Chapter 14
Jillian
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The world blurred past them in streaks of gray and green as the motorcycle sped down the narrow road. Jillian clung to Moe's back, her cheek pressed against the worn leather of his jacket, trying to steady her breathing. Compared to Everstill, everything seemed too bright, too loud, and too real.
Then, a flash of color caught her attention. She patted Moe's side. That was a shape she knew.
"Moe, wait. I know that sign."
He slowed immediately, pulling to the shoulder. "What do you see?"
She pointed down the road, heart thudding. "That billboard. I pass it every day on my walk to the nursing home. I know where we are. I can get us home."
"Can you—?" Before he could say more, a car rounded the corner behind them and slowed down. Too much.
The driver gawked. Moe stiffened. His muscles locked up tight beneath her hands.
"Don't look at them," he muttered. "Don't turn around. Keep your head down."
The car crawled past. Jillian held her breath. Finally, the car picked up speed and disappeared around the curve.
Only then did Moe exhale, low and shaky. "We need to move. Now."
She nodded quickly, and he pulled back onto the road, following her directions through familiar streets that felt strangely foreign after everything she'd lived through.
When they finally turned onto her block, her chest tightened with hope. The small blue house sat exactly the way she'd left it.
Home.
Except she didn't feel like the same person who'd left it.
Moe parked the bike in the shadow of a tree by the side of the house and killed the engine. The sudden silence rang in her ears. She had no idea how she felt about bringing Moe home to her safe spot in the world. But she pushed her worries aside for the chance to be here again.
She slid off the bike, and her stomach dropped. "I don't have my bag that has my key and phone. My ID."
Moe's brows pulled together. "Where is it?"
"When you—" She swallowed. "When you took me. I dropped my bag. Everything was in it."
"Okay. Then we get inside another way." He looked away and nodded. "Keep an eye out."
"For what?"
"Anyone watching."
Her heart thudded. She turned toward the street, scanning the quiet neighborhood. A dog barked somewhere down the block. Mr. and Mrs. Honaka across the street had their living room curtain closed. They must be away from the house.
"Window's open," Moe said.
She spun. He stood beneath the small kitchen window, the one above the sink. He'd slid it up just enough to create a narrow gap.
"It's small, but you can fit." He crouched, lacing his fingers together to boost her. "Step up."
She hesitated a second before placing her foot into his hands. He lifted her easily, steady despite the cuts on his face and the dried blood along his jaw. She braced her palms on the windowsill and wriggled through, landing atop the sink. She slid to the floor with a soft thud.
She turned back toward the window and hesitated.
Moe held onto the sill, too big to follow her. "Are you going to open the door for me?" he asked quietly.
It wasn't a question about the door. It was a question about trust. About whether she'd leave him outside. Whether she'd lock him out of her world.
Until he asked, she never gave it a thought that she could stay locked in the house and away from her kidnapper. She could call the police.
Somewhere between holding his hand at night and coming through the veil, she stopped thinking of him in that way. Everstill wasn't normal. It had opened her mind up to a different way of life. Different people. And the unimaginable.
"Of course I am," whispered Jillian.
His shoulders eased, and he nodded, stepping back away from the open window.
She hurried to the front door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. Moe stepped inside, ducking his head as if the house itself might reject him.
It wasn't like that here. He was safe. She wasn't going to kick him out.
The moment Moe stepped inside, he swept his gaze over the living room, the shelves lined with her mother's old knickknacks, the framed photos, the mismatched throw pillows.
Things that meant nothing to anyone but her.
Personal belongings hadn't existed in Everstill.
It was one of the first things she'd noticed.
He didn't touch anything. He just looked. Quiet, careful, and almost reverent, he acted as if he hadn't seen the inside of other people's houses before.
He didn't belong here. Jillian's throat tightened, unable to take her gaze off him. The veil had tried hard to keep him from being here, and he was trying to understand her world.
She tore her gaze away before the emotion in her chest could spill over and hurried to the bathroom. She grabbed a stack of clean washcloths, a towel, and the small first-aid kit her mom had always kept under the sink. Her hands shook as she soaked one cloth in warm water.
When she returned, Moe stood in front of the bookshelf, staring at a ceramic owl her mom had bought at a yard sale years ago. His brow furrowed like he was trying to figure out what purpose it served.
"It's just a decoration," she said softly.
He startled slightly, then nodded. "Your world has... a lot of things."
"It was your world at one time, too, right?" She stepped closer and held out the warm cloth. "Sit."
He hesitated, jaw tightening like he wanted to refuse. But then he lowered himself onto the edge of the couch, shoulders slumped with exhaustion he couldn't hide.
She knelt in front of him.
Up close, the damage was worse. A cut above his eyebrow. A scrape along his cheekbone. Dried blood at the corner of his mouth. Dirt smudged across his whiskered jaw. His knuckles were raw on one hand.
Inhaling swiftly, she couldn't help but acknowledge that all his injuries were from protecting her.
Besides a few bumps and probably bruises that would show up later, she didn't have a scratch on her.
There was no way she rode through the veil and went through hell without any injuries, except that Moe sheltered her from the storm.
She lifted the cloth and gently pressed it to his cheek.
He flinched. "You don't have to—"
"I want to," she whispered.
He stilled.
She wiped the blood from his skin, careful not to make the scratches bleed more. The cloth came away red. He watched her the whole time, eyes stormy and unreadable, but something in them softened with every pass of the cloth.
"You got hurt because of me," she said quietly. "You didn't have to do that."
"I got hurt because of the veil. Not you." His voice was rough.
She swallowed hard. "You still protected me."
His gaze dropped to her hands. "I told you I would."
She bit her lower lip, not knowing why that made her feel all warm and terrified at once.
When she finished cleaning his face, she handed him the towel. He wiped his hands, then stood with a grunt, stretching his back.
She winced. "You're hurt everywhere."
"I'll live." He moved toward the kitchen. "We need to figure out where we are."
"Vancouver." When he glanced at her, she added, "Washington."
He grunted. Curious, she followed him into the kitchen and froze.
A banana sat on the counter. The same banana she'd left there the day she was taken. Still yellow. Still firm. A spot of green clinging to the stem. That's why she hadn't taken it to work with her. It wasn't ripe enough for her.
After all this time, it should've been black. Rotten.
Her stomach dropped. That made no sense. She was gone for several months.
Before she could speak, the house phone rang. Both of them jumped.
Heart hammering, she pressed her hand to her chest and stepped over to the cordless phone sitting on the charger. She grabbed the receiver and answered without even looking to see who the caller was. "Hello?"
"Jillian? It's Connie from the nursing home."
Her blood ran cold. "Is it my mom?"
"Oh, no, no, she's fine," Connie said quickly. "I'm calling because someone found your bag on the sidewalk outside. I put it in your mom's room so you can grab it later."
Jillian's knees nearly buckled. "My... bag?"
"Yes, dear. Clint Boyer's son found it a few minutes ago and turned it into the office.
Since you had just left, I waited a few minutes to give you time to get home before calling.
If you want, I can look inside to see if anything is missing, but the Boyer family has such a good reputation. I'm sure everything is there."
A few minutes ago? Why would Connie believe she just left work?
"Thanks for letting me know, and thank Mr. Boyer, too." She hung up, staring at the phone as if it might explode.
Moe moved closer to her. "What is it?"
"I'm freaking out," she whispered.
He frowned. "What are you talking about?"
She rushed to the living room, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. The news flickered on. The date flashed in the corner.
Her breath left her in a sharp, broken gasp. She dropped the remote.
"Moe," she whispered, voice trembling. "Today is the day you took me to Everstill. So tell me how no time has passed? I walked out of work a half hour ago, yet I was with you in Everstill for months. God, I don't even know how much time has passed at this point."
She turned slowly toward the kitchen.
Toward the banana.
Perfect. Untouched. And not quite ripe to eat.