He took my ring.  I knew it was him.  Connor Riley.  I paced the locker room furiously, waiting for the last 15 minutes of practice to end so all the guys would come in here.  He would be with them, and he would have my ring. 
Almost twenty minutes later,  he was the last one there.  I approached him from behind, my fists clenched and back tense as always.
“Give it back, Connor.”
He looks up, clearly startled. “Hey Houston.”
I didn’t respond.  He was trying to distract me.  “I want my ring back,”
“Ok… What ring? Did you lose it?”
I grabbed his arm and spun him to face me, without much effort, given I was  about ten inches taller than him.  “Give me my ring, Connor, or else”
“I don’t have your ring, Houston.”
And I lost it.  I punched my best friend in the face, giving him an instant bloody nose.  He let out a yell and Coach came running in, pulling me off of him and down to the office.  I never did get my ring back.  I never did go back  to that school, either.
I finished writing and folded my piece of paper in half, handing it to the lady in a too-white coat with too-white sneakers and a too-white smile.  She thanked me and took it. She dismissed me and I walked out to the waiting room of the Shawono Juvenile Hall, where I would be attending for a long while now.  My mom got up and we walked out in silence.  I knew it killed her for me to be here.  I knew I shouldn’t lose my temper.  But I did, and I lost all connections to the only chance of finding that ring.  My dad’s ring.  It was the only piece of him I had left. 
When we pulled in the driveway of my home, my litter sister Lexi ran out to meet me, telling me all about some art project she was doing.  I nodded along and added some uh-huhs and mhms to try to show I was listening.  In actuality, I was worlds away, dreaming of finding my ring.  It had been almost six months, but not a day went by that I wasn’t thinking about it.  Suddenly Lexi screamed.
“What? What is it?”
She pointed at something on the floor, shrieking.  “Th-there-there’s a spider!”
I laughed to myself and let it crawl onto my hand.  “Calm down, Lex.  I got it.”
She was deathly afraid of spiders, however much she denied it.  She had been ever since my ring went missing, claiming her nightmare of a stranger with a spider tattoo stealing it had come true one night.  She wouldn’t get the ridiculous idea out of her head.  I tried.  I really did.  But it seemed to be a part of her now, like her long brown hair or eerie green eyes, just like mine, just like my dad’s. 
I let the spider outside and walked back in to find Lexi pulling a huge poster board out of her backpack. 
“This is what you’re going to help me with.  I need to draw something from my ‘imagination’”  I smiled and sat down.  This would be a long night, but it was worth it to see Lexi like this again.  Excited about something. 
About three hours later, I walked upstairs, leaving a quite content Lexi and a beautiful drawing of a city skyline behind me.  I flopped onto my bed, and, hearing the crinkle of paper under me, sat back up.  Expecting one of mom’s cheesy “we all support you” notes, I sighed and tossed it to the floor, but as I did, something caught my eye.  It was written in gold ink.  I picked it up and read:
    My dear Houston,
You don't know me yet, but you soon will. Don't be alarmed, though.  I have something of yours and I wish to return it.  To receive it, simply come and  meet me  by your local train tracks at precisely 11:30 tonight.  You must not tell anyone where you are going. 
      Yours truly,
And it ended.  No name, no clue as to who this sinister stranger could possibly be.  Cut off.  But on the bottom was a poorly drawn circle, a small cross on one side.  It was a ring.  My ring. Breathing heavily, I ran to my window, to no avail.  I looked around the room, but nothing was changed.  My clothes were lying in the same old heap, my bed scattered, my books in a neat pile, and my sketches in their folder, perfectly arranged.  If I wanted any chance of finding out who this sinister stranger was, there was one way and one way only to find out.  I had to meet him. 
   ***
At exactly 11:23, I walked downstairs to find the whole house silent.  Good.  I couldn’t think of anything to bring, so I shrugged an empty backpack onto my shoulders and left the house silently, closing the door softly and slipping into the night. 
The tracks were dark, only a single street lamp as a light source. 
I saw him immediately, his face hidden in the shadows.  He was tall and muscular.  I clenched my fists tighter and tried to look tough. 
“Well, hello Mr.  Long” His voice was raspy and strained, as if he had been yelling.
“Give me my ring.” A small glint of a reflection shone between his fingers.  He was holding it.  Touching it, as if it were his.  “Now.”
“Well, Mr. Long, I can’t do that quite yet,” he smirked as he spoke.  I could hear it.
My fists became so clenched I thought they would bleed as I lowered my voice.
“Give.  Me.  The.  Ring.”  He laughed evilly and shook his head.  “You see, you hurt me and,”  He paused to flick the ring as if it were a coin. “I want revenge.”
Suddenly, this was no stranger.  This was Bryant Flickerman.  Who had gotten me kicked out of my first school.  Connor was the second.  My throat felt tight and I gasped for breath.
“Give it back, Bryant.  It’s mine.”  My voice was shaking, but I tried to hide my fear.  Suppress it.  I couldn’t take this.  I lunged at him.  He jerked back.  A black-clothed blur darted out from a tree behind him.  We both jumped.
Three things then happened at once.  A gunshot rang out in my ears, filling them with a loud ringing, Bryant’s body fell, and the ring fell.  I grabbed it, bending down for a split second before running.  That split second was all it took.  The image was forever burned into my brain.  There, on his left hand, right in between his thumb and forefinger was a tattoo.  A black, threaded image. A spider.
   
              Two years later

The house was too quiet.  My music was too loud.  My blankets were too hot.  My t-shirt was too cold.  Frustrated, I let out a sigh and stood up, feeling my way through the darkness, reaching for my sweatshirt.  Finding it, I shrugged it on and crept downstairs to the kitchen. The only thing that could be heard was the ticking of the clock and the silence of my temporary insanity. 
I grabbed my sketch pad and shut the front door behind me.  I walked for too long in the cold, damp night, but a glance at the time gave me my second wind.  It was 11:51.  I had two minutes to get there. I ran uphill to the little hut overlooking the lake and sat down, checking my watch again.  11:53. 
“Two years, dad,” I whispered.  Today was two years since my dad’s body had been found, surrounded by shards of broken glass and twenty feet from the broken windshield of his car.  August 10, 11:53 pm. 
I picked up my sketchbook and pencils, starting to sketch.  Soon I had a drawing, the most painful one I’d done so far, a shading drawing of a car gone up in flames, also surrounded by glass from a broken window. 
I flipped it over, and with my red colored pencil wrote DESPAIR in bold, red letters across the back of it. I folded it into quarters and found my board.
My board was rotted- hollow part of the back wall in this little hut on a hill, looking over a lake.  I had filled the hollow part over the years, adding only my most private artwork.  As I ripped my board off the wall, I noticed the corner of an envelope sticking out from the place where it was wedged behind the next board.  I carefully pried it out and looked over the white- faced envelope with only one word across it.  Heaven. 
After checking over my shoulder to be sure no one was watching, I tore the flap of the envelope up softly.   Knowing I shouldn’t,  I read it anyway:
Mom,
I missyou.  Remember that project you started helping me with? I got an A on it.  I have to stop writing now because daddy’s calling.  I’ll be back soon though.  I can’t wait to see you again.
         Love,
                    Mackenzie
I folded the letter back up, my hands shaking. I shouldn’t have read that.  I placed it behind the board, noticing a pile of other letters, what looked like years worth.  I let them alone. 
I stopped short as I pried my own board off the wall.  My charcoal drawings were all smudged.  I picked them up, examining them closer.  Smudges, from a finger. She had been in my drawings.  MY DRAWINGS.  Furious, I took a piece of paper from my sketch pad and started scribbling on it. 
Mackenzie,
I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but these are my drawings.  Don’t touch them.  I left your letters alone.  Don’t touch my drawings.
Sincerely,
         A very upset artist.

I didn’t bother folding it as I slipped it her board.  She’d better not touch them  again.  I let her letters alone.  I felt a little guilty for reading one, but I realized what it was and stopped.  I couldn’t wait for her to come back, as it was almost one in the morning,  but she’d get the point.  I ran home. 
I laid on my bed, no longer hating the perfect silence.  I fell asleep that night with one thing on my mind.  Mackenzie will stay away.  Or I. Will.  Get.  Revenge. 

*Mackenzie POV*

Dear Mom,
It’s me again.  I wish you were here.  Justin left for college today.  You would be so proud of him.  He’s going to Yale, just like you did.  My graduation is coming up in a couple months.  I miss you so much and I wish you could come.  But I know you’ll watch anyway. 
           Missing you,
               Mackenzie
I folded my letter and carefully pried my board away from the wall of the little lakeside hut, which was composed of rotting boards and a wooden door.  All my letters were here, even the ones from when I was eleven.  Those were the really short and random ones, but my first, so I kept them to remember.  I pulled one out from the bottom of a stack.  It was my first one, the only one in an envelope, sealed and addressed to Heaven.  As I tried to pull it up, it slipped from my fingertips.  In my attempt to catch it, it slipped down the next board.  I peered down to search for it, but couldn't see anything, so I pried the next board off the wall gently.
The pile of papers that fell at my feet startled me.  I picked one up, curious as to what it was.  It was a drawing, done in charcoal, of a train car.  I ran my finger over it, smearing it.  I tried to push the dust back where it was, only to make it worse. Oops.   I put it on back on the floor. 

I picked another one up, careful not to touch the drawing and leave smudges.  It was done in colored pencil, picturing a man holding a little boy.  It was amazing, perfectly drawn.  I looked through them all, and they were all amazing.  My phone buzzed, reminding me I wasn’t in fantasy land, but had to get home before dad.  I carefully returned the drawings to their place and pushed the board back in its place, doing the same with my letters and their board. 
I grabbed my backpack and shrugged it on my shoulders, starting to walk home.  I walked down the hill and along the road, until I came to a little red- brick house, where a family caught my eye.  It was a mom and two kids, a boy and a girl, the boy clearly older.  The little girl jumped and landed on her brother’s back and giggled.  His hard expression didn’t change, but he gripped her legs.  I turned away, the family reminding me too much of my own.  But then mom died and Justin left for school.  I sighed and kept walking.
        ***
I ran into the dark, away from my house.  I needed to get out, be alone somewhere where memories weren’t trying to suffocate me.  I ran and ran, only stopping when I looked up and saw another figure racing down the hill.  I stopped and watched them, my curiosity once again getting the best of me.  I recognized him as the boy from earlier, the one who had the younger sister on his back.  Out of my natural curiosity, I wanted to know what he was doing, so I followed him.
He ran to the lake, which was ironically the place I was heading to too.  He stopped running and trudged up the hill and into the same hut I had been earlier.  I crept up behind him and looked through a crack in the back wall. 
He sat on the ground, pulling out a sketch pad.  I thought I heard him whispering as he started sketching.  I craned my neck, trying to see what he was drawing.  I watched for what seemed like forever.  When he flipped the paper over to write, I almost gasped out loud as I saw what the picture was of. 
It was a car, gone up in flames, with shattered glass all around it.  you could almost see the pain radiating off the lines of the pencils.  I shuddered and sat down. 
He was ok.  That’s what they kept telling me, anyway.  My dad had been in an accident, and I was picked up by my aunt from soccer to come here and see him. Everyone was ok, though, as everyone kept saying. 
But my dad wasn’t.  Ever since, he had been shut down.  I don’t know why, but I hated it.  I could have lost him, right after my mom, but this wasn’t much better.  
The buzzing of his phone brought me back to reality as the artist, who I still didn’t know by name, walked out of the hut and down the hill.  I walked inside and immediately pried his board off, taking out the drawing.  A note was folded inside of it and fell at my feet.  I bent over and picked it up. It was addressed to… me. 
Mackenzie,
I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but these are my drawings.  Don’t touch them.  I left your letters alone.  Don’t touch my drawings.
        Sincerely,
         A very upset artist.
Shaking, I put the paper in my pocket.  How did he know who I was? My name? The fact that I wrote letters. The letters! I whipped around to find my board off the wall, my first letter opened.  He opened my letter.  My PRIVATE letter.  I dropped the letter and ran into the darkness of the night, not bothering to replace my board. 
And don’t try to tell me everything’s ok. 

*Jackson’s POV*
I woke with a start, looking around me.  The last thing I remembered were the blinding white headlights barreling towards me.  I think I screamed.  Then… I don’t know.  I sat up slowly and, to my surprise, felt no pain.  Everything around me was beautiful, like nothing I’d ever seen before.  I noticed someone walking down the other side of the street. 
“Excuse me? Ma’am?”
She turned around and smiled. “I was supposed to look for you.  I’m Emily,”  She took my hand and helped me up.
“Thank you, but um, can you tell me where I am?” 
Her smiled faded a little.  “You were in a car crash, and, Jackson right?”  I nodded. “Well, Jackson… you didn’t survive.”
It had been three years now, and I still watch Houston and Lexi every day.  Emily is my friend now, and sometimes I watch her son and daughter, Justin and Mackenzie.  Houston and Mackenzie are so similar.  Houston still draws almost everyday, but he leaves his best drawings in the lake hut, always dedicating them to me in secret. Mackenzie writes letters for Emily everyday.  They met a while ago, not on great or even good terms, but they’re great friends now.  She was the first person Houston talked, really talked, to since I had left.  And I was proud of him.
He’s taking Mackenzie out tonight.  He’s been planning this for weeks, down to the very last detail, like letting Lexi help pick out a bouquet of roses for her.  I smile as he hugs Lexi on the way out, proudly sporting his pink and red bouquet. 
She was waiting by her bedroom window for him to arrive, wearing a little black dress.  When he knocked, she waited a minute before coming down.   They hugged, and she kissed him as he presented the roses, Houston smiling nervously.  He has my nervous habits, and I could only hope for him to have better luck hiding them.  I cringe, remembering my first date with his mom, Kaitlyn.  Yikes.

They climb into Houston’s car and drive to Cafe A Levire, where he knew I took Kaitlyn on our first date.  He walks around and opens the door, carrying her to the restaurant. 
As the water was leaving from taking their food, he pulls out the small, black velvet box from his pocket.  Shocked, she opens it.  Inside is a silver necklace, and a circle charm with H and M engraved on it.  She grins, leaning across the table to kiss his cheek, and fastens it around her neck.
A few minutes later, the waiter came and they looked up from their kiss, faces bright red.  Houston immediately fell into a coughing fit. 
“Are you ok there?” Mackenzie teased.
“Only if you are” he says, his voice hoarse, taking a sip of water. 
Later, everything is going perfectly, but Houston’s face still hadn't had time to return to normal color after his last coughing fit, which are becoming quite frequent. 
Mackenzie is laughing away at this, until his face turns a deeper shade of red, almost purple. 
“Houston, are you ok?”
He shakes his head and grabs the edge of the table. 
She shoots up and runs to the nearest waitress.
“Could you call an ambulance? He needs help.  Hurry.  Please.”
She runs back to the room and Mackenzie rushes back to the table, where Houston is pounding the table as gently as he could, still coughing.  Oh gosh.  My son. 

____^________^________^________^________^________^________^______

They’re at the hospital now, Houston’s unconscious.  Mackenzie hasn’t been able to get a hold of Kaitlyn or Lexi.  She’s done nothing other than call them, cry and listen to the heart monitor beeping steadily.

________^________^________^________^________^________^________^________

She’s talking to him now, promising she’ll never leave him.  Apologizing with tears in her eyes for everything she’s ever done to him, pleading with him, sobs coming out of her mouth, not to go.  To stay.  She needs him.
He isn’t here yet.  That’s a good thing.  Of course I want to see my son.  But not here.  Not now. I watch motionlessly.  The doctor said he has pneumonia, a bad, possibly fatal case, since it was left untreated for so long.  He got it from the lake.  I think I remember the night. 

________^________^__________^___________^______________________

Doctors are running around the room frantically, Mackenzie is screaming and sobbing.  Kaitlyn rushes in at the last moment, a frantic Lexi following behind, everyone is panicking.  This can’t be happening.  NO.  Nonononononononononononono.  Not yet.  I can’t see him yet.  It’s too soon.  Mackenzie can’t watch.  I cry out in agony.

___________^____________^_____________^_______________^

It’s not working.  More panic.  More frantic people.  More running.  A hand touches my shoulder, and I turn, expecting to see Emily.  But what I see isn’t a her.  It’s a him. 
“Dad?  It’s me.”

My son.

__________________________________________________________________