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My heart leaps into my throat when I find him still standing in the exact same spot, staring after me as if he has just seen a ghost. Which, ironically, is a very accurate description of who I am.
I slide into the driver’s seat, my wet clothes sticking to the fabric and my soaked shoes squeaking. With my heart thudding in my chest, I fumble with the keys to start the car.
He can’t have recognized me.
He can’t.
It was six years ago, and I looked nothing like this back then. My hair, my eyes, even the way I carry myself is different now.
Starting the car, I throw it into reverse and then flick a glance up at the rearview mirror.
My heart stops.
A pair of blue-gray eyes stare back at me.
Myrealeyes.
Only a few minutes ago, I was trapped underwater. I didn’t panic then. But I do now.
Terrible, searing panic crackles through my every vein as I stare at my own eyes in the rearview mirror. The brown contacts I wore must have washed out because I kept my eyes open for so long underwater. No one else was close enough to me to notice.
Buthedid.
2
RICO
Igasp and shoot up from the bed, my hand already closing around the gun in the drawer of my nightstand before my mind can catch up. My heart pounds in my chest and sweat trickles down my spine. Holding the gun straight, I flick my gaze around the room.
Only my dark bedroom stares back at me.
Reality trickles back in.
A nightmare.
Forcing out a long breath, I try to slow my thundering heart while I return the gun to my nightstand. The drawer closes with a soft thud. I draw a hand through my hair and then around the back of my neck, wiping away the beads of sweat. After dragging in another deep breath, I lie back down on the now rumpled sheets.
It has been months since the last time that nightmare plagued my sleep. But it’s always the same. Because it’s not really a nightmare at all. It’s a memory.
Six years ago, I was sleeping in my bed back in the grand mansion my parents used to own when a flash of danger suddenly pulsed through my subconsciousness. I shot upright and snapped my eyes open.
And found myself staring down the barrel of a gun.
I opened my mouth to sound the alarm. But before I could, the person holding the gun pushed the muzzle of the silencer hard against my forehead. I still remember how cold it was as it dug into my skin. I froze. Remaining completely motionless on my bed, I slid my gaze up to the person standing next to it.
Even after all these years, I can still feel the shock that pulsed through me when I realized that it was a girl, ateenager, who couldn’t be older than I was at the time. She was wearing black clothes and the room was dark, so I could barely make out her features. Except for her eyes. Light from the lamps in our garden outside the window shone through the gap in my blinds and illuminated her eyes.
For as long as I live, I will never forget those eyes. They were blue-gray. Cold. And hard. Like a merciless storm-swept sea.
And in that moment, I realized that I was going to die.
The silencer of her gun was pressed directly against my forehead. She could pull the trigger before I could even open my mouth to scream or lift my hands to try to fight her off. In hindsight, I know that I should probably have been terrified at that point. But all I felt was disappointment and bitter resignation.
Something, some kind of emotion, had flickered in her eyes then. But I never found out what it was because the faint sound of a gun with a silencer being fired came from down the hall. Then another only a second later.
At that point, I still hadn’t realized that those two gunshots had been two other people executing my parents. All of my attention had been on the girl holding the gun to my own head. I know that I should probably have at least tried to fight back, but all I did was to sit there in my bed and hold her gaze.
Three seconds after that second gunshot, she made her own move.
