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"Wh-what do you mean?" Juliette stammered, her confusion quickly morphing into fear as her mind scrambled to make sense of the strange words. And then, she saw it—a glint of silver in the dim light, a knife raised menacingly toward her.
Juliette did the only thing she had time to do: She screamed.
And then the knife plunged.
CHAPTER ONE
Sheila stood outside the small cabin, her heart pounding in her chest like a caged bird desperate for escape. The once peaceful refuge, hidden among tall pines and nestled beside a quiet creek, was now swarming with grim-faced police officers. Their hurried movements were methodical, yet frantic—a haunting dance of determination and despair. Tear tracks marred Sheila's cheeks, evidence of the disbelief that tore through her like a wildfire.
The scene buzzed around her like a hurricane, but to Sheila, it all seemed impossibly distant. Her grief cocooned her, wrapping her up in its suffocating embrace. She could barely hear the crackling radios and low conversations between the officers. Instead, the only sound that reached her ears was the crushing weight of her own heartbeat.
Her father stood nearby, his gray eyes hollow. His proud shoulders were slumped, his barrel chest sunk in on itself as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear. Sheila's heart at the sight of him, alone and drowning in his own sorrow. She wanted nothing more than to go over and hug him, to share in their mutual pain and somehow lessen the burden for both of them. But she couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. She had never felt anything this painful, not even when her mother had died.
"Dad..." she whispered, the word catching in her throat. "How are we ever going to get through this?"
Her father looked over at her, his gaze filled with a sadness that mirrored her own. "We have to, sweetheart," he said in a voice roughened by years of smoking. "For Natalie. It's...what she would have wanted—for us to go on."
Even as he spoke the words, however, Sheila could tell he was just trying to make her feel better. He didn't believe them himself. How could he when their world had just been shattered into a million pieces?
Sheila turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Finn was moving toward her, his hazel eyes reflecting the weight of the tragedy that had befallen them. He held himself upright in a stiff, military posture that was no doubt a relic of his days as a fighter pilot, but the solemn way he pressed his lips together and clenched his jaw suggested he was feeling the loss of Natalie, too. He was just doing his damndest to hold it inside.
Finn hesitated for a moment, seemingly unsure whether to give Sheila space or offer comfort. In the end, he chose the latter, gently wrapping his arms around her trembling shoulders.
"Everything's going to be okay," he whispered into her ear.
Sheila leaned into Finn's embrace, seeking solace in his warmth and strength. She blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over once more but found that there were none left to cry. Numbness crept through her veins, leaving her feeling detached from the world around her.
It was Sheila who'd found Natalie's body. Natalie had gone AWOL yesterday, something very much out of character for her, ignoring Sheila's calls and responding only with a cryptic one-word message: "Sorry." Sensing something was terribly wrong, Sheila had tracked her sister's phone to this very cabin, a place that Natalie came to on occasion to clear her head.
As she clung to Finn, Sheila's gaze drifted over his shoulder toward the cabin door. Her heart constricted painfully as a stretcher emerged, carrying the lifeless body of her beloved sister, Natalie. The sight of her pale face, forever frozen in time, tore at Sheila's soul like a thousand knives. She felt an overwhelming urge to rush over, shake her sister awake, and tell her that this wasn't real. At the same time, another part of her longed to flee, to escape the crushing reality of what had happened.
"Natalie..." Sheila choked on the name, her chest tightening with anguish. "How could this...?"
She didn't know how to feel. Should she be angry with her sister for abandoning them like this? For choosing the easy way out?
Finn tightened his grip on her, sensing the turmoil raging within her. "I know," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "It's hard to believe. But we're going to get through this, Sheila. Together."
As Sheila stood there, wrapped in Finn's arms and watching her sister's body being carried away, she realized that life would never be the same. The pain of losing Natalie was an indelible mark on her heart, a searing reminder of the fragility of life. And somehow, amidst the chaos and despair, she'd have to find a way to keep moving forward—for herself, for her father, and for the memory of the sister she'd loved more than anything else in the world.
Sheila found herself replaying Natalie's last message – "Sorry" – over and over in her head. A sickening sense of guilt churned in her stomach as she questioned what those words truly meant. Was this a final apology from a sister who knew she was about to take her own life? Or had it been a simple cry for help that Sheila had failed to answer in time?
"Nat..." Sheila whispered, her voice cracking. She couldn't shake the feeling that she should have done more, that she should have seen the despair lurking beneath Natalie's tough exterior.
Finn seemed to pick up on her thoughts, his eyes softening with empathy. He gave her a gentle squeeze. "Sheila, you can't blame yourself for this. You did everything you could."
"Did I really, though?" she asked, the tears returning with renewed force. "I knew she was having a hard time, Finn. The shooting, adjusting to life in a wheelchair—it was a lot for her to go through, a lot for anyone to go through. But I didn't think it would come to this."
"Hey." Finn tilted her chin up so she'd meet his eyes. "You can't carry that weight on your shoulders. Life throws us curveballs, and sometimes we don't see them coming. But that doesn't mean it's your fault."
She nodded, knowing he was trying to ease her pain, but the guilt continued to gnaw at her insides. Deep down, she believed she could have done more, that she had somehow let Natalie slip through her fingers when she needed her most.
The stretcher glided past Sheila, its wheels humming against the gravel. Her heart lurched as she caught sight of her sister's ashen face, framed by the untamed waves of her hair. Natalie's once vibrant eyes were closed, her expression eerily placid, as if she were simply asleep.
"Wait!" Sheila cried, her voice cracking with desperation. She stumbled toward the stretcher, her legs feeling like lead. "Natalie, I'm so sorry. Please, please forgive me."
Tears streamed down Sheila's cheeks, blurring her vision as she stared down at her sister's unresponsive form. She couldn't shake the thought that if only she had been more present, more aware of the pain Natalie was going through, maybe she could have prevented this tragedy. But now, there was no chance for forgiveness or redemption. Natalie was gone, and all Sheila had left was an aching void where her sister's vivacious spirit once existed.
"Come on, Sheila." Finn's gentle yet firm grip encircled her arm, pulling her back from the stretcher.
