The Cabin in the Storm

CHAPTER 1 CORALINE

CORALINE

Your days are numbered. I’m going to kill you, Coraline Rosa. You know what you did. You can kiss your life goodbye soon.

This person. They know my real name. It’s not my pen name. It’s not my artist name. My legal government name, and they want to kill me. It’s pretty straight to the point. Someone is lurking, watching me, and wants me dead.

After sifting through the mail, this one quickly caught my eye. It stood out because there was no return address. The writing was done in cutout magazine letters. Everything about it was off. I have to be in Alaska for an event, and I’m unsure what to do now.

Should I still go? Maybe this is all a sick prank.

I bite my lip as I hold it in my hand, flipping it over and over again, hoping there’s a clue to whoever did this.

Who have I pissed off lately? I look out my car window, but all I see are service members—Army soldiers—walking down the cemented sidewalk, and families going in and out of the coffee shop next to the post office.

I’m trying to see if I can catch any familiar faces, with eyes that hold vengeance directed toward me, but nothing rings a hazardous bell. Nothing is out of the ordinary.

Shaking my head, I let my forehead collide with the steering wheel.

Stop spiraling, Cora.

Is this a sick joke? Who would want to kill me? I draw, for crying out loud. I keep to myself as much as I can. I'm afraid of my own damn shadow.

I’m twenty-seven, and someone wants to kill me? I’m not a malicious person. I always give more than I take. I’ve never gone out of my way to hurt someone. I…

A group of cruel suspects comes to mind. Is this another way to torment me? To hurt me? As if what they did a few months ago was not enough to drive me into a state of mind where I was drowning?

Are they capable of going to these lengths to harass me? Threatening my life as a new form of torture for their entertainment? Do they not have anything else to do but reach a new low to harm me?

It’s sick.

Maybe it’s them, maybe it’s not. My grip on the letter tightens as anger rushes through me.

Sucking in a deep breath, I place it back at the bottom of the mail and stuff it inside the center console.

I’ll throw it away when I get home. I put my car into reverse and foot on the gas to exit the parking lot.

My tires run smoothly over small potholes and rocks.

I continue to drive down the road, replaying everything I’ve ever done, and I can’t come to any conclusion.

It’s just a sick joke. Don’t overthink it.

The phone starts to ring in the car, and I see it’s my agent, so I click the green button to answer.

“Hey, Maya! What’s up?” I tighten my grip on the steering wheel, letting the stress of that ominous letter leave my brain.

“Hello, Cora. So I booked you a hotel a couple of miles from the event. It’s high in the mountains with an amazing view.

You’ll have to catch a taxi or an Uber to get to the event, but I couldn't not put you in this place!” She squeals with excitement as if she were joining me.

This is why I love my agent. She’s so positive all the time.

She doesn’t know how much her words of encouragement and support affect me.

Even if she can’t be there with me to enjoy the experience, she takes care of me.

“Okay, as long as it’s Anchorage!” I smile as I tilt my head to the side excitedly, already picturing all the cute stores I’ll get to shop inside and the food—

“It’s…not.” Her voice is merely a whisper; I could’ve mistaken it for static.

“Wait, say that again. It sounded like you said my hotel isn’t in Anchorage?”

Did I hear her right?”

“It’s a little small town right outside of Anchorage. It’s called Sleepy Coldwater. It looks so much like Juneau but better. I grew up there!”

Sleepy Coldwater? I’ve never heard of it.

“How far is it from the event?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Maya…that’s a little far,” I say, my shoulders slouching with stress.

“Fine. Fine. Would you like me to rebook?” Her fingertips clack away on her keyboard in the distance.

I ponder as I turn onto the road that leads to my tiny apartment on the outskirts of San Antonio, a Southern Texas City, where it’s mostly always hot.

I do like to travel. I’ve never heard of Sleepy Coldwater, but it intrigues me. Discovering new places, food, and people gives the introvert in me an anxiety attack, but maybe pushing myself to break my shell will help me grow out of it.

“How amazing is the view?”

I open the door after a movie-and-dinner date with a guy I met on a dating app. As soon as I enter my living room, I slip off my black heels one by one and sigh.

The date went perfectly, and he almost kissed me.

When he dipped forward with closed eyes and puckered lips on my front porch, I almost jumped away from him.

I’m not ready. I turned my head and sprinted inside my house.

I want to take things slower. I don’t want to rush into anything right now.

It’s hard for me to commit to someone after recent events.

The last man I was with took pieces of me, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get them back.

I flick the lights on in my two-bedroom townhome.

It’s very simply decorated for the holidays.

A Christmas tree showered in silver, blue, and pearl white ornaments.

A grey and white colored tree skirt circled with reindeer underneath, holding zero presents.

One couch, one dining table, one television…

everything just for a party of one. That’s the way it has to be until I can start truly living again.

I step into my art room a moment later, where I like to draw, paint, and write. I continue with my nightly routine of wanting to lose myself in something positive and let go of the betrayal that still haunts me. Standing in the doorway, the memories rewind in my head like a broken record player.

I walk toward my supportive group of friends with a skip in my step as I reach them. They’re all standing in front of the piece, which took me about a year to perfect—a painting of a mother and her daughter, reflecting an estranged, distraught relationship.

“Dude, her work doesn’t stand out. It’s pretty fucking mid to me,” Eli, my friend since the first year of college, says over the room chatter. “It’s shit art.”

I freeze.

“I did not like it…at all. I was doing everything I could to not just burn it until it became ashes,” Lilly adds, and my heart chips further. I tilt my head to the side as a lump forms in my throat.

This can’t be happening.

They’re my best friends.

A massive man softly bumps into my shoulder by accident. He pauses momentarily, most likely to apologize for the collision, but I can’t give him my attention. The betrayal that’s unfolding before me is like watching a train crash, and I can’t look away or breathe.

“Leave her alone. She has time to grow,” my husband of five years interjects.

Liam comes to my defense, but his words don’t sound convincing.

I swallow the ache in my throat just as the man who bumped into me walks away.

“She’s just so weak, like her art and her books,” Lilly says in a tone I don’t recognize. It’s not familiar to me because she’s been masking this persona for the last ten years.

“She isn’t good enough. I keep telling her to give up and just focus on our relationship,” Liam chimes in just as he grabs my best friend’s ass and kisses her.

My stomach coils just as bile rises in my throat, staring at his fingers digging into her over her dark purple dress. I can’t stop blinking as my muscles convulse as I hold the tray of champagne in my hand.

I think I’m going to be sick.

“She’s burning and crashing. No one is going to buy this shit.” Eli continues to spill his truth.

“One star for trying,” Lilly adds, gripping Liam’s hand as though she’s done this a thousand times. Red paints her cheeks as she looks at Liam with clear admiration twinkling in her brown eyes. Batting her lashes, she tugs at her lip seductively.

What the hell?

How long has this been happening behind my back?

This has to be a damn nightmare. This can’t be real.

I drop the tray of champagne. My hands couldn’t stop shaking. The glass and alcohol spray the floor everywhere as everyone in the room pins their gazes at me. The shattering sound draws everyone’s attention to the accident. Still frozen from the raw emotions, my bones continue to tremble in place.

“Oh, shit,” Liam mutters, letting Lilly go. His hand zaps away from her like she’s a disease.

Yeah, oh shit is right, jackass.

“Coraline? Babe?” Liam walks away from a smirking Lilly. She palms her mouth as she saunters closer to a guilty Eli, failing to hide the unremorseful curve of her red lips.

I think she wanted this to happen by the way her gleeful expression doesn’t falter.

Betrayal stings my eyes, and my vision blurs.

Jazz music continues to play when he reaches me. He grabs both of my wobbling, cold hands and holds them tight.

“Hey. I know what this looks like, I promise it’s not—”

“It’s not what I think?” I interject. I look away from my supposed friends and gaze into my husband’s brown orbs instead. “A little cliche, don’t you think?” I pull out of his callous grasp as tears roll down my face. “My best friend? Lilly?”

It hurts to say her name. It feels like poison on my tongue.

“How could you?” I say, pain intertwining with my quivering tone.

“I’m sorry. She’s…been there for me.” His brows raise, remorse evident on his face. He’s breaking my heart and has the audacity to act like he’s the one who is hurting? “Let’s talk about this somewhere private?”

“No,” I interject. “I don’t want to go anywhere with you privately,” I snap.

Liam looks around the room as whispers around us grow louder. This is so humiliating.

“It’s just that your art isn’t doing well.”

“I do it because it’s what I love to do!” I concede sadly.

I look straight into Eli’s eyes as I say the last word I’ll ever speak to him again.

“Someone anonymously bought all of my shit art tonight,” I tell him loud enough so Eli can hear him as another tear rolls down my cheek.

That’s why I was carrying a tray full of champagne. It was to tell them the good news…to celebrate.

“I’ve given you all of me, even if I didn’t have much to give you, you told me it was enough.” I take a step back and wrap myself in my arms.

He gets a promotion at work, and his arrogance reaches new heights. Loving him, taking care of him as my art kept us afloat these past few years. I know it barely paid the bills, but it was enough.

I thought I was enough.

“Lilly. Why?” I ask over Liam’s tense shoulder.

Somehow, her betrayal is hitting harder.

She can’t meet my eyes. Instead, she lets her face fall and uses Eli as cover.

Cowards.

All of them.

Lilly walks over to Liam, grabs his shoulder, and squeezes. I can see my sullen reflection through her manicured nails.

“Coraline. You will never be enough. You weren’t good enough for Liam or being an artist. You’ll never make it,” Lilly whispers, pouting mockingly, making fun of my heartache as she rests her chin on his shoulder.

Liam rolls his eyes and tries to nudge her off, but she doesn’t budge.

“Coraline. Please, let’s go outside,” Liam pleads, reaching for my hand.

I chuckle and swivel my head left to right.

I take my wedding ring off my finger and squeeze it tight.

I give him one last unforgiving stare. I want to curse at him and scream my lungs out at him, but I think he’s embarrassed me enough for the last time.

I walk away without another word. They don’t get to see me fall apart, so with my morals held tight to my chest, I stay quiet.

It’s what I’m good at.

The sound of my neighbor’s Christmas music snaps me out of the horrible memory. “All I Want For Christmas” by Mariah Carey vibrates through the walls, and I can’t help but chuckle. She has played it every year on November first for the past four years.

I stare at my iPad and empty canvases sitting on my wooden desk. My art. My passion. My outlet out of this cruel world…and yet I still can’t bring myself to draw. My art is created from dreams.

And lately, my ability to dream is broken.

It’s destroying me.

Sulking, wallowing, my shoulders droop. I shut the door and head back into the living room. As soon as I reach the couch, I let myself drop dramatically and bury my head, face-first into the Christmas decorative pillows.

Maybe going to Sleepy Coldwater to meet other artists will help inspire me. I think I’ve disappeared from my art for too long. Whether it will help or not, I want to go and get out of the house and do something instead of watching reruns of my favorite comedy shows.

The betrayal happened three months ago, and after that, I tried to take my own life. The affair was one thing, and it turned into a deep depression I couldn’t get out of.

I didn’t feel like I was enough for anything or anyone.

I was drowning, and nothing could save me.

There were no magic words that someone could say to me to pull me out of it.

There was no beacon of light. It wasn’t a self-pity party of one.

It was deeper than that. Depression felt like self-destruction, and I couldn’t save myself.

I tried to say goodbye.

But death wouldn’t have me.

I’m still here. Still trying to smile and still trying to live.

I’m trying.

Life keeps teaching me lessons in the worst ways possible. My trust has been betrayed more times than I can count. I’m starting to think that isolation has never been a bad thing. Maybe it’s a way to protect myself. If you don’t open enough to trust, you can’t get hurt.