Darkness. Footsteps running after me. Smoke. Pain. Bloody bullet wounds. Hands grabbing for me, touching me. Grimy and painful and scary. Scaryscaryscary--

I woke up with a jerk, all groggy and tired, and my mouth quite frankly tasting like shit. Groaning, I lifted myself up with the help of my elbows and wished almost instantly to fall back down on the soft bedding beneath me and doze off for a few more minutes. Or maybe even an hour.

Sleep sounded so much nicer and safer than the reality that waited ahead. One that hit me like a bucket of ice-cold water when thin sharp needles pierced my skull. Something shifted from over me and the sudden cool air brushing against my bare shoulders only managed to worsen it all. I looked down and grimaced because I was naked beneath the crisp white hotel sheets.

A hotel room, I nearly groaned again and sat up fully, rubbing my hands down my face and trying to ignore the persistent heavy pounding in my head. It was painful and I hated it.

Only when it lessened a little that I bothered to look around the unfamiliar room I was in, trying to absorb my surroundings and the fact that I was all alone in here. Whoever that had been here with me last night, whoever I'd spent the night with in this very bed, had left already and the only signs of him ever even being here were the slight ruffles of the bedsheets on the other side of me.

Grabbing the sheets and pulling them over me, I decided that this wasn't the time to feel sorry for myself, and pulled up my knees against my chest, pressing my face into them. Trying to take deep breaths.

This was fine. It had to be. It wasn't like I'd never been here before. What won't, however, be fine is if I didn't go back home and face my family one last time before heading back to my university and my quiet little dorm.

"I can do it." I tried reassuring myself--which was a tad bit pathetic considering the current situation I was in--and leaned over the side of the bed, my stomach lurching with the sudden need to throw up every single poisonous thing that I'd consumed before passing out on this godforsaken bed.

My clothes were thrown all across the room in a haste that told me I must've been quite desperate to get laid. Seriously, what was wrong with me? Perhaps facing Michael last night had taken a much bigger toll on me than I'd thought.

My eyes darted towards the side table and I breathed out a tiny sigh of relief when I saw a full glass of water sitting right there, calling out to me. I snatched it and held it between both of my hands, lifting it to my lips and letting out a tiny pleased sigh when cool water met my parched throat. I emptied it in seconds and saw that that hadn't been the only thing occupying the otherwise empty side table.

There was also a torn piece of paper resting on the flat surface, right about to fall over, but I caught it just in time and pulled it closer to read. There wasn't anything much written on it though. It would only be bizarre to hope for heartfelt messages from my late-night hookups when I didn't even remember their faces once I was all sober.

There was a string of numbers scribbled right in between, a phone number, and there was a name written beneath it as well.

"Ardan," I read the name. I tried remembering if he'd told me his name last night when we'd both been drunk, but even if he had, I still couldn't make myself remember. I didn't even remember what he'd looked like. All I remembered were flashes of a smile--a carefree, boyish smile--sighs and moans and this desperation buzzing just beneath my skin as all the layers of clothes had come off.

I liked not to remember too much of my time spent under the haze of alcohol. Wasn't that the whole point of getting drunk? Forgetting everything for that one moment?

Sparing myself a few more peaceful minutes, I exhaled heavily before getting myself out of bed. I took a nice long shower, putting my clothes on and making sure I had my phone with me before leaving the hotel room.

Only when I was outside the hotel building and on the street did I shiver under the cool morning breeze and pulled the ends of my jacket closer to myself.

And then, for some reason, I looked down at the familiar dark jacket I was wearing and groaned out loud.

Fuck my life.

•••••

When I got back to my parent's house, I found myself gazing longingly at the house across from mine--one that looked quiet and empty now that no one really lived in there. Grace used to live there. She'd been with me the entire time I lived here in this town, been my first friend here when I'd known no one, been with me even during the aftermath of my cousin's death. She'd even been there with me in that underground cellar. Though she hadn't saved me, she couldn't have and I'd never blamed her. Ryder, I thought and my heart skipped a beat. Ryder was the one who'd saved me.

I sighed and let my gaze run across the other neighboring houses I could see on the street. It had been so long since the last time I talked to her. She'd left for college at the same time I had. It was a bit sad that I'd quite literally left everything behind when I moved to college.

Because everything right here reminded me of that dark cellar I'd been trapped in for minutes, hours, days, and it reminded me of Fraser and his carefree laughs and how I had found him dead in that dirty old alley. All horrible things that I wanted to pretend never happened.

Didn't we all run away from things that scared us?

"Alice, what are you doing out there?" I snapped my head towards my own house and saw Mom frowning at me from the balcony above. "I told you to fetch the stepladder from the shed, not go and loiter around the house."

I blinked twice and squinted up at her. "What?"

I found out exactly what when I stepped inside my house. Apparently, none of them, especially not my mother, had noticed me gone for the remainder of the night. Mom had been too busy preparing breakfast with Aunt Frannie to notice it and so she'd demanded me to go help out my stepdad in the backyard. Without knowing I wasn't even there.

I didn't bother correcting her.

"What do I need to help him with?" I asked her quietly as I leaned a little against the kitchen counter. There were stacks and stacks of blueberry pancakes right in front of me and my stomach grumbled. I was hungry, to be fairly honest, especially since last night's dinner had just been full of nerves and nothing else. I didn't think Mom would've let me touch the pancakes though, not when everyone else seemed asleep and not awake yet.

"He's fixing this broken bird feeder outside. Go now, he's been waiting for ages." She shooed me away.

I walked back outside to the tiny wooden shed and dragged out the stepladder with me, making out my stepdad standing right near the colorful bird feeders he'd installed in our backyard years ago.

That was my stepdad. He loved building and installing and fixing every inanimate object of furniture that we broke. I smiled endearingly when he saw me and waved.

"Andy." I greeted him. "How are you awake so early when everyone else is still asleep?"

He smiled back at me, grey eyes crinkling at the corners as he ruffled my freshly showered hair--something that he said he had to do because I was his kid and he did that to all his kids. I used to get annoyed at him for that but couldn't put up with the act for long when I just secretly loved when he did that. I didn't remember my time with my real dad, and after he and Mom had divorced, it had just been me and Mom for years.

Having a stepdad, one who cared as much as Andy was like a missing hollow space finally being filled in my sorry life. And I hadn't minded it at all when it wasn't just Andy, but two of his own kids--Alyssa and Matt.

I was a bit ashamed to say it but I hadn't always liked it when it had just been me and my mom in the house.

"Your mom's fully awake, pumpkin." He raised his brows. "And so is your aunt, as far as I can tell by their constant chatters."

I chuckled and watched as he pulled open the stepladder and shifted it under the broken bird feeder in question.

"So where've you been?" He asked me as he climbed on the ladder and held his hand out for the wood glue. I passed it to him. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

I was a bit slow to realize what exactly he was asking until almost a whole minute passed by.

"Oh." I blinked. "You'd noticed I was gone?"

He stopped whatever he was doing with the broken bird feeder and looked down at me, gaze squinting. "Of course, pumpkin. Your sister mentioned it first, though. I thought you'd left back for college without saying goodbye."

That was absurd because I knew I would never do that. But why hadn't Mom noticed then too? I sighed. "I was just...I went out. I haven't been here in a while and thought it'd be nice to catch up with some stuff." I felt particularly horrible about lying and I think something about it must've been obvious on my face since he smiled crookedly down at me.

"Well, at least I hope you enjoyed yourself," he said then grunted a little as he shifted on the ladder. I stepped forward and curled my fingers around one railing. "Though about that boyfriend of yours, how long have you been dating? I didn't get to ask last night."

The big, warm jacket that sat snug all around me felt like it weighed a ton all of a sudden. I glanced up at Andy as if expecting him to be giving a pointed look at it. At the jacket. At Ryder's jacket that I should've already given back to him by now.

"Almost three weeks?" I answered quietly, meekly.

Andy grinned down at me. "Was that a question?"

"No." I felt my face heating up. "You know how it's been with me since forever. I don't like counting the days because that makes me think I'll jinx it."

Not that I had a real relationship to jinx anyway.

"You won't, pumpkin. He just seemed a little familiar, is all. Is he from this town?"

"No."

"Okay." He nodded, then furrowed his brows as he gazed up at the bird feeder. "I must've been mistaken then. Besides, you seemed plenty happy with him, eh?"

I leaned a little against the ladder and tucked my chin into the collar of my jacket. It carried a whiff of that particular scent, one that could've been Ryder's or just nothing. God, I needed to stop.

Had I seemed happy last night? I wondered.

"Do you happen to know where my old violin is? I was looking for it in my cupboard but it's not there. Do you think Mom took it out?" I asked him, chancing a glance over my shoulder as if afraid Mom might jump out of the bushes any second. She wouldn't, obviously. She was still inside the kitchen and I could hear her talking to Aunt Frannie.

"Your what?" Andy asked.

"My...my violin." I flushed, shifting on my feet.

"Ah, that one." He looked down at me and I tried to stand still. "I thought you didn't play it anymore, pumpkin."

"I don't."

He looked sad now. I felt horrible because I didn't know what I'd said to make him look so sad.

"I didn't...it wasn't like I ever did," I added pathetically. Andy hadn't ever seen me play it so it wasn't like he knew much about it.

He sighed and gave a few experimental taps on the wooden feeder. It looked less broken and more fixed now. "I think your mother gave out a few boxes the other day. Old stuff that's not in use anymore, she said."

I must've paled since Andy stepped down the ladder and stared at me a little worriedly.

"She sent it away?" I asked her, stunned and horrified and not really able to believe it. Surely she wouldn't have done that. She wouldn't have thrown it away. She didn't hate it that much.

Of course, she does, a voice in my head pointed out. Smug and obvious. You know damn well how much she hated that thing.

"To your father," Andy replied carefully. "I think that's where the boxes went. They were all old stuff like I said. Maybe you should ask your mum, hm?"

To my father. "You mean..."

"Yeah." He shrugged. "Your dad visited a few weeks back. Maeve wasn't very...civilized, let's just say."

I grimaced even though it kind of hurt right then that my father--my biological father--had visited after years and no one had told me. Maybe he hadn't wanted to see me anyway. I'd been so little when they'd divorced that I barely remembered anything about him. Though he was still my father. It wasn't like how it was when most parents normally divorced. I only ever stayed with my mom and I'd never been to my dad's house. He'd never once asked me and I didn't think he ever wanted me to be there.

"Oh," I said and stuffed my hands inside the jacket pockets, fingers twitching until I felt a slip of folded paper inside. Surprised, I held it between two fingers but didn't take it out. At first, I thought I'd actually kept the phone number Ardan had left me back in the hotel room, but I knew I hadn't. I remembered perfectly well leaving it behind. So what was this then? I wondered. Had this been here before?

Andy squeezed my shoulder and started tugging the stepladder back towards the shed. "Talk with your mum, pumpkin. She'll be more help than I am."

I nodded even though he was already turning around and couldn't really see me. Once he'd stepped inside the old shed, I took out the slip of paper and stared at it. It wasn't mine obviously. I felt a bit guilty as I opened it, realizing that it must belong to Ryder since this jacket belonged to him as well, and I was mingling through stuff that wasn't mine.

I still opened it though because I couldn't not and found myself staring at a handful of numbers scribbled on the paper, half of them crossed out.

̶̶0̶̶7̶̶0̶̶1̶̶2̶0, ̶0̶7̶0̶3̶2̶0, ̶0̶7̶0̶7̶2̶1, ̶0̶7̶0̶9̶2̶1, ̶0̶7̶1̶0̶2̶2, 071122, 071222, 070123.

Dates, I realized a bit belatedly. Those could just be dates. The ones not crossed out were the ones that hadn't happened yet. The seventh of November was days away. What were these dates for?

All of a sudden, I had this strange--absurd--feeling that someone was watching me. It felt like a stare boring into the back of my neck, piercing and eerie and totally not how I'd expect Andy to act like.

Only that it wasn't Andy at all when I turned around. Andy wasn't staring at me because Andy wasn't even there. He was still inside the shed, mumbling and grumbling and moving things aside. No, the creepy feeling was still there but there wasn't anyone staring at me.

I looked around the yard, frowning at the street past the wooden fence surrounding our house. The street was empty, save for the newspaperman trudging from one house to another.

Anxiously, I rubbed the back of my neck and pulled my lower lip between my teeth. Someone was watching me.

No, I told myself. No.

Shuddering, I slipped the paper back inside the jacket and headed back inside the house.

"Pancakes," I murmured quietly to myself, reminding myself of the good, and trying so hard to ignore the fear in my gut. "Blueberry pancakes."