“Deal! I’ll have your favorite peach sponge waiting.”
Hanging up from Christina, I realized I needed to take more breaks from the big city. With Peter working away, there was nothing keeping me in the city over the weekends. Unfortunately for Christina, she had moved here for love. Shortly after they settled in Maine, fractures began to show in their relationship. When Christina got pregnant with Evie, those fractures turned into deep cracks that couldn’t, or wouldn’t heal. Christina had tried her best to keep her budding family together, but Damian had eyes and hands elsewhere. Three days before Christina went into a thirty-six-hour labor, her husband had packed his belongings and left without so much as a goodbye. He disappeared off the grid, most likely with his fling, and hadn’t made any contact or expressed any desire to see his newborn baby girl, hence the name Dickhead Damian. Christina was an independent woman, and she had picked herself back up knowing her daughter needed stability.
She was a woman I admired for her strength and courage. Two things I was currently lacking.
Catching up with my girlfriend was exactly what I needed.
~
The delicious aroma of Bolognese filled the kitchen causing my stomach to growl in hunger. I had slept through lunch, lost in a deep slumber, and when I awoke it was dark outside. Mrs. Harper had come knocking and left a slice of apple crumble in a Tupperware container on the porch table with a note. I felt a pang of guilt that I hadn’t made an effort to see her, but my body practically begged for sleep. With some music playing softly in the background and a glass of wine, already almost empty, I felt better than I had in weeks. Singing to Fleetwood Mac’s, Gypsy, a CD already in my parents’ stereo, I stirred the homemade tomato and basil sauce into the beef.
Outside, the weather had taken a turn. What was a beautiful morning had welcomed an evening storm, carrying with it flashes of lightning, rumbling thunder and vicious winds. Holding the wooden spoon close to my mouth, I blew on a small amount of mixture. Steam billowed as the trees outside angrily scratched at the windows. Before I could taste my creation, I was startled by something hitting the glass French doors only a few yards from where I was standing.
“Shit!” I cursed myself for jumping. In my fright, the mixture had fallen off the spoon and splashed back into the pan. Little red spots marked my white shirt. Rookie error 101—wearing white while making Bolognese. Resting the wooden spoon on the pan’s edge, I rounded the counter to inspect the window. Whatever had hit, had hit with force, a small crack forming in the pane. Outside the wind howled, the trees bending, and all sorts of objects were acting as projectiles.
“Damn it!” Running my fingers over the fracture, I could feel the slightly jagged grooves. I would have to organize its repair before my parents were due home. A flicker of movement on an otherwise static figure a few yards beyond the door stilled me. A movement unrelated to the ferocious weather. It unearthed a wave of panic, a sickening dread. Frozen in place, I stared ahead, straining against the darkness to see once again what had caused my reaction.
All I needed was a fraction of a second.
With a flash of lightning, I saw his face. The face of a monster. A sinister smile told me he’d been successful in the hunt. Within a blink, he was plunged back into darkness.
Mason Carter was standing on the porch.
Blood drained from my face. I staggered away from the door, deciding between flight or fight. There was no escape. He’d always find me. Wherever I went, he’d either follow or be ten steps ahead. Trembling, I patted my pockets searching for my cell.
“Where is it?” I scolded myself for not keeping it close.
The living room exploded with glass that ricocheted like violent rain toward me. Shrieking, I dropped to the floor, covering my face. The palm-sized rock came to rest on the rug beside me.
Swallowing fear, I waited, my gaze locked to the darkness outside. I expected him to make an entry, to continue his hateful tirade, to settle the score believing I had betrayed the promise to keep quiet.
“Mason!” I yelled, my voice quaking. Outside the wind howled and a deep rumble of thunder sounded above. “Mason, you need to stop.”
Nothing.
There was no response. When the sky lit up once more, the lights in the house went out.
“Jesus! Don’t do this,” I pleaded to the universe. Panicked, I backed up toward the chaise sectional couch, hugging my knees to my chest. A booming clap of thunder that sounded more like battling machine guns cracked directly above. An involuntary shriek escaped my lips, tears prickling my eyes. The house shook in the thunder’s aftermath, my body trembling in sync. A blinding flash of lightning violently cut through the darkness revealing an empty porch. Mason was no longer there. At least when he was in front of me, I knew where he was.
To my right next to my pot of Bolognese, the parmesan cheese bag lit up in a dull glow, a stark comparison to the sinister darkness surrounding me.
My cell!
Feeling an inch of hope return, I scrambled to my feet, the vibrating beckoning me with urgency. Reaching over the counter, I pushed the cheese aside and briefly saw Peter’s name on the screen before the call ended. With fumbling hands, I attempted to unlock the screen by connecting the dots in a backward L. Each try, the dots turned red denying me access.
“Oh, come on! Just—”
“Gemma!” The man’s voice called behind me, his shoe crunching on the broken glass. I jumped, almost choking on my heart, my cell somersaulting from my hands before thudding onto the counter. Snatching the chef’s knife from the cutting board, I turned with a new-found determination to end this once and for all. The blade glinted as I moved it toward the face of the man before me.
“Whoa!” Two hands raised in surrender as he took a step back. “Whoa! It’s just me, Gerald Harper from next door.” The older man in his early seventies spoke calmly, his placid demeanor wracking me with guilt.
Pulling the knife away, I tossed it on the counter like it had burned my hand. “Mr. Harper, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right, love. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that. You are…” He hesitated. “You seem a bit jumpy.” Mr. Harper pointed to the knife on the counter.
“Yeah, I saw someone standing on my porch. They threw a rock through the door.”
Turning on his flashlight, he shone the light on the broken glass.
“Yeah, we heard the smash. That’s why I’m here. Probably the kids that just moved in a block away. The family is new to these parts of town. Not the desirable type, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know,” I agreed, happy to brush it off.
“Never mind, love. I’ll organize to have this fixed for you in the morning. I’ve got some glass and a cutter in the shed.”
“That’s real sweet of you, Mr. Harper.”
“Ah, nonsense,” he dismissed. “It’s what neighbors do. Now, Glenys said you’re to use the spare room tonight until we get this place cleaned up.”
My heart both swelled and pounded at the same time. It was so lovely to have such caring people around me, and even more the reason why I feared for them. I couldn’t put the Harpers at risk if Mason came back for round two.
“That’s very generous of you both, and please thank Mrs. Harper, but I’ll be fine here. Plus, I’ve made an ungodly mess in the kitchen.”
Mr. Harper looked to the ground, not expecting my refusal. “Well, I don’t think this storm is going to let up anytime soon, so we’ll keep the back door unlocked if you decide to come over.”
“Thank you,” I said, touching his arm gently. “And thank you for coming over to check on me.”
“All right then, I’ll see you in the morning to fix the door. Night, Gem.”
“Goodnight, Mr. Harper.”