Chapter 11
Dash stops in front of a cute white brick house with dark brown shutters. The front door is black. Something tugs at my heart as I stare at the large porch swing to the left and all the flowers and greenery decorating the space. It feels like home in a way the apartment doesn’t.
London’s space is beautiful; there’s no arguing that. But it’s more modern and almost empty where Lennon’s house, even from the front porch looks warm and inviting.
Dash shuts off the engine. “Are you ready?”
“Do you have a key, or will we have to pick this lock too?” I ask before turning his way.
“Yes, I’ve got a key.”
“Why were you sneaking around if you have a key to her place? Why would you need London’s help to see one another?” I ask.
“We saw each other this way, but we still had to be careful. My team and hers were watching. And everyone from both sides knew we weren’t supposed to be together.
Not just because of your dad but dating the competition isn’t always the best look.
But even so, we wanted to go out and feel like a normal couple, you know?
Being cooped up in secret all the time is hard.
We wanted to be together in the real world, not just behind closed doors, hiding from it. Do you understand?” he asks.
I nod. “I do. I didn’t mean to sound judgmental; I was simply curious why London was covering for you that night.”
He smiles softly. “We drove to the next town over to dinner and then we went bowling.”
“If y’all are big names in racing, especially around here, how did no one recognize you even in a different town?”
“They might have, but I wore a hat and glasses, and her hair was down with glasses. In the restaurant we requested a table that was semi-private enough to be out but still hidden from direct view. And when we were bowling, it was dark. They had the black lights on. We were careful,” he explains.
I ponder what he said for a moment before reaching for the door handle. He’s out of his door and at mine before I can count to ten. He helps me out of his car and hands me the cane to steady myself.
When we reach the door, my heart starts to race. This feels so important, like this will reveal the answers I’ve been searching for since I woke up without my memory.
Dash turns the key, and I step in. The scent of apples invades my senses, and it almost takes my breath. It’s familiar. And just that knowledge brings tears to my eyes. Recognizing the scent of this house feels like a small victory; a step toward remembering.
“What’s wrong?” Dash asks from beside me.
I open my watery eyes. “I know this smell.”
I can tell he’s getting his hopes up, but I know I could simply be recalling this through London’s experience and not from living here as Lennon.
We’re in the living room, and just like the apartment, there are pictures on the wall.
I take my time studying them before glancing toward the kitchen.
This one is not as impressive as the one at the apartment, but it comes close which makes me smile.
I want to explore my talents in the kitchen a little more.
But my gaze catches on the staircase to the right. And I know it’s where the bedrooms are.
“I need to go up,” I tell him, knowing he’ll be right behind me if I struggle to climb the stairs.
Once I reach the second floor, there’s a guest room off to the left, a linen closet directly in front of me, and two more bedrooms to the right.
I must choose the correct room on the right, because when I open the door, Dash asks, “Do you remember this?”
I see the bed. It’s made, but there are clothes on it like Lennon was just here trying to decide what to wear.
On the nightstand is a picture of Lennon and London side by side, and one more of them as kids.
Lennon is wearing a racing jacket and sunglasses while London is wearing an apron like she’s been in the kitchen.
I touch the pictures, willing myself to know which one is me, but I don’t. It’s no wonder we could cover for one another because we look like the exact same person in every way.
There’s a third picture closer to the bed of Dash and Lennon. They’re gazing into each other’s eyes.
“Who took this?” I ask.
“London did.”
“It’s familiar but I don’t know if it’s because I took it or because I’ve looked at it every night before bed.”
His lips thin in what I assume must be disappointment, but he nods.
“I want to stay here tonight.” I drop the bomb on him out of nowhere.
“It very well could be your house anyway. You can do what you want,” Dash says.
“I think I need to stay alone, though,” I add.
He crosses his arms. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea. You could be in danger. You heard Jimmy yesterday. They have no leads on the driver.”
I face Dash and touch his face. “I know. But this is something I feel I need to do. Everyone wants me to trust them. Can’t you trust me?”
“I do trust you. But I don’t trust that you’re safe alone with an unknown killer possibly after you. Don’t ask me to leave.”
“I’ve been fine at the apartment. Why do you think this house would be any less safe?”
Dash steps closer and I can see the whiskey-colored streaks in his brown eyes. “Whoever caused the wreck may have been after Lennon. It was her car being tailed, not London’s.”
“Maybe. But if that’s true, then they think she’s dead. Why would they come back?”
“Because they know one of you survived. And they might not want to take the chance you could remember and point the finger. One or even both of you had to see the car. What if you saw the actual person too? Or what if they just wanted you both dead?”
“I need to do this alone, Dash. But I’ll call you if anything feels off. Give me the day to myself here. Then you can come back tonight. What are the chances someone would try something during the day?” I ask.
“Depends on how determined this person is, Valkyrie.”
I smile. “I’ll lock the doors, I promise.”
“I don’t like this,” he says.
“Noted. Which is why you’ll be back in a few hours.”
He leans forward and presses a kiss to my lips before walking out.
Once I hear him close the front door downstairs, I pull open the drawer of the nightstand.
I find a leather-bound journal and open it.
I flip to the last entry and see it’s dated the day before the accident.
What I read makes my jaw drop. Hendrix was getting ready to propose to London.
Lennon had helped him pick out a ring, and apparently, he was going to talk to our parents in the next few days to get their blessing first.
I wipe away the tears as I read how clearly excited Lennon was for her sister.
Lennon wrote how London would be marrying a great guy and how she couldn’t wait to have a brother, even if it was by marriage.
And she continued, saying it was finally time they started settling down since they’re in their thirties.
I flip back a few pages and read other entries, but nothing clicks. Deciding to read more later, I go to put the journal back in the drawer when I hear something hit the floor. I glance down and see a small key.
I swipe it from the floor and open the journal again. On the inside of the back cover, a slit has been made in the leather. I try it by sliding the key in and it’s a perfect fit. How strange.
I pull the key back out and glance around the room for a minute trying to find where it goes. My gaze settles on the closet, and I make my way to it. I open the door and turn on the light.
I run my fingers over the clothes hanging in here. I see shoes neatly placed on the floor. But a cedar chest catches my eye in the back corner. I lift the lid up to see inside and find trophies and medals and what is probably older journals.
But tucked in the corner under a leather jacket that’s seen better days is a locked box. I lift it out of the cedar chest and the lock appears to match the key I found.
“What are you trying to hide, Lennon?” I ask out loud.
Once the box is open, I find note after note. Threats.
I’m watching you.
I see you.
I know your every move.
Quit the team or I’ll make sure you never race again.
Your day is coming.
I can do whatever I want to you, and you can’t stop me.
You have no place on the racetrack.
I’ve got something you can ride.
I’m coming for you.
I’ll make you come for me whether you want to or not.
Careful, princess. Daddy will know who you’re screwing.
I’ll make sure you lose everything.
You can run, but you can’t hide.
Do you feel me watching?
Your time has run out; it’s my turn now.
I cover my mouth with my hand. Lennon has a stalker.
The cops are right; the wreck was intentional.
Someone knew what was going on that night if these notes are any indication of the events which led to the wreck.
But it doesn’t seem anyone I’m close to knew about this. They would’ve told me, especially Dash.
A photo album catches my eye, so I pull it out and flip through the pictures. There are a lot of Lennon and London and our parents. There’s some of Lennon racing over the years. A few even show Dash nearby. A much younger Dash.
There are some group pictures and I recognize the guys I saw at my dad’s garage. Jackson, Troy, and Dillan, I think. Again, much younger versions. I guess they’ve all been friends for a long time.
I close the album and lock the notes back up in their box and tuck it neatly in the same spot I found it. I’m about to close the cedar chest, but something makes me take a second look at the leather jacket. It’s well-worn like it was a favorite.
I pick it up and slide my arms into it. I feel a twinge of pain as I get my left arm settled. I left my sling at the apartment. I walk in front of the floor-length mirror in the closet and check my reflection. I lean the cane against the wall and stand tall on my own.
The reflection is still unsure, but I see a flicker of recognition I didn’t before. I stick my hands in the pockets of the jacket and feel a tube of lipstick. It’s a red-wine color. I open it and glide it over my lips.
I may still have a bruised face and an angry scar forming from my temple to my eyebrow, but this lipstick makes me look alive. I close the tube and wonder why it was packed away in the pocket of this jacket in the closet.
I leave the closet for the attached master bath.
Lennon’s makeup is out on the counter waiting for her to use.
I pull out the chair at her vanity mirror and try to cover my bruises and the incoming scar which led to my amnesia.
I put a few coats of mascara on, feeling like I’ve taken a piece of my identity back, like I’m bolder somehow.
I glance down at my arm where I’m wearing the two bracelets each of us had, and I finger the one that says “Mirror, mirror. My heart to embolden.”
I slowly make my way back downstairs. Once I reach the bottom step, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
I pull it out, figuring it’s Dash checking in, but I’m wrong. There’s a message from Dad checking on me. But there’s another I didn’t notice come in while I was upstairs. And it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand.
It’s a text from an unknown number.
I know who you really are, but I know you don’t remember. And if you do, no one will ever know. I’m watching your every move.
I drop the phone like it’s on fire and search the downstairs. I move as quickly as I can to the door to make sure it’s locked. Then, I close the curtains on the windows. About the time I enter the kitchen at the back of the house, I see the back door is open.
Thunder rumbles in the distance, because what else could make this any scarier than the sound of a storm brewing?
That’s when I see the note on the counter beside the back door. I step out on the deck and check the yard and all around as far as I can see but come up empty. I go back in the house and shut the door and then flip the deadbolt to where it’s locked.
Picking up the note and reading the words, I feel the blood drain from my face.
See how easy it would be for me to finish this? Watch your back. I know I am.