Chapter 6
Jillian
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Jillian lay awake long after Moe's breathing settled into a slow, steady rhythm beside her. She kept her eyes open, staring at the ceiling, listening to every inhale and exhale as if it might change without warning. How many days had she been in Everstill?
It was hard to keep track when Moe forced her to do the same thing every day.
Her job at the store was redundant and unnecessary. It remained a mystery to her how the food stocked itself. Even if every resident visited the store twice a day, which they didn't, the store wouldn't get dirty enough for her to clean the floors and dust the shelves.
She swallowed silently. The bedroom was dark, the only light a faint glow from the streetlamp outside filtering through the curtains. She remained still, keeping her own breathing regular so as not to wake him.
Moe's hand rested loosely around her wrist, but there was no doubt that if she moved, he would tighten his hold, refusing to let her slip away.
She tried to make sense of everything she'd learned about Everstill. The men. The routines. The jobs. The way the town remained suspended, like it wasn't part of the real world. Nothing validated her staying here. Nothing made sense.
She would always try to escape. Always. She just needed the right moment.
When Moe brought her here, there was a storm.
A violent one. Maybe whatever kept her here—whatever pulled her through that black curtain—was manipulated by the weather.
Like those air balloons and chem trails she'd heard kids joke about in high school.
Maybe the storm she'd traveled through was some kind of atmospheric glitch.
Maybe she just needed to wait until another storm came.
She repeated that thought over and over until her eyes finally drifted shut.
She didn't know how long she slept before Moe shifted beside her. His hand tightened around her wrist, his breath catching sharply. She froze, heart pounding, waiting for him to speak or move or do something.
He sat up abruptly, shoulders tense, running a hand through his hair. He looked wide awake, alert in a way that made her stomach twist. She didn't know what woke him.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, stretching once before glancing back at her. "Get up. We gotta get ready."
The hardness of his cock tented his gray sweatpants. She pushed herself upright, rubbing her eyes. He was like that every morning. Sometimes in the night, she'd wake up, and his erection would be pressed against her hip.
She bit her lower lip, forcing herself not to look. He never pushed himself on her. But that didn't mean she trusted him.
Her wrist was still warm from where he'd held it all night. She wiped her palm on her hip, trying to shake off the sensation.
Now she was thankful that she'd lost her virginity six months ago after work with Stewart, who worked in the cafeteria at the nursing home. For some reason, she thought sex would get her mind off her mom not recognizing her that day. It hadn't.
Daylight leaked into the room between the gap in the curtain. She gathered her clothes from the dryer and slipped into the bathroom. Her morning routine was short. She no longer cared what she looked like.
Afterward, she tossed the sweatpants and shirt in the washing machine. She hated wearing the same outfit every day, but at least Moe allowed her to wash the clothes and bought her sweats from the store to wear at the house.
In the kitchen, she sat on the stool and ate oatmeal. She no longer tasted the meal. It was consumed so that she could keep up her strength. Everything she did had a reason. For her, it was to escape.
Moe watched her with a steady, unreadable gaze, almost like he was assessing her.
When she put her dish in the sink, she found her shoes and tied the laces. By that time, he was waiting by the front door for her.
She followed him outside, the morning air cool against her skin. The town was quiet, the same eerie stillness as yesterday. No cars. No animals. No women. Just men moving through their routines like shadows.
They walked to the store together, Moe a step ahead, Jillian trailing behind. She didn't know what the day would bring. She didn't know how long she'd be stuck here. But she knew one thing with absolute certainty.
She would never stop looking for a way out.
The lights hummed overhead as Moe unlocked the door to the store and pushed it open. Jillian stepped inside, hugging her arms around herself. The air was cooler in the morning, and the familiar scent seemed heavier.
He walked behind the counter and grabbed a ring of keys. "You can start sweeping. Start on Aisle One."
She picked up the broom, her fingers tightening around the handle.
There was no sense arguing or asking why she had to do it every day.
She started working, pushing dust toward the front door in slow, steady strokes.
Moe moved through the aisles, straightening cans, adjusting boxes, checking inventory that never seemed to run out.
The men trickled in. It was always men. She was starting to recognize them by name. This morning, Vaughn went straight to Moe and spoke in a low voice. During the exchange, Moe continued to look at her with his steel-gray eyes.
She tried to ignore him. Tried to focus on the broom. Tried to pretend she wasn't trapped in a town that felt like a dream she couldn't wake from.
Nolan and Boone walked to the end of the aisle. She moved to the other side and slowed, not wanting to step too close.
"...storm last night," Boone murmured. "Did you feel it?"
"Yeah," Nolan said. "Thought the veil might open again."
Jillian froze, her breath catching.
The veil.
She'd heard that word before. Copper had said it. Moe had said it. But no one had explained it. She assumed it was what they'd traveled through when arriving in Everstill.
Nolan shifted his weight from his left foot to his right foot in a continual sway as if he couldn't stay still. "If it opens again, someone could get out, or someone is coming."
"Not unless they're wanted." Boone rolled the sleeves of his shirt. "Everstill doesn't take just anyone."
Jillian's heart pounded. She leaned closer, pretending to sweep the same spot on the floor.
"Think it'll open soon?" Nolan asked.
"Depends," Boone said. "Storms make it easier. But it only opens when it wants something."
"Or someone," whispered Nolan. "I feel... weird."
Jillian's stomach twisted. She stepped back, her pulse racing. The broom slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a dull thud.
Both men looked at her.
Moe was there in an instant. He stepped between her and the customers, his shoulders squared, his jaw tight. "You done?" he asked the men, his voice low and dangerous.
They nodded quickly, wrote their name on the piece of paper on the counter, and left without another word.
Jillian stared at the door long after it closed, her breath trembling. She was right. The storms had something to do with the veil and her ability to leave.
She swallowed, staring at the broom. She didn't understand, but she'd pay more attention to the weather.
Moe turned to her slowly, his eyes unreadable. "Pick up the broom."
Her head throbbed, and she stood there without doing what Moe told her to do.
Because for the first time since arriving in Everstill, she realized something far more terrifying than being kidnapped.
She might not be able to leave.