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Deciding what to wear was easy.
I’m now the proud owner of just a handful of clothes I’ll happily be seen in public in, and this little red dress is one of them. The rest of my belongings sit in garbage bags in the corner of my room.
I’ll donate them to Goodwill, so someone else can give them a good home because I’m not that person anymore. They are a part of my past I don’t wish to remember because what do they say about my character. If I was okay spending that amount of money on clothing, maybe what Cayden says about me not belonging here holds some truth.
But I refuse to entertain such thoughts because I’m determined to find some answers tonight.
Slipping into my heeled ankle boots, I take one final look at my appearance. My copper waves are loose. I’ve washed my hair and applied a sea salt spray to give them a natural, windswept look. The red dress has a mesh and crochet top that comes in tight at the waist. Multiple layers of tulle shape the short, pleated skirt. I can’t help but want to twirl in a circle to see the skirt ruffle in the wind. However, the main reason this dress survived the cull sits around my middle.
Fingering the red ribbon sash, I think about another just like it, which I have yet to see up close. One step at a time, I whisper, as I’ll no doubt need all the courage I can muster to take that daunting leap. I know I’ll have to eventually stop viewing it from afar. Tonight, however, is not that night.
I grab my clutch and switch off the light in my bedroom. As I pass the living room, I stop, smiling when thinking of what Cayden said. The thought of seeing him every day pleases me more than it should. This attraction I feel for him makes no sense, but I suppose none of this does.
I make my way down the front steps, excited to be hitting the town. Since waking to this life, I’ve been stuck in a rut, attempting to decipher who I was but discounting the person I am now. Yes, I want to uncover who I was and what part this town played in my past, but it doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom.
With a skip in my step, I walk to the Coachman residence. Lacey told me to come over around eight. It’s two past. I don’t want to seem eager even though I am.
Now that my plans for the house are in motion, I can focus on other things like getting a job. I worked as a marketing manager, but I have zero desire to return to a role I think I would absolutely hate. I actually had to google the job description as I have no recollection of it. So that leaves the question, what do I want to do?
Remembering the mysterious sketch I woke to sitting on my lap has me wondering if maybe I have a hidden talent no one told me about. Like if the hidden memories only resurface in small fractions at a time, I wonder if my subconscious has done the same in this case. I certainly don’t remember drawing it, but I suppose I don’t remember a lot of things.
Lost in my head, I’m not paying attention to my surroundings until the hair on the back of my neck stands on end—again. The same thing happened last night. Instinctively, I pause to scope out my backdrop. Looking from left to right, I scan the night, struggling to pinpoint anything out of place.
Nothing strikes me as odd; this sleepy neighborhood has such a comforting feel that tonight is the first night I’ve locked my doors. Passing off my behavior as just jittery nerves due to what I might uncover tonight, I continue my walk toward Cayden’s.
My quickened footsteps echo out here in the open, and the silence soon turns eerie when I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched. A shiver passes over me when I look over my shoulder only to be greeted with the gentle twinkling of the stars and the full moon. The distant, gleaming lights from across the lake play to my unforeseen anxiety because, for the first time since I arrived, I feel like I don’t belong.
Squinting, my mind conjures up images of the bogeyman lurking in the shadows, but pushing aside such fiction, just as I did last night, I focus on the fact and breathe easy when I see that no one is there.
With the coast clear of serial killers and creepy clowns, I continue my walk but hasten my pace. When I’m feet away, I charge up the front steps, taking a deep breath. My heart is in my throat, which is absurd. I compose myself before ringing the doorbell.
Footsteps march down the stairs before the wooden door opens, and I’m welcomed by Lacey. “Hey! I’m running late. I won’t be a second. Come in.” She gestures for me to enter, but it suddenly hits me that I’m about to step into the lion’s or, rather, Cayden’s den.
My earlier suspicions of him knowing who I am float to the surface because stepping foot inside may confirm my hunch as fact. When I enter, I’m instantly hit with the smell of the ocean. It leaves me with a longing, but other than that, nothing else arises.
“Do you want a drink? The kitchen is just in there.” She points to the left. An elaborate archway leads to what looks to be a living room with a deep blue-gray feature wall. Rustic wall sconces light up the room strikingly, giving it a warm, homey feel.
The crisp white walls set off the polished floors, eliciting the snoop in me. I wonder where those floors lead. The kitchen sits at the end of the hallway where I can see a black marbled counter. The house is sleek and elegant, giving way to my excitement. I have no doubt Cayden created this castle. I can’t wait to see what he has planned for mine.
Realizing Lacey is waiting for me to reply, I shake my head. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just wait down here.”
She nods, clapping in excitement. “Okay. Just give me a minute.” I watch with a smile as she takes the stairs two at a time.
Once she’s disappeared upstairs, I take a moment to appreciate my surroundings because there’s a lot to take in. The foyer is open, welcoming guests the moment they step foot inside. A low-hanging chandelier adds to the warmth, but it’s not pretentious. It’s smart. Elegant. The staircase is to the right. The black banister matches the black-and-white stairs.
Breathing in my surroundings, I focus, hoping something familiar will pop out and verify that I’ve seen it before. I don’t rush it, and absorb everything with care. Tapping my boot against the polished flooring, I concentrate on the sound and the way it echoes throughout the foyer. Have I heard it before?
I wait for the headaches, for the blackness to drag me under, sparking a memory of being here before, but I get nothing. No familiarity, no confirmation. Nothing. This place is as foreign to me as any other.
I sigh in disappointment as a small part of me hoped that I was right. Surely, if I’d known Cayden, this house would hold some form of intimacy like the lake and the oak did, but it doesn’t. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, and I’m grasping at straws, desperate to make a connection.
Beyond frustrated with myself, I blow a soft raspberry, suddenly wanting to turn around and go home. My mood has fizzled, and I doubt it’ll revive anytime soon. Just as I’m thinking of calling out to Lacey to tell her I’ve changed my mind, all thoughts of speaking come to a screeching halt because standing feet away is Ellie.
She’s emerged from the hallway with a cookie in one hand and a stuffed toy mouse in the other. She freezes when she sees me, and I do the same. She’s in pink pajamas dotted with white printed bows. Nothing but innocence radiates from her small frame, and all I want to do is…cry.
A guilt so heavy robs me of breath, and I hold the wall for support. Ellie remains unmoving, watching me with those wide, wise eyes. I need to talk to her, but I’m afraid of what I might say. I want to ask her why she called me an angel, but more importantly, I want to know if she knows who I am.
Clearing my throat, I smile. “Hi, Ellie. I’m Peyton. I didn’t get to introduce myself.” She continues watching me closely.
With a waver in my step, I stroll toward her, not wanting to scare her more than she already is. Stopping a few feet away, I drop to a crouch. She holds her breath. “Who’s your friend?” I gesture to the tattered mouse she holds limply in her hand. Her fear of me is apparent, but I don’t understand why.
And no matter how tempted I am to ask her, I don’t. Regardless of my quest for answers, I would never draw her into my darkness. I am about to query what kind of cookie she has because it smells delicious, but I’m rendered utterly speechless when a whisper fills the silence. “I…know you.”
