(A multi-part fictionalized account of the truth)
Resenting the flare of the overhead light, Jason slipped out of the car, then shut the door as quietly as possible. September had stolen over summer, and the shortened days had taken their toll. The moist, night air sank into Jason's skin, but he would not permit himself to be cold. He steeled himself against more than the weather as he crossed the street to the shadowy sidewalk.
Jason scanned the neighborhood. Nothing. No one peeping from behind a curtain. No cars bearing down to expose him in their headlights. He granted himself a little smile for his luck, then turned the corner toward the cemetery.
The mountain road approached, and Jason saw unspoiled darkness in either direction. And more importantly, no police. He listened. No sound of tires rushing in the distance. He perched at the edge of the pavement.
Erring on the side of speed, Jason sprang forward and ran for the first time. Usually, his friends trailed, but that night, he bounded across alone. A moment later, he pitched himself sideways and scraped through the opening between walls. Then, he bent, slowing, and blended into the shadows among the graves.
On to Part IV
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