Amos
Prologue
She’scoveredinmysecretions.
In me.
I’m marking my territory.
Suddenly, she mumbles out a sleepy sigh, lashes fluttering. I freeze, my blood turning to ice. This would be a terrible time for her to wake up as I hover over her. Reflexively, my hand grapples for the syringe.
Just in case.
Her eyes slowly open as my fingers dip into my pocket. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
Too soon.
Too late.
Chapter one
Mercy
17 Hours Earlier
NOTE: Did your reading device skip straight to this chapter? If you'd like a content warning, please see the Introduction.
Theobnoxiousblareofmy alarm clock jolts me awake.Ahhh—the joys of waking up before 7:30 to go to work. The highlight of everyone’s day. But a singlewoman has to do what she must in order to survive. Rent doesn't pay itself. I groan and throw a hand out to hit snooze, but miss my phone and land on an unfamiliar shape. Well, not entirely unfamiliar, but it certainly doesn't belonghereon my nightstand, of all places. A sleep-crusted eye cracks open to glare at the misplaced object—my perfume bottle. It's been moved.
Again.
And it wasn't me doing the moving either time.
I think.
A growing thread of uncertainty cramps my stomach. I'm absolutely sure I didn't leave it there last night. Why would I? I only wear perfume when I go on dates, and since I haven't had one since I moved to Providence Falls a year ago, it should have been collecting dust on my bathroom counter.The other time happened last Saturday. I was brushing my hair when the bottle caught my eye. The bottle's position, rather. I have a thing about angles and object placement being equal and proportionate. Not enough of a quirk to be a disorder, but enough to get on my nerves when I notice something out of place. My perfumeshouldhave been in the corner so the backsplash equally hugged its sides.
But it wasn't like that anymore. It had been rotated a quarter turn to the left. Such a minor change that I wouldn't have noticed it if not for my weird idiosyncrasy.
Staring at the nightstand now, I have no idea what to do. I have no one to call for advice. I'd aged out of the foster system, having been shuffled through way more sets of foster parents than a young orphan should have gone through.
So here I am. An orphan still, but an older one. No parents, no one close enough to callfriend, and all on my own. And an introvert, at that. It's a proven fact that working as a receptionist is a living nightmare for an introvert. Having to answer phones and greet clients who want to stand too close and flirt...ugh. At least I get paid a decent amount to do it, though.
Since I’m the only one I can count on to do anything around here, I grumble to myself and roll out of bed. Grabbing my robe, I take a quick look through my house, paying extra attention to the doors and windows.
Nothing out of the ordinary there.
Same thing outside. Still nothing. No footprints in the grass or any obvious sign of someone having been there last night.
Frustration causes my teeth to clench. I can't prove that someone broke in and messed with my things. The police would laugh me out of the station if I walked in with zero evidence of anything.
And now I'm doubting myself. One of my foster parents complained that I sleepwalked, but I never knew for certain if that was actually true. Maybe I should set up a camera just to make sure. Would I actually move the same object two times? Or more? Why just my perfume bottle?
Can't say for certain, but I don't think so. At any rate, if I don't get to work, I won't evenhavea house for anyone to move things around in. Which reminds me—I need to pay the rent since the first of the month is just a few days away. Worrying won't solve anything at the moment, so I may as well get dressed and focus on making it through today.
Fridays are pretty good at Shay Construction because we close atnoon, giving everyone amuch-appreciatedhead start to the weekend. Today is also the owner's last day of work, so a little party is on the schedule.
Ex-owner, I guess I should say.
