9. Hades
Hades
It’s only for emergencies.
That’s what I tell myself as I walk out of the store, carrying a new cell phone.
Technically, that’s bullshit. And I know it.
Wilder and I had to ditch our old ones.
I glance down at the device in my hand.
New phones.
New numbers.
Clean slate for both of us.
Zero connections to the past.
It’s smart. Necessary, even.
The fact that the woman in the Victorian house has been on my mind since I woke up has absolutely nothing to do with it.
I look down at the phone.
“Fuck.”
I’m already lying to myself.
I shove it into my jacket pocket and continue down the sidewalk.
Town is busier today. People move between shops carrying coffee cups and bags. Someone is decorating a storefront with fake spiderwebs. A kid wearing a witch hat runs ahead of his mother while she tells him to slow down.
Normal shit in a normal town.
Exactly what Wilder and I came here for.
A place where nobody knows us. Where no one knows what we’ve done. What we’re capable of.
I look through the front window of The Crooked Spine bookstore. Books sit on shelves, Halloween decorations strategically placed around them. A skeleton wearing reading glasses sits in a chair, a book in its hands.
I snort. Festive.
The bells jingle as the door opens.
I stop so suddenly that the couple behind me nearly runs into me.
“I almost slammed into him,” the woman complains.
But I ignore her.
She just stepped outside the door.
The woman from the house in the woods.
Her long brown hair moves in the breeze as she steps onto the sidewalk, the little copper-colored dog trotting beside her.
For a moment, I simply stare at her, drinking in every inch of her—from the tightly buttoned red wool coat and the plaid scarf she tugs tighter around her neck to the tall brown boots on her feet.
Sunlight catches her brown hair, bringing out its warmer tones.
She’s even prettier in the daylight.
The dog stops to sniff something near the building. She laughs and gives the leash a gentle tug.
I can't hear what she says. That irritates me.
I start walking again, telling myself I’m heading toward my truck. Which happens to be parked in the same direction she’s walking.
When my boots crunch over the fallen leaves on the sidewalk, I’m close enough to see and hear her, but far enough away that if she spun around, she wouldn’t think I was following her.
“Hi, Presley!”
I stop.
The woman in front of me does too.
My pulse kicks.
Presley.
I repeat it silently.
It fits her. I don't know why. It just does.
A redheaded woman walks toward her, an elderly dachshund moving slowly beside her.
“Hey, Gracie.” Presley smiles. “Out walking Walter?”
“Trying to. Walter has a different definition of walking these days.”
Presley laughs.
The sound is light and airy.
I've been wondering what her laugh sounded like.
Now I know.
The two women move closer together while their dogs immediately begin sniffing each other.
Walter's tail wags. So does the little dog beside her.
“Hi, handsome.” Presley bends down and scratches beneath the older dog's chin. “Did you miss Penny?”
Penny.
Another piece of the puzzle.
Presley and Penny.
I move off the sidewalk and stand by a bench, pretending to be immersed in my phone. But my ears strain, listening to the two women talking.
“How'd it go?” Gracie asks.
“Really good. I start Monday.”
“That’s amazing.” She hugs Presley. “This is a great opportunity for you.”
“Thank you.”
I can’t resist a peek. Presley’s face is lined with excitement.
My chest tightens. I pretend it’s heartburn.
“I’m a little sad we won’t be working together.”
Presley laughs. “After what happened with your espresso machine, I think Hollow Creek is safer if we aren’t.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We need those machines working. People like their lattes a lot.”
“Me too.”
Gracie laughs. “I know they’re your favorite. Speaking of lattes, I’m introducing a new one next week for Halloween. Witch’s Brew Latte. Complete with chocolate spiderwebs.”
“Ohh, I’m intrigued.”
Penny barks, her tail wagging.
“She wants a pup cup.”
“She gave me an idea. Maybe I’ll give them a special Halloween pup cup.”
Presley laughs. “I have faith in you.”
Gracie smiles. “Stop in and grab one next week. Can you bring Penny to work?”
Presley looks fondly at Penny.
“Margaret said as long as she behaves, she’s welcome.”
Gracie claps her hands. “Perfect. Bring her in during your lunch break. I’ll make special drinks for you both.”
“Sounds amazing. I’m in.”
I glance at them.
Presley wears a huge smile. Eyes crinkled slightly. Happy. Different from the woman I watched through the window two nights ago.
I want to see more of that.
That realization comes too easily.
Keep walking. Leave her alone.
But my boots stay rooted in place.
“Come on, Walter,” Gracie says. “We should let Presley get home.”
Presley shrugs. “I’m heading to the grocery store before my stomach riots.”
“Have fun.”
“Impossible.”
“Buy snacks. Snacks make everything better.”
“Solid advice.”
“See you later.”
“Bye.”
I look up, watching as Presley walks away with Penny, completely oblivious to me.
I slowly step away from the bench, glancing at Gracie as she pleads with Walter to move. He takes two steps before stopping and staring longingly at Penny.
My eyes drop to the sidewalk, hiding my grin.
Good luck, Gracie. Walter wants Penny.
And I want to know everything about Presley.
I ignore that thought, slowly trailing behind her as I head to my truck.
Once inside, I watch as she drives toward the grocery store.
But I don’t follow.
Instead, I download Instagram.
I haven’t used social media in years. Never saw the point of voluntarily posting where I am, who I’m with, what I’m doing, or what I’m eating. Especially when I spent years wanting nobody to know a damn thing about me.
It always seemed fucking stupid to post so much about your life for strangers to read.
The app opens.
Yet here I am, creating an account.
No picture.
No real name.
Nothing to identify me.
Yet I’m staring at the search bar, my thumb hovering over it.
Presley.
It’s all I have. No last name.
I type her name into the search bar anyway.
Presley Hollow Creek Vermont.
Several accounts appear. None look like her.
I add Crooked Spine to the search.
Nothing.
I lean back against the seat.
This is ridiculous.
I lock the phone.
Then immediately unlock it.
“Jesus Christ.”
I clear the search and type The Crooked Spine instead.
The bookstore’s account pops up.
I click on it and scroll, seeing posts about new releases. Staff recommendations. Halloween displays. The front window display.
Someone’s creative. The skeleton with reading glasses holding a book is comical. A witch’s hat on it would be even better.
Jesus, now I’m decorating.
Get a fucking grip.
Presley’s not in it.
I stare at it anyway.
Fucking pathetic.
I lock the phone again and start my truck.
Time to go home.
She remains on my mind as I drive through town.
Instead of taking the road that leads to my shitty cabin, I take the other one. The Victorian appears through the trees.
I park in the woods and follow the path to her house.
I stand in the spot where I’ve been watching her through the window.
Halloween decorations cover the porch. Pumpkins. Lanterns. Cobwebs. Little white ghosts hanging from the porch roof.
One of them is crooked. It bothers me more than it should.
“Fuck.”
I step out of the woods. The distance between the trees and her yard feels different when there's nothing hiding me.
The closer I get to the house, the larger it becomes.
The boards creak beneath my boots when I climb the porch steps.
There’s a window in the upper half of her front door. A wreath with a witch on a broom hangs from it.
I carefully peer inside, but I can’t see much of anything. It’s too dark.
I’ll see it soon enough.
The urge to get closer to her claws beneath my skin.
I flex my hands.
Not yet.
I turn toward the crooked ghost.
It hangs just above my head.
I reach up, untwist the fabric, and straighten the string so it hangs straight.
I take a step back.
That’s better.
The ghost faces the yard now. Exactly the way it should.
Presley will notice.
The thought sends something dark and satisfying through me.
Maybe she'll think the wind fixed it.
Maybe she'll convince herself she did.
Or maybe she'll know someone was here.
I should probably care that the last possibility might scare her.
But I don't.
Her fear appeals to me.
I look at the ghost one last time, then head down the steps, across her yard, and back into the woods.
I take one final look back at her house.
Soon, Presley.
You’ll know I’ve been there.
You’ll know I’ve been everywhere you are.