Bystander.

One who is present at an event or incident, but does not take part. 

One just as evil as an offender.

A changemaker removed from the violence. 

The person who can pull the lever and put the trolley on new tracks. Saves a life, but dooms another one. 

It’s the thing my mom hated most about me and something  I want no part in. I just want to be left alone. 

If it's true that bystanders are evil perpetrators, then I’m as evil as they come.

"Julian Spence went missing sometime yesterday night. We believe his disappearance occurred somewhere in the woods. Which is why you guys are all here."

The static framed words of Mr. Wyler spreads across our school gym as he shouts into the damaged microphone in his chubby hand. His white name tag that denotes him the new principal of Forest High clings onto his gray suit like a badge that accuses him of being fresh meat. I can see the nerves in every crinkle of his clothing as his eyes dart around the gymnasium, and I almost feel for him. This had to be one of the worst first few weeks at a job in all of history. 

"Now, I wanted to be the one to tell you that since I am the new principal of Forest High. My job is to focus on student well-being…"

I roll my eyes and lean back in my chair. Of course he’s making this about him. Ever since he started a month ago he’s been doing anything he can to look good to the PTA. Like doing the PTA moms’ dirty work and unnecessarily punishing their enemies they loved to call delinquents. My detentions and calls home have skyrocketed. This is why I almost feel for him. He deserves what’s coming and man would the PTA eat him alive for this speech. 

I sigh, causing the older woman next to me to shoot me a disapproving look. Her gray hair is pulled into a tight bun and she purses pink lips at me. “This is serious stuff. We need to watch out for the kids in this town, they’re so vulnerable.” She whispers harshly to me and nods her head as if prompting me to agree. Yeah, unlikely. Julian Spence is an idiot jock who probably forgot to leave bread crumbs when he went into the woods. I’m sure he’ll show up eventually. 

I give the old woman a dead stare before returning my attention to balancing my chair in the exact position between falling and balancing. Leaning back in a chair is an art, and many are not skilled in the field. I stare up at the gym ceiling, counting the balls that had gotten stuck in the rafters.

Boredom sits heavy on my mind and the back of my chair, causing me to constantly have to jerk forward to stop from tipping backwards. I give up on counting the balls as I have to jerk forwards again. My legs jump in irritation and I return to my tipped position. 

I don't understand why everyone’s making a big fuss over this guy. I doubt he’s really missing. He probably just got drunk and fell asleep in the woods. He and his friends were almost like a cult with all the parties they had in those trees, and here I am suffering because he decided to go drinking alone. There are much better things I could be doing…like practicing the art of balancing my chair in the comfort of my room.   

Gym floors are not good for--

My chair tips too far backward and before I can lean forwards, I lose my balance. I quickly grab onto the seat in front of me, stopping my fall. My eyes meet the back of a shiny black head, and I almost wish I had let myself kiss the hard ground of the gymnasium. 

"Do not touch my chair." Sita says darkly, turning to throw furry at whichever poor unfortunate soul had crossed her path. Unfortunately, it's me. I brace for the onslaught. Sita’s eyes, framed in a sparkly silver, narrow to slits as they take me in. "Ew, of course, it's you, Psycho." Her words shoot from her mouth like pointy arrows, unable to miss their targets and her lips curl in disgust. 

I don't flinch at what she calls me, too numb to the six letter word that I'm unsure it ever made me cry.

 Unfortunately for her, I don't bruise easily anymore. 

I fake a cough and throw a hand to my chest. "I'm sorry, whatever perfume you're wearing almost knocked me out there." I choke out and Sita balks at me. Her dark eyes give me a once over and a look of underwhelming crosses her made up features as she raises an eyebrow at him. She turns to her boyfriend next to her and leans close to him but does not lower her voice." Can you believe they fucking put us with the creepiest girl in this whole town? I'm pretty sure she hasn't even heard of an iron. I'm re-considering my community service project. Why go out of town when there's someone in desperate need of help right at home." Her lips purse as she finishes her sentence and she sends me one more disapproving look before spinning back around in her chair. 

Her words hit at scars that had once been wounds and I glare at the back of her head as I smooth out the folds of my clothes. Wow, nice one. I let out a low snort. Whatever. Irons are stupid. 

I glance back up at the speaker and sigh heavily as I watch a teary woman hobble over to Mr. Wyler. She's supported by our town's sheriff, Sheriff Kumar, a short man with a balding head and mustache. He holds the same shitty superior attitude as his daughter Sita and made it a point to remind me that I was fuck up on a winding path to fuckery. 

The preppy demon in front of me perks up in her seat as her father finally passes the sobbing woman to Mr. Wyler. Ruby red hair falls down the woman's back, and she holds a tissue to her nose, yet her makeup doesn't run. It looks like she had just done it. It’s weird, considering she’s obviously convinced her eighteen year old son is lost. I was expecting a more frantic look. The woman's navy blue dress hugs her curves, and her long lashes beat her wet cheeks. If it wasn’t for the basketball hoop just behind her I would think she was the lead act in a play ready to say her first lines. 

"Hello everyone, I'm Dulce, Julian's mom. I know a lot of you and I want to thank all of you for coming out to look for my son." Her words come out in a blob of heavy breathing and salty tears. Another sigh escapes my lips. Okay, a bad lead act delivering her first lines.

Dulce continues talking and it takes all of my strength not to shout out the truth. We had no choice in being here. The whole school was herded into the gym after the final bell and broken into groups to find Julian Spence. A few adults, like the retired old hag next to me, had also shown up. I guess word got out and this is now the town’s excitement for the time being. I pull my hood over my head, leaning back in my chair again as I block out the sound of Dulce's annoying sobbing as she talks about how she had woken up to find Julian missing. 

This is preposterously weird because Julian, the best son in the world, never skips curfew and wouldn't miss his little sister's birthday and is such a damn angel. Yeah, right. I know very little about Julian Spence, he’s too well-liked to sully himself with someone of my standing, but if I had to take a guess I would say he’s just another stupid popular kid who’s convinced this whole town that he’s perfect when he does more wrong than half the kids in school. The popular kids always get away with their cruel words, though. When there's a Psycho around, everyone's eyes are always pointing in the wrong direction. 

The chair wobbles beneath me as I put too much weight on the back legs, forcing me to reach out for the chair in front of me again to avoid falling.

Sita clicks her tongue before snapping her head to the hulk of a boyfriend sitting next to her. In what he lacks in intelligence and common sense, he makes up for in mass and perfect hair.

The two send some kind of telepathic message to each other that has the beast of a teen baring his teeth at me. The metals on his letterman clink as he turns to face me full-on.

"Psycho, I know you have a thing for killing people, but if you don't stop touching my girlfriend's chair, you're going to regret it." The large boy growls at me.

“I didn’t kill anyone.” I snap back, my words like ice as they cool the space between us. This was a new one. One I hadn’t quite built up the skin for yet. The best friend killer. A pyscho through and through.

“That’s not what Caroline said on her deathbed.” Travis jeers at me a wicked smile on his lips. The nasty grin breaks the mask of the hot athlete that had won him homecoming king last year. I glare at his second face. I don’t know what Caroline had said on her deathbed, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was something that would make her the wronged princess she so desperately wanted to be and me the dragon that would get her the popularity she craved.

It doesn’t matter. I know what happened and I know everyone just feels guilty about how they treated Caroline before she died. I’m just a scapegoat.

I let out a low sigh releasing the anger I could feel carving my bones. I chose the wrong friend. 

It doesn’t matter. Just forget her.

“Nothing to say? What don’t tell me you’re involved with Julian’s disappearance t--.”

I clap loudly, cutting Travis off before he can finish his sentence. The granny next to me shushes me. "Sita, what a trick you taught your ape to speak," I say with fake enthusiasm. Travi’s mask slips further as his taunting smile drops to reveal anger. "Way to threaten a girl Travis. I'm like one-fourth your size." I say dryly, turning to the letterman-wearing puppet.

"That’s not what I meant! I don't hit girls." Travis explains frantically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender and glancing around. "I have friends who are girls." He says for further explanation. "And I'll get them to kick your scrawny ass." He crosses his arms, and the smug look is back. He stares at me with intimidation that would probably frighten a lion, and I wonder why the granny next to me doesn't chastise the bully. I have to take matters into my own hands as usual.

"Fuck Off, Travis." I say dryly, glaring at him.

"Miss Keys watch your language." A hand comes down on my shoulder and shakes me lightly. I push the hand off without looking, already aware of the touchy culprit by the annoying voice. My eyes drag upward and they meet the sneering face of Sheriff Kumar. "Pay attention. This is very important. Show some compassion." He says sternly before snatching the hood off that rests on my head.

I click my tongue as I shoot the sheriff, the meanest look I can muster. "Way to do your job. I mean, he's threatening me and I'm the one in trouble." I grumble, shaking my head and slumping back in my seat.

"Travy was not Papa." Sita says, flipping her ink-shaded hair over her shoulder. She turns to us, giving her dad an innocent expression that isn't necessary; he would already take her side.

"Oh, Shut up." I snap at her.

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Sheriff Kumar shakes his head at me. "Do not talk to my daughter that way. You're causing a commotion." He scolds me, giving me a disparaging look. "You think your dad would teach you manners. Or, maybe he’s too busy with other things? Alcoholism is hereditary, you know. " Sheriff Kumar adds and I feel anger sketching its portrait on my tongue.

Of course he was bringing my dad into some stupid argument. We were too strange for the perfect little town he ran. Despite being here for eight years, we still reeked of the awful stench of outsiders. It’s not like we chose this place because it was charming. We lived here because it’s the place mom wanted to live before she…died.

"Hmmm…yeah he is too busy doing other things." I pipe up, sitting upright in my chair. Chief Kumar stares at me expectantly, his hand on my chair. He shifts his weight, leaning forward. I hide back a wicked grin. "For one, fucking your wif—." My quip is sucked from my lungs halfway through my sentence, and I snap my mouth shut as a face appears over the sheriff's shoulder.

The boy's hazy blue eyes stare at me from behind moppy brown hair. It's plastered across his pale forehead with water that would never dry. I swallow loudly as he steps around the officer. A permanent frown is etched into his somber face. I bite back bile as I take in his grotesque form.

Long raptor-like scratches that start at the top of his forearm and end at his wrist ooze dark red, almost black looking blood that flows out from the cuts and drips down onto the auditorium floor beneath his feet before disappearing.

It's Tyler Oxford.

The boy who committed suicide last year.

The image of his death forever plays across his body. Torturing him. I often wonder if the dead could be in pain, if Tyler could still feel the pain from those slashes. 

The collar of his shirt is soaked, but the rest of his clothes remain dry. He looks the same as he did the day they shoved his head in the toilet, thinking it would be funny. The culprits were given a slap on the wrist in comparison to their crimes. A season off from football and community service for a month. Yet Tyler, he was stuck here. 

He was picked on a lot when he was alive. We were never close, but people hated him as much as they hated me. He was picked on just as much. But, while I grew numb, Tyler grew sensitive. And, the more you hurt, the more they crave your pain. I guess that day Tyler had enough.

My eyes drop down to his right hand, which is still fastened securely around the blade that promised him peace a year ago. It lied.

A janitor had been the one to find his body. A pool of blood surrounded his slumped figure in one of the bathroom stalls.

A month later, I caught his eye in the hallway.

The only one who had looked at him since he took his life.

The only one that could see him.

The only one that knew he was still here.

I need to start looking at the floor more. 

Tyler steps towards me, and I throw him a menacing look making him stop in his tracks. My breath catches in my throat, and I have to remind myself to breathe. 

"What do you want?" I hiss angrily at him, "I told you to leave me alone." 

I hate seeing them. The dead. They give me chills. 

Their deaths aren't always as horrifically graphic as Tyler's, but they're always as persistent. When they find out you can see them, they never leave you alone. The peace they can’t find is paid for by making life a living hell.

I have no idea why they're still here. Not everyone who dies becomes the dead. I found that out young. Back when we lived in the ratty place down south, near the crack houses. That realization was one of the only things that made me happy that year.

Either way, I wish I couldn’t see them. The living are enough trouble. 

Tyler doesn't respond, and I don't expect him to answer.

The dead don't speak.

"Aurora?" The feeling of someone calling my name draws my attention from the dead boy in front of me.

I feel my cheeks heat the slightest as I realize everyone is staring at me.

I couldn't possibly have been that loud.

"Maybe you could step outside? Umm…just until I'm done. I'll have your group meet you outside." The principal's staticy voice consumes me and I try not to die as half the town stares at me. The granny stares at me triumphantly as if I’m getting the punishment I deserve. I give Mr. Wyler a tight-lipped smile as I stand slinging my backpack over my shoulder. 

Embarrassment eats me from within, and I have to remind myself to glare at the people who snicker at me. I try to feel numb and remind myself I hate these people.

"Yeah, no problem, Steve; I'll just go take a breather." I say, trying to slather sarcasm on my words to cover the humiliation I feel. Hushed murmurs of the word Psycho fill the air, and I'm unsure if my nonchalant attitude was received.

The principal makes a sound of protest at me calling him by his first name, but I ignore it as I stomp towards the gym doors. 

"As I was saying. The small search parties will each be given a section of the woods. If anyone finds anything, please inform the pol--."

I let the door slam shut behind me as I stomp towards the doors of the school. A cry of frustration flies past my lips as I imagine all the eyes still staring at me. I had once again lived up to the name Psycho. I fucking hated that name so much.

My nails digging into the straps of my backpack and I curse at myself for not keeping my thoughts in my head. I have never been good at ignoring them. 

Tyler suddenly appears in front of me, blocking the exit with his body. He stares at me blankly, holding his bloody arms out. I jump back, staring at his gushing forearms with irritation.

"I've had enough of you for today." I spit at him, not bothering to control my anger as I glare at him. He moves his mouth, unspoken words falling out too fast for me to read his lips. I keep walking, not waiting for him to move. My body easily phases through his.

I don't shiver or feel the feeling of skin. It's nothing like the stupid movies or books. It feels exactly like walking through air. As if Tyler Oxford isn't there. As if he doesn't exist. As if he's buried somewhere six feet underground. Out of sight. Out of mind.

The dead can't touch the living.

The chilly air greets me as I step out of the school. My breath fans out in front of me in a white cloud as I release my frustration. I don't bother glancing behind me to see if Tyler will follow. He won't.

The dead can't leave the area they died in.

Tyler is forever damned to roam the halls of our high school.

Lucky him.

I sling my bag to the ground, not caring that the late autumn mud might stick to the blue fabric. I press my back against the rough brick of the school. The woods that surrounded this town like a wall sit on the edge of the school line’s property.

If I left right now, would I get detention?

A cold breeze stumbles by me and picks up the colorful gifts of fall before sending them scattering across the school lawn. I shiver as I watch the pile of leaves that I and the other misguided souls of detention had been forced to rake slowly disappear. The community service was supposed to remind us that we were pieces of shit and disturbing the wonderful teens of Suburgatory. Like poor old Julian Spence who got so piss drunk he couldn't find his way home. 

I rest my head against the wall letting my eyes slide shut. I was definitely getting another detention for that outburst.

It wasn't even my fault. I sigh; this is why I prefer my room. No assholes. No accusations. Just safety. 

The creak of the old school doors makes my eyes jump open, and I turn and watch as people pile out. No one makes sure I'm following or that I even know where I'm going. Typical. I should just leave right now. I push off the wall and sling my backpack on again. 

Mr. Wyler exits the school doors and his tired eyes find mine. I gurgle my disappointment in a strangled sigh as the principal stops before me. 

“Detention. I know.” I say as he opens his mouth. The chubby man shakes his head at me and subconsciously smooths his name badge. 

“Normally, yes. But, I’ll go easy on you if you stick with your group and help your friends search the woods.” He gives me a smile and I make sure to deepen my frown at his word choice. He continues to smile and motion towards my group who begin their trek across the line and towards the woods.

“Friends? You’re blind.” I remark dryly, but scoot around him to fall in step behind my group. As we enter through the trees, my eyes automatically go up to the tree line, taking in the dancing branches and their dying leaves.

The colors are like a gradient that draws theatrical oohs and ahs from my classmates in front of me. I silently marvel at mother nature’s canvas. Out of all the places I lived over the years. This one was my second favorite in terms of scenery. It came after our little house near the beach. But, nothing could beat watching the sun touch the water.

I bring my hands up to my mouth, blowing warm air into them as another cold gust of twin knocks into me.

The laughter in front of me spikes and I watch as a few girls lean into Sita laughing heartily. One of the boys pulls the end of one of the girls' hair and she immediately begins chasing him. They all seem to have turned this trip into something fun as they throw laughter and comfortability back and forth between each other.

I drop behind. Their friendly chatter is not open enough to allow me, and despite wanting to be numb, I feel outcasted. I try to roll my eyes at their dim-witted conversations, but I find myself latching onto their words. Someone makes a joke, and I laugh quietly. They block out the creepy quietness of the woods. I'm not a huge fan of this place. The woods remind me of my mom.

The murmur of someone mentioning my incident has me slowing my steps, and their chatter is less comforting. I fall further behind. I block out their voices and focus on the crisp crunching of the leaves beneath my feet. Isolation welcomes me with kindness. It doesn't mind that I hang around it more often than I do people, and in turn, I don't mind the icky and lonely feeling it leaves in my belly sometimes. It's better than having to constantly be on defense for hateful words and people who want to feel like they are at least better than someone in this world.

My eyes travel around, not really staying on anything for too long. I don't really know what we are looking for. Maybe for him to be passed out drunk by a tree. Or, maybe this all some elaborate ruse by the sheriff to make it look like he actually has work. He’s the one that thought we needed to have a search party. Most days, he's playing darts in the station. This is a quiet town. We really didn't even need a sheriff. I think it was more than a coincidence that Julian was "missing" right during the city's budget season. Julian could be at a friend's house for all I knew. Or, maybe he ran away from home. That’s a possibility, from the few seconds I had spent watching Dulce cry on stage, I knew if I were her son, I'd run away from her too.  

I pick up my pace, noticing that I was falling a little too behind. As I turn the corner, a boy catches my eye. A mess of vaguely familiar chocolate brown curls sit on his head. He runs towards my group, arms above his head.

I furrow my brows, studying the tall boy, with his long legs and lean form. A strip of his stomach shows as he continues to raise his arms above his head and I can see the hint of a toned stomach. A look of panic rests on his sharp features like it had been etched there by a sculptor. Is he from another group? Did someone find something?

My eyes follow his arms as he begins waving them frantically, trying to catch the attention of the people in front of me.

I scrunch my eyebrows together as they don't respond, ignoring him as if they didn't see the tall boy who stood just a few feet away from them. They keep walking, acting as if the boy didn't exist, as if he was nothing but air, as if he wasn't there.

The boy quickly sidesteps them, letting his arms fall from the air and hang by his sides as he watches their backs.

Wind blows through his chocolate curls.

I stop walking, a gasp escaping my lips as I take in the lettermen he wears. My eyes zone in on the swimming metals that hung from it before traveling to the golden chain that hung from his neck. The letter J rests gracefully between his collarbones.

He drops to his knees, his eyes following after each person as they walk by him. Each blissfully unaware of his presence.

I take a step back, and the leaves betray me. They scream beneath my sneakers, crunching loudly.

His head snaps towards me, and I'm greeted by a warm honey brown gaze that makes me freeze.

It's Julian Spence.

I grimace as I take in his pale complexion.

Julian Spence isn't missing.

Julian Spence is dead

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