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Excuse any mistakes.

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HALEY

I woke up tangled in my sheets, drenched in sweat and choking on my breath.

Forcing myself to sit up, I willed the adrenaline surging through my veins to ebb. I placed a hand over my heart, feeling it pump twice as fast in panic. I shivered, feeling claustrophobic as I felt the all too familiar ache in my spine. I didn't dare close my eyes; the images of my nightmare were still imprinted on the backs of my eyelids.

Fingers trembling, I reached down and slowly unwrapped my legs from my sheets. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and glanced at the clock on my side-table. It was barely five in the morning, and I chuckled darkly. There was no way I could get back to sleep, even if I wanted to. My body was exhausted, but wide-awake.

Sighing, I stood up and stretched my arms over my head. My joints let a couple tired cracks, and I shook out my arms. The ache in my wrist was still there, distant and permanent. I suddenly became aware of how damp and cold my pajamas felt, clinging to my skin in the most uncomfortable places. The sweat had cooling, sitting on top of my pores, and I felt disgusting. Quickly, I peeled off my t-shirt and boxers, and I threw them in the corner of the room before crossing to my bathroom. I locked the door behind me.

When we moved into this house a couple weeks ago, Agent Denis—or Frank, as he told me to call him—gave me the master bedroom because it had its own bathroom that no one else could get to. He told me it would make me feel more secure and insisted I take it, even though I felt bad. However, Frank was right. Knowing that the only door to the bathroom was in my bedroom made me feel safe. No one could sneak in on me.

I squinted after flipping on the light, and I reached into the shower and turned it on. I made sure the hot water was on full blast before stepping under the spray. At first, the water stung, pelting my back like bullets, but I clenched my jaw and endured. A minute later, I was okay, and I started scrubbing myself with the bar of soap. I went from my head to my toes, rubbing my skin raw but clean. I was always scared there was still blood somewhere, even if I couldn't see it.

After washing my hair, I stayed there for I don't know how long, leaned against the tiled wall. Water rushed over my hair, spilling down my face, catching in my eyelashes. My fingers found the scar on my abdomen, puckered skin in a jagged oval, still in the process of healing.

I didn't realize the water had gone cold until I heard my teeth chattering.

The metal knobs squeaked as I turned them off, and I pushed back the shower curtain. Stepping onto the bathmat, I grabbed a semi-clean towel from a hook on the back of the door. Wrapping it tightly around my body, I leaned over the sink and wiped the steam from the mirror.

I wasn't used to myself, yet. After the first trial, Jared Shipman's, I was put into witness protection while they tried to catch Glasses. Part of the process was dying my dirty blonde hair dark brown and chopping it to just above my shoulders. The most jarring part was that my hair couldn't hide the scar on my chest anymore. Just on the left side of my collarbone, when Glasses was particularly aggressive. I thought that was the day I'd die, but I lasted another month.

I looked away and leaned down, quickly brushing my teeth as I tugged my towel higher on my chest. Then, I walked back into my bedroom and crossed to the big window. The sun was slowly rising over the trees in the front yard, turning the sky periwinkle.

I wish I could say the sky in North Carolina was different from the sky in the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. I wish I could say every time the sun set, I wasn't waiting for them to unlock the door and send me out into the woods again. But those would be lies. Wherever I go, it's the same sun, the same sky, and I have to push the memories away, hide them in the back of my mind. At least it was the sunrise, not the sunset.

Turning away from the window, I dropped my towel and changed into clean underwear. After two months in the same clothes, as weird as it was, clean underwear was the greatest feeling. Then, I opened my closet and pulled out a black t-shirt dress to change into. I thought about staying in my room for a while, but decided coffee would be the better option. As I walked out of my bedroom, I grabbed the plush throw blanket from the end of my bed and wrapped it around my shoulders.

As I padded down the upstairs hallway, I heard the gentle sound of snores coming from Frank's bedroom down the hall. I smiled sadly as I walked down the stairs. In a couple days, Frank had to head back to Washington D.C. for a case he was a witness in. The case was going to take at least a month, which meant I was getting a new agent. Today was the day he was arriving. Frank had been with me since I was admitted to the hospital after being rescued, and having him leave felt like a security blanket being ripped away.

I entered the kitchen and bee-lined to the coffeemaker. I put in the dark roast because it was Frank's favorite, and I leaned against the island while I waited for the coffee to slowly drip through the filter.

I glanced through the kitchen window to backyard. When Frank told me we were being relocated to North Carolina, he didn't tell me we'd be living on a house right on the ocean. So, when we got to Schooner Beach and I saw the long, wooden walkway that led to a sandy, private stretch of beach, I'd been taken by complete surprise. Being able to see the ocean from the house was incredibly calming; it was the opposite of the forest. It was open.

After a couple long minutes, I grabbed a mug and poured it right to the top. I took a small sip, letting the steaming liquid settle on my tongue with a quick burn. Drinking my coffee black was I habit I'd picked up from my mother.

"Morning, Haley."

I turned away from the window to see Frank entering the kitchen, yawning and rubbing the back of his head.

"Morning," I replied, smiling. I nodded at the pot. "I made some coffee if you want some."

"Is it the—"

"Dark roast," I finished, and Frank chuckled.

I handed him a mug from the cabinet and watched as he poured himself some coffee. Unlike me, he always added cream and sugar.

"Do you want some eggs?" Frank asked, opening the refrigerator to grab breakfast ingredients.

"Yes, please," I replied, smiling appreciatively.

Frank learned early on that I wasn't kidding when I told him I couldn't cook, so if we weren't eating takeout, he'd be the one manning the pots and pans. With my mug in one hand and my blanket clasped firmly in the other, I climbed onto one of the chairs at the kitchen island.

Frank hummed as he turned on the stove and placed a frying pan on the front burner. First, he put a generous pad of butter in the pan and let it melt. Then, he cracked five eggs in the pan: two for me and three for him. Frank stirred the eggs around until they became semi-cooked. Then, he added chopped spinach and red bell pepper. Another minute, and the eggs were done and steaming on a plate in front of me.

"Thank you," I said, and he nodded. I scooped a decent bite of eggs up with a fork and put it in my mouth. Frank was no Gordon Ramsay, but I would never take food for granted again.

"So," Frank grunted, sitting in the chair next to me, "Ready for your interview today?"

"Yeah," I replied through a mouthful of eggs, shrugging. "I can't really imagine there'll be a lot of zingers."

"You never know; librarians can be tricky beasts."

I laughed quietly and took another sip of coffee. Today, I was interviewing at the Schooner Beach library for a part-time position. It was nothing complicated; just checking out and re-shelving books. After two weeks of hanging out in this house, though, I just needed something to do. I needed a distraction, and Frank assured me it would be safe. When I saw the job at the library, it seemed like a good option. Before... before everything happened, I'd been in college for literature. Not anymore, though, so this was a good way to get back into it.

"I'll be sure to watch out for the literary trick questions," I murmured, and I glanced over at Frank. "Are you ready for your interview today?"

Frank rolled his eyes. "I'm not the one who should be worried."

While I was interviewing at the library, Frank was meeting the new FBI agent at a coffee shop across the street. Apparently, he wasn't the friendliest of men. I even overheard Frank on the phone with someone a couple days ago, demanding a different agent. I tried to keep my nerves at bay. If he was an FBI agent, even a cold one, he was still on my side. At least, he was supposed to be.

"What's his name, again?" I asked.

"Owen Hamilton."

"And why don't you like him?"

Frank sighed. "Agent Hamilton can be a pig-headed son-of-a-bitch," he said, "But he's a good agent who dedicates himself. He just has to get over himself first."

"Oh, okay." I could tell Frank heard the apprehension in my voice because he smiled at me and put a hand on my shoulder.

"Don't worry, Haley," he stated firmly, "I won't let him take over for me unless I believe he is right for the job."

I nodded, but his words didn't make me feel much better.

Frank finished the last bit of his eggs and stood up. He took my empty plate and carried the dirty dishes to the sink. I drank the rest of my coffee and shrugged off my blanket, leaving it hanging off the back of the chair as I brought my mug to the sink.

"You cooked, so I can clean," I said, grabbing for the sponge. Frank pulled it from my reach.

"Nope," Frank replied. I reached for the sponge again, and when he wouldn't give it to me, I sighed.

"Please, Frank. You're treating me like a fragile thing."

Frank grunted and reluctantly handed me the sponge. We'd made an agreement after he'd been first assigned to protect me. I would adhere to his rules of safety, and he wouldn't treat me like a china doll that was about to break. I didn't want to see my trauma in his eyes, or worse: pity. Whenever he got like this, not letting me do chores or treating me to things, I had to remind him of what he agreed to. I think I reminded him of his daughter, a nice woman named Michelle with two young kids. We'd never met, but I'd seen pictures.

"I'm going to go up to my office to tie up a couple loose ends," Frank muttered, leaving me to clean the dishes. "I'll be ready to take you to the library at 9."

I nodded as I scrubbed at a stubborn piece of egg in the pan, and I heard Frank leave the kitchen. I knew he was stressed. The court case he was going back for wasn't supposed to be for a couple more months, but it suddenly got moved up. He had a lot of old paperwork he had to go through and submit, while also preparing for his testimony. I also knew he was stressed about leaving me. I tried my best to hide that I was also stressed about that. It wasn't his fault.

After finishing the dishes, I grabbed my blanket and headed into the living room. I curled up on the L-shaped couch and turned on the TV, switching to the local news. I watched a perky woman talk about the weather for a couple minutes before changing to NBC news. I never used to watch the news, and I don't know why I did now. Maybe I was looking for some glimpse of the faces that haunted me each night. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want them dead.

For two hours, I flipped between different news channels until I gave up on hearing anything relevant towards myself. I ended up leaving the TV on the food network, where there was a Chopped marathon. I think I dozed off somewhere in the middle because one moment, they were cooking with gummy bears and hot sauce, and the next, it was dessert with garlic.

"Alright, Haley. You ready?"

Frank walked into the living room, now changed into a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. I yawned and nodded, and I climbed off the couch. I followed Frank to the front door, where he grabbed the car keys and I stepped into a pair of sandals. We walked out into the North Carolina heat and across the yard to Frank's blue pickup truck. I slid into the passenger side, and rolled down the window as Frank backed up into the street.

The breeze ruffled my hair, immediately drying the still damp waves, and I closed my eyes. Frank was humming along to the classic rock radio station next to me, and I felt him reach over and pat my shoulder.

"Remember your cover, alright?" he said gently.

"I will," I replied, opening my eyes and looking at him. "Haley White, not Haley Price."

I knew Frank felt bad having to remind me of my cover, but I didn't mind pretending to be someone else. In fact, pretending to be someone who'd never had an abnormal, traumatic event in her life was preferred. It was like I was seven and playing make believe again.

Frank drove us to the town center of Schooner Beach, and he parallel parked at the curb in front of one of the town store fronts. When we moved her, Frank explained that we were relocated to Schooner Beach because it was small enough where he could keep an eye on me, but big enough that our arrival wouldn't draw much attention. Plus, he always requested warm places because he hated the cold.

"Alright," Frank said as we unbuckled, "I'm heading to Joanie's to meet Agent Hamilton. Call me, and I'll be there immediately."

"I know the drill," I replied, giving him a reassuring smile.

I climbed out of the car and waved at him before turning and heading a couple doors down to the library. I knew Frank was watching to make sure I made it in. I opened the door to the library, a wave of air conditioning immediately hitting me, and I wished I'd brought a cardigan or something. Hugging myself, I hurried from the doorway to the circulation desk. An elderly woman was standing there, typing on the computer while occasionally scanning books' barcodes.

"Excuse me?" I asked quietly as I approached.

"Yes?" the woman replied, glancing over the rim of her glasses at me.

"I'm here to interview for the part-time position," I said, and the woman didn't respond. "Um, I applied a couple days ago, and I got a call to come in this morning for an interview with Mrs. Malcolm."

"Haley White." It wasn't a question, and I nodded. The woman smiled at me and stepped out from behind the desk. "I'm Mrs. Malcolm, dear. It's nice to meet you."

Mrs. Malcolm held out a hand and smiled warmly at me. My whole body relaxed, and I shook her hand gratefully. Her wrinkled hands were unexpectedly soft, which was strangely comforting. She gestured as a nearby table.

"Shall we talk?"

"Here?" I replied, and I glanced around, "I don't want to disturb any of the patrons."

Mrs. Malcolm winked at me. "Don't worry; we'll be quiet."

I felt myself smile, and I followed Mrs. Malcolm over to the table.

Overall, the interview took maybe twenty minutes. It felt more like a casual conversation than anything. She asked me about my favorite books, why I wanted to work at the library, and things like that. We barely touched on anything affected by my cover, only her asking how long I'd be in Schooner Beach. I told her for the foreseeable future, seeing as I was here until they found Glasses. By the end of our conversation, Mrs. Malcolm was shaking my hand and telling me that I would start next Monday.

"I'll see you in five days, Haley," Mrs. Malcolm said warmly, and she squeezed my hand for a moment before letting go.

"See you then!" I replied, grinning.

I waved goodbye as I walked out of the library, and I felt the flutter of pride in my ribs. I'd gotten a job, and it felt like a huge step towards the normalcy I'd lost. By the time I was crossing the street towards Joanie's, I was practically floating and bursting to tell Frank.

I stepped up on the sidewalk and approached the window-front of Joanie's. As I reached for the door, I caught sight of Frank. He was sitting facing the street, and sitting across from him was presumably Agent Hamilton. I didn't notice much about Agent Hamilton, other than his light brown hair, because I was too focused on the frown Frank had. I couldn't read it; it wasn't exactly angry or frustrated. I wasn't sure what to make of it.

Suddenly, he looked up and saw me. I waved awkwardly, and he nodded at me. I took this as an okay to come in, and I pulled open the door. A pair of bells rung as I crossed the threshold, and I walked tentatively to Frank's table. As I approached, Agent Hamilton turned and I got my first look at his face.

Dark eyes, a strong jaw, and a little bit of stubble. He was handsome, but that wasn't my first thought looking at him. No; unlike Frank, I could read Agent Hamilton like a book.

He was pissed. 

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I was going to give you Owen's POV in this chapter, but I really started to get into Haley. Owen's will be next chapter, but you still got a sneak peek. 

Please comment. I'm desperate for you validation. 

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