Chapter 2
Veronica's eyes, incredulous, darted from the top of the page to the bottom once again, repeating the motion for what seemed the thousandth time. No matter how many times she read into the mysterious book's content, she still couldn't believe it.
Bringing someone back to life seemed, well...simple. Too simple. Not easy by any means — the instructions were a long shot from working at best, and they still required digging a body from the ground — but she could probably manage to at least find the materials. Thankfully, the process didn't seem to require any human sacrifices or goat heads, or any of she stereotypical creepy things one would normally associate with such a ritual.
On her bed, the girl fidgeted or changed position every minute or so, going from sitting with her legs crossed, to lying down, to sitting again. Her eyes, however, never drifted away from the book. With a sudden jump, she decided to get out of bed and started making her way to a drawer in her desk, on the other side of her room. Easier said than done, though.
Truth is, Veronica hadn’t bothered to clean her room in a while. Maybe a little more than a while. She absolutely hated seeing her bedroom like that, but lately she just didn’t have the energy to do many things, cleaning being one of them. Things weren’t too bad yet – among a few other things, there were a few pairs of shoes spread around the floor, crumpled assignments that she hadn't bothered to work on, an unlabeled bottle she didn’t remember the origin of, and of course, piles of half-read books laying on top of her desk – they were just annoying enough to dodge to make her regret letting it get to that point. Her drawer however was pristine, if not a little too empty.
Her eyes analyzed the inside of the drawer for a few seconds before picking out something right at the back. Her diary. Damn, she couldn’t even remember what the last thing she wrote in there was, but just opening it filled her with an odd kind of calmness. Maybe it was just nostalgia over the normalcy the book had previously represented in her life, the last memento of her quiet, peaceful days living as a nobody.
After finding a pen, she opened the last page of her personal notebook and tore it away with a loud rip.
She decided it was best to write down everything she would need if, and that’s a big if, she actually went through with that crazy idea — carrying the book around would be too risky an endeavor, after all. She'd much rather play it safe, only checking into her 'shopping list'
Candles? Easy enough.
An altar of stone? She would manage to find something...somehow.
The next thing was...a item closely associated with the undead to-be. Specifically, something that had their energy, whatever that meant. She started pinching her temple. What could she even use for Heather? All of her belongings had been donated to charity, by Heather's — that is, Veronica's — own wish.
...
Duh. The scrunchie, of course. The only problem? She had no idea where it was.
Did Duke have it? Probably not. Veronica hadn't seen Duke wearing it at school, and if the Heather had the scrunchie, she would never pass the chance to use it. Heather wasn't buried with it either, and it probably didn't go to charity, Veronica knew that much...maybe Mac?
An epiphany hit Veronica, and that very thought made the girl subconsciously start running her fingers through her hair nervously. There was…someone else who had the opportunity and was weird enough to want Heather's scrunchie as a trophy. By the time that thought hit Veronica, she could see through her window that the evening had already given way to night. She thought about it for a few moments before impulsively grabbing her jacket and her house keys. It was already late, but there was some place she absolutely needed to go.
And this time she would make sure to enter through the front door.
***
Walking along the dimly-lit streets that led the way to JD's house, Veronica had no success in shaking away the bad feelings that nagged away at the pit of her stomach, no matter how much she tried. Every step she walked brought her closer to that sense of imminent danger, like a bomb about to explode. The only thing that prevented her from wallowing even further in that uncomfortable indisposition was the thankfully short distance between her home and the destination.
JD's house could be spot from a distance, being the only one in his neighborhood, maybe in all of Sherwood, whose lawn was full of still-unpacked cardboard boxes. They had been there, almost untouched since he and his dad moved in, and would probably still be there until they moved out, which Veronica hoped would be soon. She knocked, or rather punched the door exactly two times, with as much force as she could, disturbance being the last thing on her list of worries at the time. As she prepared to knock a third time, a boy wearing a black trenchcoat finally opened the door.
"Veronica? Why did you come here at this time of the night?" the boy's voice was cold, but he couldn't stop his dark brown eyes from lighting up when he saw her. He slowly opened the door and stepped back. "Never mind that, please come in. You know, before you wake up the whole neighborhood."
She complied, almost tripping in yet another unpacked box as she did so. It wasn't her first time at JD's house — hell, it wasn't even her first time tripping at the damn box — but somehow she could never bring herself to remember dodging it, even though the living room was much larger than could be anticipated from outside, having enough space to fit even more boxes on the ground, a treadmill and a large leather couch. If her mood wasn't exactly the best before, that accident only worsened things.
"So, Veronica." He sat down on the couch with a triumphant smile on his face. "Why do you give me the pleasure of-"
"Cut the crap, JD." She interrupted him coldly, and his smile instantly faded away. "I didn't come here to kiss and make up."
"Why did you come here then?" He frowned.
"There's something I want, and I think you might have it. Heather's scrunchie, to be specific."
"What?" His frown turned to a bewildered laugh. "Where would I even get something like that?
"I don't know, maybe at Heather's house?" Her face grew hotter at his feigned innocence. "You know, that place we both went to a few weeks ago?"
"So you're saying I stole from a dead person."
"Am I wrong?"
Rolling his eyes, he reached deep down the innermost pocket of his coat. After a few moments and with some effort, he was finally able to retrieve a bright red hair ornament. He held it high into the air with his left hand, as if to make a show of the act.
"Of course I'm not." It was her turn to let out a single bewildered laugh.
"So...Veronica." She went to grab it from his hands, but he clenched his fist right as she tried to reach it. "Why exactly do you want Heather's scrunchie anyways? And why is it so urgent that you came here in the middle of the night?"
"Shouldn't I be the one asking you this?" She started to pull on a small part of the ornament that was outside his fist, forcing him to let go. "Only one of us can use it, and it isn't you."
"Oh, I get it! Veronica wants to be the new Chandler, huh?" His tone was sarcastically upbeat. "Well Veronica, will you keep being a decent enough person when you become queen of the bitch-hive, or do you already have bullying sessions scheduled for tomorrow?"
"I don't want to be Chandler, JD. Besides, do you think either of us is in any position to criticize Heather, really?" as she uttered Heather's name, she felt the nagging feeling in her stomach rise to her throat, unable to stop herself from unloading her feelings on him anymore. Her voice grew louder by the word, to the point where she barely held herself from shouting. "Do you think murdering someone is okay just because they, I don't know, called some kid a freak in the school hallways? Can't you see anything wrong with that?"
"What I see, Veronica" he abruptly rose from the couch, his voice now surpassing hers in loudness, making her flinch. "is that Westerburg became a much better place without some arrogant bitch intimidating everyone around. What I see is that someone needs to clean out the trash."
"Jesus Christ" Her eyes widened, the angerness in her voice being completely substituted by shock. "you're fucking sick."
Clutching the scrunchie in her hands, she immediately ran away from the place, slamming the door on her way out. On her walk back home, she stopped for a brief moment, as the autumn wind hit her face. It was late, the streets were dark, and her home was maybe two more minutes away — and she had never felt more thankful that things were so. That way, she didn't risk anyone seeing the tears starting to well up in her eyes.