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The pounding in my chest won’t quit, nor will the feeling of intense fear that courses through me. A hand suddenly slaps against my window.
“Oh, Jesus!”
Every frayed nerve in my body immediately comes alive with terror and the need to escape comes surging back. I somehow manage to scramble out of the covers, only half tripping as I jump out of bed and press myself against the bedroom wall. My eyes are wide, staring at the window where I’m sure Hudson Judge or one of his goons is lurking.
Smack!The hand slaps the window pane again, but this time, it lingers before splintering into a dozen or so bulbous shapes. It takes me a second to realize it’s not a hand at all but a branch, its slick leaves clinging to the glass as the wind blows it against my window.
I let out a deep breath, one I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding till now.
“You’re safe,” I tell myself, hoping desperately that the words will soothe me. “This is just the PTSD.”
Sometimes that’s enough to calm me down, enough to quiet the voice in my head that tells me I’m back there in the ravine, battered and broken and fighting for my life.
But tonight it’s not quite enough. The dream was too real, and Marshall Todd’s words are still echoing in my ears.Watch yourself, kid. I’ve seen things. I know what I’m talking about.
Horror stories of witness protection gone wrong come flooding into my mind, and my heart races all over again, terrified that I’m about to join Marshall Todd’s list.
The thought shakes me, pushing me into another panic. This time, though, it’s not a paralyzing force, but one that propels me into sudden manic action. With the lights still out, I reach in the dark for my robe. Both hands shaking, I wrap it tightly around me as if it will keep me safe from the gangsters I’m practically convinced are lurking outside.
Slowly, silently, I make my way around the house, desperate to check every single window and door to make sure they’re all locked tight against the outside. The pounding in my chest has yet to subside, and as I approach each opening, my heart only beats faster. Three more times I jump back in fright as three more would-be intruders beat against the house.
“Oh my God!” I cry as an elbow comes banging sharply against the back door.
It turns out, of course, to be another tree branch, as do the other two.
Eventually, my panic ebbs a little, but only after I’ve checked and double-checked every entrance in the house. As I’m confirming the latch is closed on the last window, I look out to see the warmth of the living room light on in the house next door. It casts a hazy aura of comfort into the night, catching the still-heavy rain in its tungsten glow.
It’s strangely calming. I feel my heartbeat finally slow and my breathing even out as I gaze out at the single beacon of light in what is otherwise a very dark night.
“Emile,” I whisper softly to myself. It’s as much a call into the dark as it is me testing out how his name feels in my mouth.
The act immediately makes me feel silly, and the panic I felt earlier is suddenly broken with a wave of something perhaps even stronger – sheer embarrassment.
Flashes of our impromptu lunch come back to mind. I cringe, realizing for what feels like the hundredth time that I made a total fool of myself in front of him today. I think again of how horrible I must have looked choking on my damned tuna salad. I turn away from the window in humiliation as if I think Emile is there looking at me right now.
I can feel my cheeks grow warm even at the thought of facing him again. Our first encounter was intense, if a little unexpected. Our second was enough to fluster me. But the third was an absolute disaster, and in some ways, I wish I’d left the diner after all rather than accepted Marcel’s invitation.
First impressions don’t get a do-over, unfortunately.
And it’s not as if it was a one-time blunder that will be forgotten. The man is my neighbor. I’m going to have to see him basically every day of my life, assuming I stay here in Aura Creek. Especially if I want to keep up my jogging routine which, if I’m brutally honest, is the only thing keeping me sane right now.
For a moment I consider jogging only in the opposite direction from now on. But our street is a dead end, and besides, it would be even worse if I started intentionally avoiding him. That would be admitting how embarrassed I am and would only draw more attention to me.
Still, I can’t imagine how I’m going to face him without embarrassing myself again. It’s like I don’t know how to be normal around him. And I’d blame that on the fact I’m still learning my cover story, but really, I know it’s more than that.
There’s an attraction there that scares me because I don’t know how to be attracted to someone I can’t let in. I just can’t help but feel exposed when I look into Emile’s eyes. I’m no expert on staying undercover or anything, but I’m pretty sure that’s the exact opposite of what I’m supposed to be doing.
When I think of him though, I just feel… safe. I feel exposed, open, and vulnerable, but almost in a good way. Despite all that, I feel like I just want to be myself around him. Although, preferably a version of myself that isn’t inhaling tuna salad.
I feel like he would keep me secure, but I’m not allowed to admit what I’m scared of in the first place. I’m not allowed to be myself in front of the one person I really wish could see the real Shauna. I mean, Clarissa. And I don’t know what to do about it, other than just run in the other direction whenever I see him.
I grip the robe tighter around my chest, finally feeling calm enough to go back to bed. Right now my thoughts are no longer inhabited by Hudson Judge and his gang. Instead, it’s Emile who lingers in my mind.
The moment I walk into my bedroom, though, a mighty crash echoes through the house, causing my heart to practically leap out of my chest all over again. I know I should probably be hiding, but instinct makes me seek out the noise. This time, I turn on a light.
The hallway is empty, the living room, too, and I go back to each of the windows to check the locks for a third time. I go around to every room in the house — the kitchen, the guest room, the pantry — but they’re all in order, each of them locked tightly against intruders.
It’s only when I get to the bathroom that I find the problem.
