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One
LIBRA
Darkness surrounds me, hot and suffocating, pressing in on all sides. I can’t see a thing, but the smells…the copper tang of blood and the hot afterburn of gunshots assault my nose. I curl into a tight ball, something hard at my back, and hold my breath. I’m tucked into a corner, bent awkwardly, and I hear footsteps echoing on the concrete floor. I roll my lips together, desperate not to make any sounds. I’d stop breathing if I could. Sweat trickles along my hairline, but I don’t dare swipe it away. Instead, I squeeze my eyes shut, biting my lower lip until it bleeds. Terror rolls through me in slow waves, threatening to drown me.
I’m hiding from a monster, and I know absolutely that my survival depends on not being found.
“El-iiii-za. El-iiii-za, where are you? It’s no use hiding. I’ll find you. I’ll always find you. You’re mine.”
The voice gets closer and closer. Any minute now, he’ll see me, he’ll yank me up by one arm and then it will all be over…
I bolt upright in bed, stiff as a board. Sweat is sticky at my temples and the small of my back, and the singsong voice still reverberates in my head. I’m frozen in the darkness, trying to get my bearings, when I remember where I am. In my tiny apartment in Haven’s Hollow, far away from Evan and all the things that happened between us.
It was just a dream.
That’s the fourth night in a row. Every time I think I’ve kicked this nightmare for good, it comes back and slaps me in the face. I shove away damp tendrils of hair and reach for my nightstand, where my phone rests. I check the clock: 6:43AM.
I take a deep stretch, loosening my aching muscles. I tense up when I have these dreams, and I always wake up sore. I’d rather get more sleep, especially since today is my day off, but there’s no way that’s going to happen now. I’d be haunted by Evan’s voice—and that awful memory—as soon as I drifted off. I might as well get up and get in a workout or something. A jog to clear my head, and then…who knows? Maybe I’ll stop by my bakery anyway. Make something special to counteract the pall that’s casting itself over my mood. Ooh, or I could take my bike out for a long ride. It’s been a while since I did that.
I throw on workout clothes and grab a handful of essentials, like my earbuds and keys, and head out. Haven’s Hollow is the perfect place for a morning jog: quaint, friendly, and with a low crime rate.
It’s a beautiful day outside, the sun just starting to rise. Main Street is quiet at this hour, but not completely empty. The diner—aptly named Knife, Fork, and Swoon—has a regular breakfast crowd going, and on the corner, the produce guys are unloading fresh lettuce at Haven’s Pantry. I take a deep breath and set out on my usual path, trying to sink into a sense of normality to wash away the unsettling dream.
All the same, a kernel of unease prickles along my spine. It’s for the same reason that the dreams have started again: I could swear I saw Evan last week as I jogged along this very route. I know that’s impossible. For one thing, he’s surely still in prison. For another, there’s no way he would look for me here. He’d be tracking Eliza Hightower, not Libra Cartwright. I don’t see how he could possibly have found me in Haven’s Hollow.
Still, I find myself inspecting every face I pass as I jog, searching out the familiar dark hair and startling green eyes, the sharp chin and dimples. The good looks that hide a rotten personality. Evan is like Snow White’s apple—appealing on the outside, poisonous on the inside, and I imagine prison hasn’t done much to improve him.
There’s a part of me that wanted to do an internet search on Evan as soon as I thought I saw him, but I talked myself down. I refuse to live in a state of paranoia—I won’t let him ruin my new life. Besides, I don’t want anything linking me to him, not even my internet history.
I shake away the thought of him and melt into the jog, my muscles going soft and smooth under the morning sun, and I’m feeling almost back to normal as I swing around the diner and head down a side street.
I wave at another jogger as we pass each other, and a renewed sense of lightness fills me. I love this town. It’s cute and charming, not the kind of place I could have imagined myself in a decade ago. If someone had told me at 17 that this would be my life now, I’d have either laughed or cried. Everything was so dark then, with Evan and my foster family and the drugs, that I couldn’t see my way out of it. Weirdly, it took sending a man to prison for me to find my path in life.
As I make my way around a corner, I spot my favorite house in all of Haven’s Hollow. I’ve made a point to pass it on every jog since I moved here. It’s a Victorian dream, all gingerbread trim and spindles galore.
It’s painted a glossy black with cotton candy-pink trim around all the windows. There are turrets and spires and odd little windows tucked into the eaves, and topping it all off is the front yard: a riot of roses, hydrangeas, and peonies, all in varying shades of pink. The town realtor, Laia Tahiri, is standing in the yard, tacking down a For Sale sign.
I screech to a halt right there on the sidewalk.
Laia matches the house in her own vintage-y way, with her long lavender hair styled in Veronica Lake waves and her fifties housewife-style dress.
“Laia!” I gasp. “Is it true? Is my dream home seriously for sale?”
She grins at me. “Just went on the market this morning. Mrs. McDevers has been in assisted living for years now. The family finally decided to part with the house. They collected their heirlooms and left the rest. It basically comes fully furnished with a ton of beautiful antiques.”
I’m pretty sure I’m making heart eyes like a cartoon. This is the best news I’ve heard in ages. I know Laia reasonably well, as she stops by the bakery regularly to keep her office stocked with pastries for her clients. We’ve chatted about this house on more than one occasion.
“You know I want this place. Can you email me the details when you have time? I’ll check it out as soon as I can.” I’m already mentally running through the details of my savings account, and wondering if I can secure a big enough loan to make this happen.
“Sure thing.” She glances at the house and then back at me. “This place suits you, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
She purses her full lips thoughtfully. “Well, you know how some people resemble their pets? Like they were meant to own that particular dog or cat or whatever, and over time, they’ve started to look alike? I think some people just…match their homes. And in this case, you and the house are a match.” She shrugs and laughs. “Who knows? Maybe it’s just a realtor thing.”
“Well, whatever it is, I love it. I just know this house is meant to be mine.”
“I’ll cross my fingers for you. And if you go to the bank, talk to Lauriel. She’s Haven’s cousin and she’ll do her best to help you however you can.”
