Chapter 1 #2
To my left, the top of a swing set peeked over the fence in the yard next door.
To the right sat a playhouse, the opening of its yellow tube slide gaping at me.
These were family homes. Did the neighbors wonder what happened at this house?
Did they wonder why it was so quiet and lifeless?
Or why, three times daily, one police officer left as another arrived?
The cop on shift never parked here. He was always dropped off in another car, the same one that picked up the officer leaving.
While yesterday’s babysitter had been in the bathroom, I’d peeked through the front window.
The driveway hadn’t been shoveled and a red truck sat parked in front of the garage, covered in snow.
Besides the path of footprints leading from the street to the front door, this house appeared abandoned.
The neighbors likely thought this was a sad, pathetic house and so was the person who lived inside its walls.
They weren’t wrong. I was as miserable and lonely and pitiful as this dismal house.
My walls were crumbling down and when all that remained was a heap of bones and flesh, there’d be no one to mourn the desolation.
Not even Presley.
And I have myself to blame.
I took one step into the yard and glanced over my shoulder. Was Nathan watching me? No, he had returned to his chair and his phone. I took another step and the fluffy snow under my shoe gave way to the icy crunch beneath.
Two steps became fifteen and when I reached the gate that led to the alley, I brushed my fingers along the frozen latch and flicked it open. I cast one more glance at the door.
Screw this place.
If what waited for me outside this fence was just another prison, at least it would be one of my choosing.
I pushed through the gate, relishing the rush of adrenaline that spread through my veins as my foot stepped into the alley behind the house.
It was trash day and large green bins dotted the narrow lane.
They were all empty and askew from when the garbage truck had come through earlier.
I picked the largest tire rut in the snow and started walking, my legs warming instantly despite the cold.
Presley’s clothes were baggy on my thin frame, and I burrowed into the olive-green sweatshirt, pulling the hood over my hair, which hung limp past my shoulders.
The ends dangling to my waist were a year overdue for a trim.
My sweatpants were cinched tight and rolled at the band in an effort to keep them from falling off my protruding hip bones.
The frigid air bit at my cheeks as I walked but there wasn’t a breath of wind. The snow floated as it fell, blanketing the world and cloaking me in its peace.
Clifton Forge, Montana.
This town had been my sister’s choice. Presley had wanted a life in a small, sleepy town, and though I’d spent little time here, I’d say she’d definitely found one.
With the mountains looming in the distance, there was a pretty view every direction you turned.
But what I suspected Pres loved most was the community.
I’d come here once, last summer—well before my twin sister had even known I was in Montana.
The few places I’d stopped, I’d been hounded by strange looks as people tried to place the familiarity of a face so much like one of their own.
If not for my long, blond hair versus Presley’s short, stylish cut, the two of us were nearly as identical now as we had been as toddlers.
Maybe if Presley had told people she had a twin, they would have put it together sooner. But from what I could tell, I was a surprise to everyone, even those closest to her. Not that I faulted her for turning me into a secret. I would have forgotten about me too.
She’d come here to start over, to build her own life, and though a part of me envied that she’d done it with such incredible success, mostly, I was happy that she’d found a home. A family.
They sure as hell treated her better than her real family ever had, me especially.
At the end of the alley, I turned, wanting to get out of view in case Nathan came looking. The sidewalks had been plowed but fresh snow covered the concrete and my footprints marked my path.
I turned again, winding through the neighborhood and past quiet homes. Not a car or truck passed me as I walked, probably because people were at work. It was a workday, right? Friday? I’d begun to lose track in the blur of sleepless nights and hazy days.
Block after block, I trudged, relishing the burn in my legs, until finally, I spotted a busier road ahead. I aimed my feet toward the bustle, picking up my pace as my stomach growled.
I was hungry. For the first time in days, I was hungry. A smile tugged at my mouth. I should have ditched that safe house last week.
There were 179 dollars in my pocket. Like my shoes, I kept the cash with me always. It was all I had left of the money my mother had given me the day I’d escaped Chicago, and I’d kept it close ever since, in a pocket or tucked into a shoe.
After I’d caught Jeremiah trying to steal it from my purse, I’d started hiding it.
That should have been my first clue he was no longer the boy from my youth.
But even with the missing twenty-dollar bills, the strange disappearances at night, the paranoid behavior and the lack of affection, I hadn’t realized just how far he’d fallen.
How far we’d fallen.
When I reached a busy intersection, I looked up and down, past the traffic, in search of a restaurant or coffee shop. A grocery store caught my eye.
I crossed the street, keeping my head down as I hurried.
The smell of fried chicken greeted me in the store’s parking lot and my mouth watered.
I dusted off my sweats, damp from the snow, and pulled off my hood.
I combed my fingers through my hair and parted it in the middle, creating a frame to hide most of my face.
My reflection in the store’s sliding doors showed a flush in my cheeks from the cold air.
Well, looking like a drowned rat is better than a corpse.
A blast of heat hit me as I entered and took a black basket from the stack inside the double doors. Then I followed my nose to the deli.
The woman behind the counter pasted on a smile, though her gaze was wary as she scanned me from the waist up. If I were in her hair net, I’d stare wide-eyed too. Nine months of living in a motorcycle club’s compound hadn’t done much for my looks.
“What can I get for you?” she asked.
“I’ll have the lunch special, please.” I pointed to the menu, where they had chicken and steak fries for five dollars. “Two piece.”
She nodded and went about preparing the meal, putting it into a white to-go container. Then she slapped the price sticker over the latch and handed it over.
“Thanks.” I didn’t linger and made my way through the produce section, palming an apple for my basket. Then I found the dairy aisle, getting a small bottle of chocolate milk.
My stomach growled with every step as I wandered up and down the aisles, shopping by my hunger pangs. I added a jar of pickles and a package of Hawaiian rolls, the sweet ones Presley and I had begged our mother to get whenever she’d let us go to the store as kids.
Mom would buy them in cash so they wouldn’t show up on the receipt Dad would pore over after work. Dad didn’t like sweet rolls. He didn’t like Mom spending his money on anything he deemed unnecessary.
So she would buy them with the small allowance he granted her each week.
Dad thought she used that twenty-dollar bill for lattes on the way to drop us off at school when really, Mom spent it on us.
Lollipops or slushies. An ice cream cone or a Hawaiian roll.
Presley and I would scarf our treats down in the car and agree without hesitation when she’d make us promise to eat a good dinner so Dad wouldn’t suspect that we’d snacked.
I missed my mother.
I missed my sister.
Presley was here, somewhere in Clifton Forge. And though I had a phone in my pocket—the third item I kept on me at all times—I wasn’t ready to call her yet. First, I had to eat something and regain my strength.
Because I’d need it.
I had one hell of an apology to make.
For ruining her wedding. For bringing death to her doorstep. For not returning one of the many texts she’d sent me in the past ten years.
For hating her strength. For being jealous that she’d been courageous enough to leave. For blaming her when I’d been the coward, too scared to make the leap.
Another long list. I only hoped she’d be able to forgive me.
My trip through the store came to a halt in the cookie section. I was debating between the chocolate cream and fudge swirl cookies when footsteps thudded down the aisle. I ignored them, assuming it was another customer in search of sugar, and put both packages of cookies in my basket.
I turned from the shelves, ready to check out, and ran into a solid wall.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Cringing at the familiar, gravelly voice, I lifted my gaze. It traveled up the broad chest I’d crashed into, past a square, clean-shaven jaw, to a pair of the deepest blue eyes I’d ever seen.
Luke’s eyebrows were pulled together above the bridge of a straight nose that cleaved his face in two. I’d noticed the symmetry of his features ten days ago, when he’d sat me down in his office and questioned me about Jeremiah.
It had been easier to study the handsome Clifton Forge chief of police than relive the horrors I’d seen just hours before.
His dark brown hair was short and clean cut. He stood with a proud, authoritative posture, his strong shoulders pulled back and his hands fisted on narrow hips.
“I asked you a question,” he clipped.
I hefted the basket hanging from my elbow. “Shopping.”
“You’re in protective custody.”
“Am I?” I dared, then made the move to sidestep him and head to the register. The basket was heavy and I wasn’t exactly at my best today.