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No,I’m still stuck in the quicksand that threatens to pull me under.
I was left utterly broken.
Shattered.
Alone.
Nothing changed for them, yet everything changed for me.
I’m left to navigate through the soul-crippling trauma left to haunt me for the rest of my life alone.
My stomach growls loudly as I drive up the hill to my house. Exhausted from a long day at work, I am ready for a warm meal and the comfort of my bed.
The fear in town as a response to the murders was palpable.
People now locked their doors at night, a precaution they had never felt necessary before. Women walked in pairs, wary of their surroundings, and local businesses installed security systems and cameras.
Panic had set in.
I sensed the shift in the atmosphere, and they were right to be afraid.
No one in Harborview knew who I really was or how deeply personal these murders were to me. And for ten years, I managed to keep the truth of what I had run away from concealed.
But once the FBI arrived, and they would eventually, my secrets would be laid bare--raw and painful, and I can’t help but worry about the consequences.
I know it is selfish that I worry about what happens to me when I could have prevented these deaths if I had just told the truth.
If I hadn’t let them push me into a testimony that wasn’t right.
Then no one else would have had to die.
I know it is my responsibility to do the right thing and demand justice for these women, but I also know that this only ends when he is dead…or I am.
Heis hunting me, and I am afraid.
THREE
AVA
After moving to Harborview, I purchased a tiny storefront near the docks, next to a café called Bonjour, using the remainder of the stipend the FBI gave me as severance for my testimony provided in David Common's case. I turned the storefront into a flower shop and named it The Rosebud, creating beautiful bouquets and arrangements for the locals. Plants and flowers were my passion. I enjoyed creating beauty, and the world was full of it.
As a newcomer in town, the curiosity surrounding my presence grew, and I became subject to the inevitable small-town gossip about my identity and origins. I brushed off any rumors that came my way and pretended I was just a nobody looking for a change of scenery.
No baggage.
No past.
The name Ava Thompson died the day I left Massachusetts, and I locked my past up forever. Ava Monroe was born, and I was never going back.
In the early years of my newfound residency in Harborview, I deliberately distanced myself from the town’s residents, preferring solitude. Yet, the isolation became challenging to bear. I craved human connection but feared opening myself up and trusting someone…anyone.
If only to reassure me that I wasn’t losing touch with my new reality.
I wanted to be Ava again, albeit a different version.
Ava 2.0.
But Ava still.
