Chapter 1
Valli
Right at the moment I turn onto the main street, I feel my phone vibrate in my jacket pocket. I already know it’s my sister Leni; she calls me every few days around this time.
“Hey, you,” I answer as I tuck my phone between my ear and my shoulder, leaving my hand free so I can dig through my bag and find my earphones.
“Hey,” she says in her bright, bubbly tone. A little too bright, like she thinks I won’t notice something’s off.
“How’s the dorm?”
“Good, but loud. My roommate has a boyfriend who plays guitar but has no respect for time.”
I chuckle—it’s yet another reason I’m glad I never went to college. The whole idea of sharing a room with a stranger doesn’t sit well with me. “So noise complaint him.”
“I can’t cuz he’s in my room.”
“Then noise complaint her.”
Leni laughs. She has only been gone for six weeks, and I miss the hell out of her. My sister was my only saving grace in our dysfunctional family.
We talk for a few minutes as she tells me about her classes and new friends she’s made, or more specifically a girl on her floor who has a coffee machine in her room. I half-listen as I watch the street.
This neighborhood was good once upon a time, back when our parents were alive, but over the last few years it has gone to shit. Businesses have closed, and homeless people now line the streets, but thankfully those of us left still have a sense of community.
“How’s everything at home?” she asks me.
“Fine.”
“Valli . . .”
“It’s fine, Len, just quiet.”
I know she wants to ask about our brother Rowan, but she won’t.
He’s a sore subject between us. A small part of me wants to talk about him—to have someone I can talk to—but he has never done her wrong, so it’s unfair to put that burden on her.
Yet I can’t bring myself to talk about who he used to be.
Leni was only eleven when our parents died, when our brother turned to drugs.
I protected her from that reality, so the brother we remember is not the same.
“I should go,” she says. “I have a dinner thing.”
“Go, have fun, and text me.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” I say and end the call.
I love hearing her voice; just knowing she is good eases my anxiety. It reinforces that every sacrifice I made was worth it.
I push my earphones in, turn up the volume, and set off again for home. My feet ache after my six-hour shift at the coffee shop. It’s not my dream job, but I don’t know what is, to be honest. I wish I knew, or at least had some direction, but at twenty-one, I still have time to figure it out.
The road to our house cuts through a poorly lit alley. It saves time but scares the fuck out of me.
I’m midway down, my earphones belting out some old-school Britney, when a car slows down beside me then matches my pace. I pull out an earbud and try to peer through the window when they stop, but I can’t see anything through the dark tint.
My adrenaline surges, pushing me to walk faster, but before I can make it more than two steps, an arm wraps around me from behind.
Whoever it is, they are massive and reek of cigarette smoke.
A hand clamps over my mouth to muffle the scream that erupts from my throat, and before I can fight back, he lifts me and shoves me into the trunk and slams it shut.
As the car moves, I scream and kick. I slam my hands against anything I can. My heel connects with metal again and again. I claw at the internal release latch until I feel my nails snap, and I scream in frustration until my throat burns.
I need to calm down and think.
After taking a deep breath, I run my hands along every surface, feeling for something to use as a weapon.
Yet as the car slows, and I’ve still found nothing, I know I am approaching my imminent death.
The car comes to a stop, and my body locks up in fear.
The car door slams shut, and footsteps crunch against gravel as they get closer, then the trunk finally opens and night air fills the confined space.
I twist myself into a defensive position, and as his meaty hands try to grab at me, my fight-or-flight instinct must kick in because I launch myself at him.
“Fucking stupid bitch,” a male voice grumbles as I tackle him to the ground, but quickly spring back up onto my feet. I run as fast as I can, even though I have no idea where I am. All I know is that I can’t let him catch me or it’s all over red rover.
Heavy footsteps sound from behind me, but I don’t look back or it will become too real.
I can’t help but wonder if this is Rowan’s doing, as it wouldn’t be the first time someone has come for us.
I shove my emotions down to think about later; I can’t be pissed about it right now, I just need to run.
The road curves, and a bridge comes into view.
There are distant lights on the other side, so they’re my best hope of help.
I push forward, hitting the bridge at a dead sprint, and the planks rattle under my feet.
The gate on the other side is closed, but I have nowhere else to go, so I scale the fence and drop to the ground on the other side.
As if it senses my intrusion, the path lights up, taking me by surprise and causing me to stumble over my own feet.
Righting myself, I race around the side of the building, trying to escape the light. Thankfully, it’s dark on this side, and I cut down a path, walking easily until the trees close in. I decide to hide myself within them and move as fast as I can.
I vault over a fallen tree but land wrong on the rough ground. My ankle turns, and I stumble. The asshole must have been closer than I realized because he catches me and slams me to the ground, the impact knocking the wind from my lungs.
As I try to push him away, he swings and punches me in the jaw.
My vision goes white as my head snaps sideways, the taste of copper flooding my mouth.
Driving my fist forward, it connects hard enough to his side that I hear him grunt, but then he grabs me and doesn’t let go.
When he fists his hand in my hair, I scratch his face, hoping to get his eyes as I dig my nails in.
I try to push my knee up, but he lands a second fist to my cheek and then another to my eye before lifting me and dropping me hard onto the ground.
Though stunned, I will myself to get up—if I stay down, I know I’m as good as dead.
Get up, get up, get up.
My vision blurs and I blink frantically, trying not to pass out. But my attacker hasn’t touched me again, and I glance around and see a scarecrow standing behind him.
Maybe I’m already dead.
My brain can’t comprehend what I’m seeing right now; surely this is not a real person.
The figure is dressed in old, torn fabric, straw is pushed through the collar and cuffs of his sleeves, and a rope is tied around his throat.
His floppy hat is pushed back enough that I can see his dark hair.
His feet are bare, and he is holding a sword made from corn.
As he looks at me, the moonlight catches his gorgeous amber eyes.
I’m definitely dead—there is no way this is real.
The figure turns his attention to the man standing over me, who does not know someone is now behind him. The scarecrow moves so fast I barely see it—in one clean motion—then my attacker hits the ground and does not move.
The scarecrow moves forward and looks down at me. “I have no color, yet I stop you in your tracks. I have no voice, yet every eye finds me first. I am broken in places no one can see, and still they call me the most striking in the room. What am I?”
My eyelids flutter closed, and my entire world goes black.