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How could she?

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Olivia Marie Deveraux was impossible to forget.

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Why did everything good in her life leave her empty? 

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How long had I been awake? I thought about calling Hannah, but that wouldn’t make sense.

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Basically, every few hours, websites would stop running. Videos would buffer and buffer without ever actually loading. The bars in the corner of my laptop would blink down to zero. But the inconvenience would only last for five or ten minutes at a time. Then everything would go back to normal. 

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They had ripped my favorite painting to shreds. There were claw marks in the paint.

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They lady manning the door handed us blank, white t-shirts to place over our actual shirts. I asked for an oversized one that draped over my ass, then realized most of the other girls wore skintight ones or tied them over their belly buttons, exposing skin. 

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It was an ornament. A sphere made out of clear glass. A hand painted picture of a mouse in a Santa hat curved around the front. It was adorable. But I’d never ordered something like this.

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I don’t believe in ghosts, and I certainly don’t believe in robot uprisings or any of that sci-fi crap, but something weird has been going on.

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Weeds were growing through cracks in the cement where cars used to park. The screen had small rips and tears. The poles, which used to hold speakers, were bent and smeared with mud.