tirade, but when Helen reached out to take Daria'sarm she shook it off.

"Young lady," Helen continued in righteous anger, "you arecoming home this instant, and I assure you Family Court will not look favorablyon you trying to get out of it."

"Mother," Daria finally managed to get in, "I can't leave Jane right now. I promise, I'll be home in a couple of hours, but right nowI have to stay."

"You do not get to plea bargain here," Helen replied.  "I know you think that you'reindependent, now that you've graduated high school and are off to college soon,but as long as you live in my house you'll obey my rules, and my rules say tocome home with me now." She reached out once again to take herarm, and Daria stepped back further into the house.

"No, mother," she said as calmly as she could.  She couldn't believe that her last daywith her loved ones was starting so badly, and every second she was away fromJane felt like an eternity during which anything could happen; she had to fightdown a rising sense of panic, of everything spinning out of control.  "I'm sorry, I really am; I don't wantus to fight like this. But I madea promise to Jane, and I can't leave yet. But I swear I will come home as soon as I can, and I will take whateverpunishment you give me without reply. But, please, don't force me to come with you." Helen's anger seemed to recede slightly as she heard whatDaria was saying.

"Why can't you leave yet?" she asked, the heat still therebut tempered with a measure of curiosity. "What's wrong with Jane? Why does she have to have you around right now?"

"I can't say," Daria replied. She wished she could tell her mother everything, pour it allout to her and ask for support and comfort for all of them; but Helen couldn'tknow what was really happening, not and remain safe. She'd try to stop Samara and possibly be driven insane, ordemand to see the tape herself. (At the back of her mind, Daria wondered if Trent had actually destroyedthe tape as he had promised, but she couldn't afford to dwell on that issueright at this moment.) It wasobvious that her simple and uninformative reply did not improve Helen's mood,but she made no further move to physically budge her daughter.  After a long, tense moment, Helen spokeagain.

"Fine," she said briskly, and gave a short nod of herhead. "You can stay, for now, butI want you home by noon. Do youunderstand?" Daria nodded and gaveher word, and Helen strode back to her car and drove away.

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

Then, from Jane's room, she heard it: a piercing,blood-curdling scream, the sound of pure terror. It pierced her ears and reverberated through her brain andher bones, turning her heart to ice. For a moment, she was frozen in horror, then her legs were movingtowards 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 Jane's door, almost falling headfirst inher haste. Then she stopped; atfirst glance, everything looked normal, exactly as she left it.  She saw Jane lying on the bed, facepointed the opposite direction; she looked like she was merely resting, with nosigns of terror or any kind of struggle. Daria wondered if maybe, somehow, through all the stress, she hadimagined the whole thing; if maybe Jane had finally just succumbed tofatigue. She walked over to thereclining form; her boots splashed through a puddle of water on the floor, butshe didn't even notice. She tookhold of Jane's shoulder and rolled her over to see if she was okay.

And Daria saw Jane's face; she saw what had been herface. Now it was horriblydisfigured, green and bloated, the skin hanging off the skull like it was alreadyrotten. Her hand jerked back ofits own accord, her conscious mind shut down; wanting to close her eyes andrefuse all that she had seen, but feeling them open ever wider in shock andhorror, Daria backed away. Herwhole body was seized with an icy grip, her arms and legs vibrating with theinstinct to flee as far away as they could; her heart felt constricted, and shecouldn't 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, andusing her hand to probe the back of her skull she found a painful lump; shemust have hit her head on the floor when she blacked out. Damn, what time is it?  How long have I been unconscious? Openingher eyes to see Jane's ceiling above her, at first she wasn't sure of what hadhappened, why she would be lying out cold in Jane's 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 sightthat met her eyes was Jane's ravaged face; she rapidly averted her gaze, andfelt like she was going to be sick. Jane. Oh, god,Jane . . . Then she wassick, but when it was over and her stomach was empty, it still did not compareto the void that was her heart. She wanted to stay here, to slowly absorb what had happened and grievefor her friend, to guard her body until she was ready to let her go; but theclock on the wall said that it was past four in the afternoon. That means I've got about anhour, maybe less. I can't stayhere; I've got to get home. Keeping her eyes on the door, she stoodup and slowly walked out of the room, still a bit unsteady on her feet.  When she reached the door, she paused. Farewell for now, myfriend. I don't know where youare, but wherever it is, I'll be joining you soon.

The rest of the house was empty; either Trent had not yetreturned from the gig, or he had already come and left again, without knowingwhat had happened. Daria knew thatthere was one more thing she had to do before she left; she called 911 andanonymously reported a death on Howard Drive. All she could do now was hope that the paramedics arrivedbefore Trent did; she didn't want him to remember his sister like that. Thenshe left for home.

When she stepped into the Morgendorffer house, the firstthing she saw was her mother, standing in the den with her arms folded,furious. Daria had been expectingthis, but that didn't make it any easier; she didn't want to fight, and sheknew 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 I've never known you to go back on a promise.  But you're over four hours late, on topof going missing for almost a week, and I don't know what's come over you.  Family Court will meet later to discussjudgment, but I think it's safe to say that you will be grounded for a verylong time, and don't even think that you can bore us out of it.  But for now, I want you to go to yourroom and stay there until supper." She pointed up the stairs.

Supper would be around six or seven; Daria knew that shewouldn't make it that long. Dariawanted to beg for a reprieve, to ask for the chance to spend her final preciousminutes in the company of her family, but she knew that the situation was toofar gone for that; her mother would never listen. But she couldn't let those words be the last exchanged betweenthem.

"I love you, mom," she said calmly, masking an overflowingheart, and then walked up the stairs to her room, not waiting to see Helen'sreaction. As she walked up thestairs, she heard sirens in the distance; her 911 call was bearing fruit.  She hated to think that soon the sirenswould be coming much closer.

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

Here we go

The world is spinning

When it stops

It's just beginning

Sun comes up

We laugh and we cry

Sun goes down

And then we all die

Once she was finished, she examined what she hadwritten. Is that my work?  Is it Samara's?  Is it some blend of the two?  Whichever it is, I like it; I think itsums up what I'm feeling right now pretty well. It'll 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, "I'm so sorryabout telling. I didn't mean to, Iswear I didn't, but Mom and Dad were all on me to tell them if I knew where youhad gone and it was like the Spanish Intermission and I finally just couldn'ttake it anymore and I hope you don't want to hurt me and . . . gah, what areyou doing?!" Quinn's train ofthought was derailed at the completely unexpected sensation of being wrapped ina firm embrace by her sister. Daria knew she didn't have much time left, and didn't think that Quinnwould give her the chance to verbally express her feelings, so she took the oneformerly-unthinkable avenue left to her. Quinn was frozen in surprise for an instant, then started tosquirm. "Daria, what's wrong withyou? Are you trying to scareme? Is this some kind of weird,geeky revenge? Ewww!"  She finally wriggled free and ran outof the door, leaving Daria alone.

I'm not going to get the chance to say a proper goodbyeto any member of my family, anyone I care about. But I can't just leave them without letting them know how Ifeel; I've spent my life too isolated to just assume they know.  And I want them to know how I died,that Jane and I didn't have some weird suicide pact or something. Notthat there were many ways to commit suicide that would leave a corpse like theone 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 theworld be conveyed through it. Shewould tell Jake, Helen, and Quinn all that they had meant to her, individuallyand together, and how much she valued them, even though it had not often seemedthat way. She would tell them allthat had happened in the past week, and warn them to avoid the tape at allcosts, 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 ofsuch an evil, and there was no better end to her life that she could have askedfor, 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 didn't notice whenher 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 andJane Lane, both 17, of Lawndale, MD. The two teenage girls were found dead in their homes last Monday, ofstill unknown causes. The time ofdeath for Jane Lane is approximated at 10:30 AM, and for Daria Morgendorffer at5:00 PM. The cause of death wasinitially diagnosed as cardiac arrest, but this diagnosis has been rescindeddue to the presence of additional symptoms that do not fit thisconclusion. Their deaths are nowtentatively believed to be the result of an unknown biological agent; symptomsinclude 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 ofdementia and hallucinations prior to death.

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

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

*  * * *  *

"The police say it's a new kind of terrorism, butwe'll talk to a man who says that Baltimore syndrome is something far moresinister. See the tape and decide for yourself! When video vixens kill, next onSick, Sad World!"

The End

Acknowledgements: First of all, I would like to thankeveryone who commented on this story on PPMB - The Angst Guy, james_anatidae,nmorgendorffer, Kristen Bealer, Mr. Orange, Sleepless, Decelaraptor, jedah,Orpheus, Gregor Samsa, Ranger Thorne, Roentgen, et alia, and Dave theInsane. I didn't have beta readersper se, but I think you guys qualify. Thanks for the encouragement and suggestions.

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

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