 
It Takes a Killer

Natalia Hale

Copyright 2016 by D. Miles

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License notes

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Cover photography copyright Aleshyn_Andrei/Shutterstock.com

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

It Takes a Killer

It takes one to know one.

The classic childhood taunt has become a haunting reminder to Hannah Best. After killing a man that attempted to mug her, Hannah is labeled a killer, even if it was an accident. The small town she grew up in now sees her in a new, deadly light, as does someone else.

Hannah's recent ascent to infamy in Garnet's Lake has attracted the attention of someone in town, someone just as dangerous as she is. The people that have wronged her in the past begin to show up dead, with notes that hint there's more to her than even she knows, and someone plans on showing her a dark new world.

The police begin to investigate Hannah for murder, treating her more like a hostile suspect than innocent victim. She starts to wonder where she stands on the line between good and evil, and if her loyalties lie with the police that want to convict her, or the killer that wants to help her.

## Also by Natalia Hale

It Takes a Killer

Coming Soon

To Know a Killer

## Prologue

Hannah wasn't breathing. Her mouth was open, her lungs and brain were aware of the lack of oxygen moving through her system, but she wasn't breathing. She wasn't thinking. Her muscles had moved on their own, an instinct had taken over.

Survive.

And she did. Hannah survived, as did her closest friend, Mariana, who still lay on the ground behind her. But someone didn't survive.

The nameless man that no longer had a face. Hannah's eyes fell to the blood the splattered across the brick wall beside her and the long red trail that dripped towards the ground. She looked into the large hole she had just created in the man's skull, and then to the gun in her hands. His gun, originally, that she had someone gotten hold of in the scuffle. All she wanted to do was make him let go of Mariana and yet...

"Hannah?" Mariana mumbled. There was a gash on her head.

Hannah sucked in a sudden breath and let go of the gun. It was black and heavy, heavier than Hannah thought a gun would be. The weapon hit the ground with a loud clatter, one that barely registered in Hannah's mind. The light from the nearby streetlamp cast shadows all around them, and the gun seemed to disappear inside them.

"Hannah what did you do?" Mariana questioned. Her eyes squinted at the man, slumped against the side of the building. The very hotel Hannah worked at.

"I just...I just...wanted him to let go," Hannah stammered. The more she thought about what had just happened the more she realized it had only been a matter of seconds. It had felt like a century between the time the man grabbed Mariana's arm and demanded their paycheck to when Mariana said Hannah's name. "I didn't mean..." Her words trailed off as she looked back at the man.

Mariana nodded and blinked rapidly. Her mouth moved up and down as she scooted backwards in the alleyway grime before it snapped shut, her lip quivering.

A loud bang erupted in the alley, exactly like the one that Hannah had just caused when she pulled the trigger. Hannah leapt backwards and fell to the ground as two men came out of the kitchen. Their coats were a pristine white, and all Hannah could think about was how blindingly good they looked compared to her black, now bloodied, coat. The good guys wore white and the bad guys wore black...that's how simple it was at that moment to Hannah. Even Mariana was wearing a long white trench coat to keep the misty evening from ruining her dress.

Hannah blinked up at the men, unable to recall their names even though she'd worked with them for years.

"What happened?" one asked. The head chef, the one that saved the Lux Hotel from going out of business.

"Dane," Mariana said. Her voice was quivering just as much as her bottom lip.

Dane came forward, a strand of his normally perfect hair falling out of place. He didn't seem to care that he'd just stepped into scattered drops of blood, and that there was more beginning to seep towards him from the body. "Mariana, Hannah, what happened? Who did this?"

Mariana looked towards Hannah, eyes wide.

Don't say it, Hannah begged silently. Don't say it out loud.

"Hannah did," Mariana confirmed. Her voice cracked. "Hannah shot him when he pushed me." She broke into tears, covering her face with dirty hands. The other man that had come outside rushed to her side but Dane only turned towards Hannah.

His grey gaze weighed a thousand pounds on her shoulders. Of all things, of all nervous, panicked habits Hannah could have, she had the worst of all. She laughed.

A smile was on her lips as Dane tilted his head at her.

She said, "I guess I did, didn't I?" She looked at her unknown assailant. "I did do that."

By the time Hannah made it home the next morning the world had already heard of what she'd done. And while her name was kindly kept out of the papers thanks to her uncle being the editor, it didn't stop mouths from moving. She didn't know who talked, but someone did, and they were talking all about her. She hadn't made it into her apartment before her neighbours were asking about what had happened.

"You're all right?" Mr. Denali asked, Pomeranian in hand as he shuffled towards Hannah. Her keys hung in the lock, but her hand wouldn't turn. The weight reminded her of what had happened earlier and it made her freeze. Or maybe it was the way Chuckles growled at her. Mr. Denali gave the dog a bop on the head before turning to her. "He must be able to smell it."

"Smell what?" Hannah wondered.

Mr. Denali squinted through his thick glasses. He looked her up and down, the previous worry he had gone. The paper clothes she'd been given felt like a beacon, a bright flashing warning light. "Why the blood, of course, silly girl. I'm sure the police took your clothes but that kind of thing doesn't leave a person. It sticks to them—stains them." He took a step back as Chuckles snapped his jaws at her. Hannah flinched even though she could punt the dog like a football.

Without another word Hannah turned the key and rushed inside, slamming the door behind her. She heard Mr. Denali do the same, the chain rattling as he shoved it into place. Hannah sunk to the ground, eyes closed.

The image of the man, Pierre Belleveau, sinking in the exact same way flashed in her mind. Her heart thumped hard against her ribs at the memory, the way the alley smelled of smoke and thrown away leftovers. How the sky was dull but illuminating...how strong she felt holding that gun.

Hannah shivered and stood. Not strong, she thought, safe. She felt safe because Belleveau no longer had the gun. Because he no longer had the weapon that was threatening her friends life. Hannah nodded affirmatively, but there was a voice nagging at the back of her mind. A voice she wasn't going to deal with today. Quickly standing, Hannah all but ran to her room and fell into bed, choosing to sleep away her nightmare. If anything she was the victim, and she knew that's what everyone would think. As much as she hated the idea that people would pity her, it was better than the alternative; thinking she'd killed Belleveau on purpose.

But Garnet's Lake was a small town, and small towns were filled with people that didn't like anything considered "big city". And a mugging gone wrong, even if the assailant was the one wronged...that was big city. Hannah clutched her pillow to the paper shirt she was given after the police took her clothes. It crinkled, reminding her of the hospital gown she'd had to wear when she had her wisdom teeth removed. Of course when that had happened Mariana was at her bedside talking about all the benefits of surgery—and happily eating Hannah's bowl of ice cream. Mariana couldn't even look at her before the police arrived to take them both away—Mariana to the hospital and Hannah to the station.

There was a moment that Hannah thought if she went to visit Mariana that she wouldn't be allowed to see her. Not because it was only family allowed to visit, but because Mariana didn't want to let Hannah see her. Hannah let out a heavy breath, tickling the light brown strands that had fallen in front of her face. Slowly her eyelids fell, and a sense of calmness overtook her. She hadn't felt so calm in a long time, and she didn't know what to make of it. She assumed it was exhaustion flooding through her body at everything—at a hard day at work, at the fact that her car still wouldn't start, at the fact that she'd just killed a man.

Eventually it all melted away as Hannah sank into her bed.

The next day Hannah awoke to a banging on her front door. It was authoritative, impossible to ignore. She would have thought it was the police if she hadn't grown up listening to the same sound.

Hannah climbed out of bed and shuffled her way to the door, eyes bleary and all thoughts of yesterday out of her mind. It had felt like she'd only been asleep for five minutes, but as the sun crept across the carpet she knew it was mid-afternoon. Another bang on the door made Hannah jump, the sound of a gun going off in her head.

"Hi Dad," Hannah said as she opened the door. Jonathan Best stepped into her apartment with his usual sneer. While he looked around her home for the fourth time since she moved in, Hannah was too distracted to care. "Mariana? You're here?"

"They let me out an hour ago," she said. "I wanted to check on you."

"She tried calling you to pick her up but you weren't answering your phone," Jonathan stated.

"The police took it," Hannah said.

"Why?" he asked. He turned to her, his sneer fading and slowly being replaced with worry for his daughter. It was common for him to get angry first, and then grow more and more concerned as he calmed down.

"Do you really want to know?" Hannah questioned. She thought he could have guessed the reason.

Jonathan's non-questioning ways took over then, and he kept his mouth shut. Like his parents had always taught him, asking questions led people down dark roads—roads they didn't want to go down, roads they shouldn't go down.

Roads that led them to Hell.

Mariana stepped inside and Hannah shut the door. She was tempted to put the chain over the frame but she thought that might give the wrong idea. Garnet's Lake was a safe town, filled with safe people that could leave their doors unlocked. Hannah could still remember when she'd been willing to accept a ride home from literally anyone that asked, and when she showed up on her doorstep both her parents thanked the kind person with a plate of cookies. When had it changed to the kind of place you got mugged heading home from work?

"The police don't think you did anything wrong," Mariana told her, drawing Hannah out of her thoughts.

"Oh?" Hannah mumbled.

"There were camera's," Mariana went on, clutching her purse to her side. Her knuckles were white as she spoke. "So they saw everything. I thought they would have told you."

"They did," Hannah replied. "Kind of. The detectives said they could tell what happened...but they still had to take everything I had on me." She looked down at the pale green clothes she'd been given. Hannah held up one finger before walking away, painfully aware of the crinkling her clothes made and the fact that her father must have known what that meant; that she'd been covered in another person's blood.

That his little girl had taken a life. Hannah didn't need to wonder why her mother wasn't with him.

When Hannah finished changing into a fresh pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt she noticed something in the mirror. It had been hidden beneath her bangs well enough, but as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail she could feel it—the drops. The dried, cracking spots of blood that had infiltrated everything she thought about for the past twelve hours. She'd thought after she gave up her clothes, after she'd washed her hands and face at the station, that she was clean, for lack of a better word. But there they were, scattered throughout her shoulder-length hair with a kind of obviousness in every children's Where's Waldo book. Once she saw them they were all she could see.

Hannah licked her lips and looked at her closed door. She couldn't hear her father's echoing voice, or Mariana's obnoxious laughter at all of his jokes. It was as if they were both still standing in the exact places Hannah had left them, tall statues that would never speak again. Her heart skipped a beat and she turned back to the mirror.

Using her nails Hannah picked out what blood she could see. She let it get stuck beneath the cherry polish Mariana had picked out especially for her, and the fact that the flakes fell to her navy blue carpet didn't bother her. She'd vacuum them up later, she promised herself. It wasn't like dried blood would stain a dark carpet anyway. A nervous smile was on her lips the entire time.

Stepping back into the hallway with fresh clothes and her hair tied back made Hannah feel like a new person. Refreshed and in a way, better. Stronger, more secure. She felt as if things would be okay now that she wasn't wearing that ridiculous paper outfit. But when she walked back into her living room, she knew that wasn't the case.

The photos of flowers and family and friends still hung on the walls, and though the sunlight had dimmed considerably in the few minutes she'd been gone, it was still there. The old magazines she'd been meaning to throw away were still scattered on her glass coffee table, the medical journals and horror novels still sat happily on her bookshelves on either side of the television. But the fact that something hadn't changed in her absence was exactly what bothered her.

Mariana and her father really were in the same place as before. Mariana stood near the door with her bag clutched even harder in her hand, and Hannah's father, though his sneer gone, was still beside the couch, hands in his pockets. If it weren't for the fact that his hair had been smoothed, and Mariana had grown paler, Hannah wouldn't have even thought they could breathe.

"How about I make some tea?" Hannah suggested. She smiled, trying not to make her teeth show, but she kind of wanted to. She wanted to smile as wide as she could, because she was still alive. Her best friend in the universe was still alive because of her actions. How could she be unhappy about that?

Jonathan nodded once, a habit he'd always had since he was in the Navy. Mariana's lips pursed and she gave a small, "Mm-hm."

As Hannah moved towards the kitchen Mariana spoke louder. "How about we go out? It's just sort of...small in here."

Hannah furrowed her brow in exactly the same way as Jonathan. Too deeply for a woman, according to her mother. It gave Hannah's dark eyes too serious a gaze...too judging. Too predatory. Hannah let out a little gasp at that thought and nodded her agreement; one nod was all she could manage. She checked the rose-gold watch around her right wrist. "You're right. How about Stormi's?"

Mariana let out a long breath. "I could really go for one of her chocolate scone's."

Stormi's was a quaint little ice cream shop that served just about whatever was ordered. While their logo was a white cloud atop an ice cream cone, they would give you a pasta plate with breadsticks if you asked. And because of that fact it was always bustling with people trying to trip up the staff—though it hadn't happened since the hot-sauce fiasco of 1948. It was always loud, with kids and adults alike making as complicated an order as they could. Hannah had never given the noise much thought, because she liked it. It was nice to hear some noise after living in such a silent household.

So when she walked through the front doors of Stormi's and the only thing she heard was the echo of the little bell over her head her heart nearly stopped. She felt it skip a beat, a temporary lapse in judgment at the presence of perceived danger.

All eyes were on her. Every single person in the cafe, customer and staff alike were watching her, Mariana, and her father walk inside. But while she could smell Mariana's flowery perfume, and even taste the cigarette her father and snuck in on the way over, no eyes were on them.

Hannah's shadow was cast across the counter in the evening sun. It seemed to take up more space than anything else in the room, and she felt as if being there she was darkening the happy parlour at its busiest time of day. But when no children burst into tears at the sight of her, and nobody ordered her out while holding a cross to her forehead, she moved forward.

Hannah flicked her ponytail back and made sure her head was held high. Her parents didn't raise her to shy away from a challenge, but they didn't raise her to challenge others either. It felt like the town was challenging her, and in response, she challenged back.

"Are you coming Mariana? Dad?" she asked when she noticed there was no sound of footsteps behind her. She didn't face them; it felt like she would lose a staring contest if she did. And Hannah had never lost one of those to anyone but her father.

Hannah all but marched past the long row of ice cream flavours and small, eager children. She marched past the parents and their not so subtle gawking, as well as the elderly patrons that looked either pitying or oblivious. She marched to the tables reserved for veterans on the opposite end of the diner, taking the same seat she had always taken as a child. Jonathan and Mariana were only a few feet behind, more disturbed than she was by the stares. But when they each sat down across from her, picked up a menu, and began to read, whispers began to rush through the crowd. Before Hannah knew it the parlour was back to it's usual decibel, and her heart finally gave her ribcage a chance to heal. Hannah let out a breath.

"That was dramatic," Jonathan stated. There was a little smirk on his lips, the one he only got when he was reminded of something from his time serving his country. Hannah had only ever seen it when he had his navy buddies over or when they visited the cemetery. It had never been directed at her, and she thought he might have been proud of the way she didn't shy away and hide. Hannah knew she had nothing to hide, but as much pleasure as she had gotten by winning whatever had just happened, she didn't like how it had affected Mariana.

"Do you need to use the washroom?" Hannah suggested over the table. Mariana was even paler than before. She'd never been one to love attention, unless it was from a boy telling her she was pretty. Hannah hated what she had just made her friend go through.

Mariana nodded and stood. Hannah could practically hear the woman's knees knocking together. When Hannah went to join her, or simply make sure she didn't pass out on the way to the washroom, Mariana held up one hand. "I'll be fine...I just...need to splash some water on my face." Her eyes went over the crowd, as did Hannah's. A few of the people were glancing in their direction, or hissing hushed orders to their kids to stop asking questions. "Excuse me."

Jonathan and Hannah watched her go. As the door swung back and forth Hannah caught a glimpse of the figure-eight rope that was hung on it. The blue background matched the paneling on the floor and the cushions everyone sat on, as well as each and every frame in the place. In Hannah's opinion it was too much blue, but the citizens of Garnet's Lake loved it. Anything nautical was loved in Garnet's Lake, it seemed, even though they were five hundred miles from the ocean.

"Your mother wanted me to give you this," Jonathan said, sliding something towards Hannah. She faced him, finding a small package made of brown paper in front of her.

"What's this?" she asked, smiling. "A present?"

"It was your mother's idea," Jonathan replied. "She's worried about you."

Hannah had a feeling she knew what was in the package, but she was still a little surprised. "A crucifix. I already have one."

"She's worried about you," Jonathan repeated. "About your soul."

Hannah didn't know what to say. Her mother had been on her case since she first stopped going to church, and using the excuse of work wasn't cutting it anymore. And while Jonathan didn't question her about it, she knew he was just as disappointed in her decision.

"You ask too many questions," he'd always said. Ever since she was a child Hannah had questioned why they went to church. For a while she accepted that it was just what people did—everyone went to church in Garnet's Lake. The entire town practically shut down every Sunday morning. But as Hannah grew up the questions just piled one on top of the other, and one day they broke her. She started taking every Sunday shift she could at the hotel, and before she knew it it had been five years since she stepped foot in a church. Suffice to say, Jessica Best had been trying to save her daughter's soul for a very long time.

Today, though, that didn't bother Hannah. She was suddenly extremely touched by her mother's care, even though Jessica wasn't there. She could picture her mother sitting on the back porch at home, a bible in hand and praying for Hannah to find the light. "I'll go over soon. Maybe for dinner?"

Hannah hung the small silver crucifix around her neck. It weighed on her collarbone with a heaviness that burned her but it was a good kind of burn, she thought. Jonathan arched one brow. "She'd like that."

Hannah grinned. "You don't have to look so shocked."

Mariana gingerly sat down beside Jonathan.

Hannah looked over her friend, spotting the beads of water on the edges of her dark hair. She really had splashed water on her face, Hannah realized. It was a serious move for Mariana, since she always wore makeup, but that was when Hannah noticed Mariana wasn't wearing makeup. Her nails were still pristine, her hair in a perfectly placed messy bun, blue dress immaculate on her thick frame. But no makeup.

As the waiter came to take their order Hannah felt the urge to hold the menu in front of her so she wouldn't have to face Mariana. Here she was thinking of her own victories—of herself as some kind of hero—when her friend was a wreck. The very thought of eating made her sick so all she ordered was chamomile tea. It seemed Jonathan and Mariana felt the same, and the chocolate scone was a long forgotten dream.

Hannah wondered how long it would take them to return to normal. She couldn't remember what her normal was anymore, and all it had taken was a split-second decision to make to make the entire town crumble around her. And Hannah wasn't sure if she wanted to be there when it was built back up.

No matter how many times Hannah called her mother that week there was no answer. And while it would be simple enough to walk the five blocks to her childhood home, she couldn't find the energy or the will to do it. Instead she called into work to check when her next shift was, and ignored her boss when he said she should take some time for herself. She thought she heard someone in the background suggesting she return to work sooner rather than later because that would help her adjust. She thought it was Dane, the chef that had looked at her with such...something. Hannah still wasn't sure what the look he'd given her was about.

It took some convincing, but eventually she was added back to the schedule. She was set up as an extra, and while they didn't say it she knew it was because her boss feared she would have a breakdown mid shift. She was insulted, but she didn't want to argue in fear of being forced to stay home.

As much as Hannah wanted to get back to work, standing behind the front desk of the Lux Hotel was a rude awakening. Guests lined up on either side of her, choosing to deal with the long lines at her coworkers desks rather than exchange pleasantries for even a moment with her. Still, she stood with her back straight, hands folded in front of her, and slight glower on her lips. She couldn't seem to get that professional smile to show tonight.

"Hannah," her manager said. Mr. Cavan was a short man with thick hair and thin glasses and a penchant for anything pinstripe. "Why don't you take a break and let Melissa take over, hm?"

Normally his hand was always placed on the centre of someone's back. It wasn't harassment in any way, but his own way of pushing a person somewhere else. Hannah anticipated it the second she heard his voice but as she turned to face him before he could touch her she saw a wide five foot gap between them. Mr. Cavan's professional smile was there, but it didn't reach his eyes as it normally did.

Forced, Hannah thought. It was the very same kind of smile he'd said she had when she first started working for him. Melissa stood beside him, a happy blank grin on her lips. She was never allowed to work the front computers because when she did she somehow managed to overbook twenty rooms. Mr. Cavan swore to never let her use the phone again, and yet...

"All right," Hannah agreed. "I could use a coffee." Her feet were starting to ache anyway from standing still for so long. From having nothing to think about for three hours other than the fact that everyone in the hotel was avoiding meeting her gaze. Hannah hurried towards the back offices in hopes of drowning some of her frustration in a large cup of coffee but before she made it Dane stopped her.

He smiled at her, meeting her eyes with ease. "You know if you're looking for coffee what we have in the kitchen is better."

Hannah flinched. She hadn't meant to, but it was too unexpected that Dane would talk to her. He was on another level than her, and he'd barely even glanced in her direction since he started at the hotel last year. He rarely paid attention to any woman that wasn't a guest or married. Hannah was struck by the blinding radiance that surrounded him.

"I thought you didn't like anyone in the kitchen that wasn't part of the kitchen staff," Hannah said. She gave herself credit for how coolly it came out.

Dane tilted his head back and forth. "I've noticed that you're sort of on your own today; I thought you might want someone to talk to. Someone that was...there." His smile faded a bit, but nothing about it seemed malicious. Hannah wanted to pat him down and check for some kind of recording device, anything that would prove he was a jerk. Everyone in the hotel loved Dane, no matter how many married women he slept with; Hannah kind of loved him too, even though she'd seen him go into countless rooms. She wanted to know how he did it.

"I would like that," Hannah said. She smiled, professional and polite. Mr. Cavan would be proud if he wasn't so busy pretending to be busy.

Dane led Hannah into the kitchen where he poured two cups of coffee. The machine was closest to the door leading outside, the very one Hannah and Mariana had snuck through in an attempt to avoid the guests out front; Hannah could never leave through the front door without being asked at least five questions even though she was clearly leaving with her coat on and bag in hand.

Hannah took a sip of coffee and moaned. "Oh my God."

Dane chuckled. "I love that sound."

Hannah took another drink of the soft liquid, letting it flow over her tongue and down her throat. It was a dark roast, one she normally hated, and she was drinking it black. No sugar, no cream, just the original coffee. Her toes curled in her shoes, something she'd never done before. "This is amazing."

"Now you know how I made this place go from a two star to a five star," Dane replied with a grin.

Nobody in the kitchen was paying any attention to them, and Hannah thought that might have to do with Dane's status. While he was a well-loved man he wasn't someone anybody messed with. If he chose to have coffee with the woman that just killed someone, not five feet away from where they stood, it wasn't going to be questioned. As long as he was around nobody would look twice in their direction. Hannah thought that might be why he chose to talk to her tonight.

"So is there a reason you've asked me to coffee?" Hannah asked. Her feet still hurt, but she resisted moving her weight from one foot to the other; she didn't want to appear anxious in front of Dane. His eyes dropped to her feet, as if knowing exactly what she was thinking.

"I thought I told you," he answered, flicking his gaze back up.

"We both know you're not the kind of man to do a good deed without expecting something in return." Hannah brought the black mug to her lips but didn't drink. Instead she inhaled deeply, enjoying the scent of the roast. It was mixed with the chicken cooking nearby, as well as some kind of tomato sauce that sat on the burner in the centre of the room. Hannah blinked slowly before brining her eyes to Dane's.

His brow had lowered, not so much that it was furrowed, but like he was no longer interested in smiling so enthusiastically. Like a guard had dropped, and Hannah got a glimpse of the man beneath. But it was too quick; she thought it might have been her imagination. The shiver that ran through her entire body, that raised the hairs on her arms to their ends, wasn't something that went unnoticed by either of them. Hannah wet her lips.

"Like I said," Dane replied. "Just thought you might want to have coffee with someone that isn't afraid of you."

Hannah furrowed her brow. "Nobody's afraid of me."

"No?" Dane said. "You can't feel it? Can't see it?"

Hannah took a drink of coffee. For the past week she'd been feeling like all eyes were on her, because they were. But she hadn't thought it was because the town feared her. What did they have to fear from her? It wasn't like she purposely went out to kill someone. It was self-defence, exactly as the news reported, and exactly as the police reported.

Dane set his own mug on the counter, whiter than the coat he wore. The top two buttons were undone, giving Hannah a peek at the black tee shirt he wore. He leaned closer to her and pressed his palm over the top of her mug, pushing it away from her lips. His broad shoulders blocked her view of the rest of the kitchen, but even if she could see anything other than those clever grey eyes she wouldn't want to. There wasn't any sign of stubble on Dane's cheeks, his skin perfectly smooth as he leaned closer to her.

"You're right," he said, his voice low. Hannah felt his breath brush across her lips and on it she could taste the coffee. She held her own breath out of instinct. She felt like prey now. "I'm not the kind of man to do a good deed without expecting something in return."

Dane leaned back and picked up his mug. He took a drink before setting it back down with a satisfied sigh, and walked away. The clattering dishes and clicking of stoves being turned on and off faded from Hannah's mind as she listened to Dane's footsteps. They wrapped around her, making her skin flush and chest heave.

Taking in a sudden breath, Hannah twisted her neck to see where Dane had gone, but he'd vanished out the front door. The cup in her hands felt too heavy to hold and she put it down for fear of dropping it. There was a warmth in her lower abdomen that was as pleasurable as it was torture. Hannah leaned on the counter and tried to catch her breath.

She wasn't sure when she last felt like this.

Hannah wanted to take the kitchen door to the alley after work. She wanted to march past Dane to show that his charms had no affect on her, but her knees were so weak she wasn't sure she could even get up off the chair in the break room let alone march. All that strength she'd thought she had was swallowed up by hormones and desire. And damn, did she have a desire at that moment. It felt like she'd just lost a staring contest. Her mother's mantra of "you win some you lose some" wasn't helping her now. She wanted to win against Dane as much as she wanted to lose.

"He's a pervert," she muttered to herself, coming to a stand. Her chair screeched against the tiles. "He's only interested because of what you did."

And it was true, but that didn't make the heat between her legs go away any faster. Hannah knew this must be how all those married women felt, the feeling of wrong and right mixed into one. Once Dane decided to turn his attention on her there was no escape. Hannah didn't think she wanted to escape anyway. But Dane had never shown interest in someone that worked at the Lux, no matter how much the other employees tried. He was careful to only pounce on those that would be around for a week at most, and gone by breakfast.

Hannah wanted to show him up. She wanted to prove that she could stare at him and not blink, show him that she wasn't going to turn into one of his special conquests. The fact that he was flirting with her after she killed someone was sick enough as it was...but that only made her question if he was flirting with her. Maybe it wasn't sex he wanted, but something else. What that something else could be, however, she had no idea.

With a shake of her head Hannah grabbed her bag off the counter and headed for the kitchen door. She prayed to the crucifix that hung around her neck that her legs wouldn't give out as she crossed the threshold to the kitchen, or as she walked through the alleyway.

The edges of her vision were blurry as she walked, completely focused on the door. It was beige with a small square window at the top that was kept perfectly clean even though guests never saw it. Everything around Dane seemed perfectly clean. Hannah wrinkled her nose and pushed the door open, letting it bang against the counter on the other side.

A few of the chefs looked up, and one busboy practically leapt onto a stove in fear. But after that they looked away. Nobody sees anything when it comes to Dane's girls. Hannah furrowed her brow, knowing it would only make her look more threatening.

Her steps weren't quite a march, but they weren't exactly slow either. They were quiet and undemanding yet powerful and sure. It was a good combination, Hannah thought, and if Dane were there she knew for a fact that he would only get hot and bothered by it.

If he were there. Hannah's eyes swept over the kitchen staff but one familiar head of perfectly cut hair wasn't there. His shift wasn't done yet, and she knew he wasn't one to leave the kitchen so easily, yet he wasn't there. Hannah's footsteps hit a little harder against the tiles and within a moment she was in the alleyway, cool air rushing over her skin.

There wasn't a single cloud in the sky to block out the half-moon or the stars. A light breeze drifted through the trees across the street, and in the distance Hannah could hear a dog barking. These things were familiar pleasantries to her, something she'd been seeing and hearing all her life. They reminded her of home, of safety. The fact that she was standing in the exact spot she killed a man didn't change that feeling. If anything it amplified it.

Hannah didn't remember moving the few feet from the door to the formally bloodied spot. She'd been possessed as she lifted one foot after the other to face the brick wall, completely cleaned. There was no evidence of anything happening there, and if there was it was now buried under five bags of trash. Hannah looked over her shoulder at the empty dumpster, wondering who chose to throw the trash on the ground instead.

They're scared of you, she thought. Just as Dane had said. Hannah tried to convince herself that it was merely the thought that they could have been victims of a terrible mugging themselves, but Dane's words had had an affect on her. Another shiver ran up her spine, a titillating feeling. Hannah took a sudden breath and started walking.

As she turned the corner of the alley Hannah found the street empty. The Lux Hotel was on the edge of town, closer to the lake, but it was usually filled with people on a night like this. It was only a fifteen minute walk to the lake, and a twenty minute walk to Stormi's, yet nobody was there. She looked back at the alley and knew exactly why. She felt stupid for thinking things would return to normal in a single week. Mariana wasn't even thinking of returning to work yet, and Hannah's mother wouldn't return her calls.

Hannah started walking again, if only to get off of her feet and away from the Lux. Crickets chipped in the night, happily making noise around her without gawking. Hannah rolled her eyes at herself...since when had crickets made her happy?

Something jabbed into her back, a small cylindrical piece of metal. "Gimme the purse."

Hannah froze for a moment. The man jabbed what she assumed was a gun harder into her back. She inched forward from the pressure when his hand slammed down on her shoulder, grabbing at her purse strap. As he yanked it off she turned, completely in shock that she was getting mugged again. What was happening to this town?

In the few seconds between turning to her assailant Hannah caught a glimpse of a dark baseball cap and hoodie, and a black bandana tied around his nose and mouth. She didn't think she should recognize anyone from such a small amount of their face showing, but she knew the scar that crossed over his left temple. And as the Pastor's son, her childhood friend, recognized her his eyes widened. "Shit!" he shouted.

Bart lifted his right hand, the one that held a small silver gun, and smacked Hannah in the face. The butt of the gun struck her cheekbone and nose, and she went down easily, already seeing stars. She fell onto her back and managed to keep her head from cracking open on the sidewalk, the sounds of fast footsteps rushing away from her. Blood gushed from an open cut on her face as well as from her nose, filtering into her mouth. The metallic taste was sickeningly familiar.

Hannah sat on the ground and tried not to throw up. It wasn't that someone she knew had just attacked her, or even that she had been attacked twice in the same week, in the same place, that made her sick. It was the strange sense of anger coursing through her that made her sick.

Of course she would feel angry at this. She was covered in her own blood, attacked by someone she should have been able to trust, and now she was in immeasurable pain. Her head throbbed with each beat of her heart, and she didn't even have a phone to call for help.

Bart hadn't hit her as hard as he could have, but he could have just run away, too. He'd taken karate since he was a kid, and he was on the track team in high school; he could have easily escaped. So why did he resort to hitting her? Hannah knew the answer, but refused to admit it.

Hannah grabbed hold of the nearby bench and hauled herself to her feet. They still hurt even though her mind had something else to focus on, and she hobbled her way, blurry eyed and desperate, back to the hotel. She debated going through the front door, but the thought of all eyes being on her again made her think otherwise. Instead she stepped down the alley and knocked her fist against the door to the kitchen, oddly hopeful that Dane would answer. She wasn't sure anyone would even hear her frail knocks, let alone open the door. But after another knock the door opened, and someone jumped back.

Stephan, the busboy. Hannah thought she saw him blinking at her, but it was too hard to tell. Her vision was still dotted with stars. When Stephan just watched her she ordered, "Call an ambulance already!" Her voice was nasally and uneven. Stephan jumped into action, the only thing her ever seemed to do.

One of the chefs came to Hannah's aide, and she felt guilty for not knowing the woman's name. She didn't associate much with kitchen staff because they were always too busy. But this woman approached her and helped her into the break room where she grabbed some cloths to clean up the blood and some ice to help with the immediate swelling. She'd barely said a word, and left as soon as the EMT's and police came into the hotel for the second time that week.

When Hannah awoke the next day she found an email from her boss suggesting she take a leave of absence. He didn't state for how long, but Hannah knew it wasn't going to be temporary.

Hannah did all the things she normally did in the morning in an attempt to have everything stay the same, but as she put her watch on she noticed it didn't match the clock on her computer; it was two minutes behind, and that had never happened before. She quickly set it to the right time, and found it a little easier to breathe.

Hannah's original plan was to go to the hotel and demand she be allowed to work. She wasn't going to take no for an answer, but it had somehow ended up with her being fired. "Let go," was the word Mr. Cavan had used. There was a problem of overstaffing at the moment and without more guests to fill the rooms he had to make the tough decision. Mariana returned to work at the same time, and mentioned that nobody else had been let go. In fact, three new people were hired, and Hannah got the message. She'd known overstaffing was a lie because they didn't have enough rooms to fill recent demand, but she didn't want to actually say that out loud. That would mean she lost her job because of what happened.

Because she was labeled a killer.

Mariana tried to make it better and offered to rally anyone that would listen and go on strike, but Hannah knew that was useless. Instead she suggested they go out to dinner, anything to get her mind off of work and off of her parents who had yet to call her back. It had been ten days since they talked, and Hannah was starting to feel like there was more to the story. Even when she'd stopped going to church they still talked to her.

In an attempt to keep things good between them, Hannah ignored the dread that weighed in her stomach and stepped up her parent's front porch. It was a small house, only two bedrooms and one bathroom, but it would always be home for Hannah. She could still remember how it felt when she'd chipped her front tooth on the very porch she stood on, and how terrified her mother had been at the sight of the small white chip. Surely Jessica couldn't forget her love for her own daughter.

Hannah knocked on the door rather than using her spare key. The last time she'd just walked inside Jessica had reamed her out for some misplaced privacy concern. "You don't live here anymore," she'd said. "You can't just waltz in whenever you like! I didn't raise you to be so impolite."

As much as Hannah disagreed with that, she listened. But there was no immediate answer now. Both her parents were either at home, church, or Stormi's. And at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon Hannah knew they'd be home preparing dinner. They should have been to the door by now.

Hannah knocked again, worry beginning to creep through her body. It made the hairs on the back of her neck raise—something was wrong. If neither of them was able to get the door, something was very wrong. With images of them falling down the stairs or slipping in the kitchen, Hannah began to dig in her purse for her keys. She tossed every spare receipt, torn off note, and even her wallet onto the porch until she found the silver ring. She shoved the key into the lock when she heard someone on the other side rattling the chain across the doorframe. Hannah quickly pulled back.

Jonathan's face came in the crack, the rusty gold chain striking across the bridge of his nose. "Hannah, what are you doing here? I thought we agreed to call first."

"I did call," Hannah replied, tucking the keys into her purse before Jonathan could see them. He hadn't looked at her hand, but she knew he'd spotted the key. His eyes fell to the papers scattered across the porch. Hannah began to pick them up. "I was worried when you weren't answering...or calling back."

Jonathan let out a small grunt. He shut the door and Hannah heard the rattle of the chain again, and when the door reopened she found her father in his usual button down shirt and slacks. His slippers were the same pristine navy blue, and not a single thing on him was out of place. Except Hannah had anticipated a smile on his face, his daughter finally coming home to see his wife. Instead she was met with a grimace.

"Is Mom home?" Hannah asked hopefully. She held the small stack of papers in her hands, clutching them and her wallet to her chest. Her heart was thumping irregularly hard, her entire hopes centered on one single word.

"Yes," he answered. Hannah let out a relieved sigh.

"Can I come in?"

Jonathan's lips pursed and his nose wrinkled. Not a sneer like her apartment would get, but it wasn't not a sneer. Finally, he replied, "Of course." He took a step back and once Hannah was inside he shut the door, leaving it unlocked.

Hannah felt obsessed with locks lately. Both her own and others. She eyed the small thing, wondering how one little change in behaviour could make it feel like her world wash crashing around her.

"How are you feeling?" Jonathan asked. He looked at the bruise on her cheek and the small cut that ran across her nose.

Instinctively Hannah pressed two fingers to it. "Oh, it's healing fine. Nothing to worry about."

"I think you should get some mace," he suggested, "and stop walking home at night. That hotel attracts the wrong kind of people."

Jonathan shuffled into the living room. Hannah waited to hear the sounds of her mother clattering dishes in the kitchen, but the house was silent. Jessica was incapable of making any meal without dirtying at least twenty dishes, and it was never a quiet affair. Hannah felt a small squeeze in her chest, realizing how much she missed being annoyed by her mother's habits.

"I think it's just coincidence," Hannah said. "But...I'm looking into a new job, one with nine to five hours."

Jonathan gave a single nod as he sat down in his chair. It was a large corduroy sofa with a matching ottoman. Ever since she was a kid it had been for his enjoyment and his enjoyment only. "I heard."

"Word travels fast," Hannah muttered. She sat down on the floral love seat and looked at the many knickknacks her parents had collected over the years. Some were small porcelain animals, others were shot glasses friends had brought home from vacation, and some were spoons. Most were religious paraphernalia, another thing in the house that Hannah was never allowed to touch. She'd never let anyone know, but when she was a teenager and finally left home alone she would poke each and every one, as if that made her stronger somehow. She even went as far as switching some of their places, and to this day her parents hadn't noticed. Hannah ripped her eyes away from the bible that sat atop the fireplace. "I think it's for the best."

Another nod. Jonathan's hands gripped the end of the armrests, short nails digging into the fabric. If he dug any harder Hannah thought he might tear into it.

"So where's Mom?" Hannah wondered aloud. She chuckled. "I can't hear her making dinner."

"She's on the back porch," Jonathan answered instantly. "Reading."

"What about dinner?"

Jonathan arched one brow at his daughter. "Are you planning on staying?"

"No," she replied just as quickly as he did. "I'm just...you guys have a routine is all. I'm surprised."

"We're probably just ordering in tonight." Jonathan sighed. "Your mother hasn't been feeling herself lately."

Hannah didn't know what that meant. There were too many options and it felt like all of them led back to her. Hannah stood to go speak with Jessica when her father waved his hand at her. "Stay here, leave her be. She doesn't want to talk yet."

Hannah pulled her lips towards her teeth but listened, lowering back onto the hard couch. Jonathan grabbed the remote that sat on the wooden coffee table and turned the news on, the only channel that came through on their ancient television; it still had an antenna.

"People will move on soon," Jonathan told his daughter. He rested his chin on one fist, eyes on the TV. "Something will happen and they'll forget all about you."

Struck by his words, Hanna's lower lip let out a small quiver. She furrowed her brow to try to keep her emotions in check, but all she could think about was screaming, "No!" She didn't want the town to forget about her, not yet. She didn't want them to move on so easily from an event like this. But she kind of did want them to...or she knew she should have felt that way.

"Did they identify him?" Jonathan asked. "The one that did that?" He turned to her and waved the remote towards her face.

Hannah shook her head. "No, not yet."

Jonathan arched his thick brow once more. Hannah looked towards the news and read recent reports of cats stuck in trees. It was usually the most exciting thing in Garnet's Lake. Jonathan cleared his throat, forcing Hannah to look at him. He stated, "You can't lie to me, kid."

"I know." But she wasn't going to give up the man that had mugged her; no matter how much damage he did to her face. She knew that if she identified him Jonathan would either go and give him a proper punishment, or do nothing because he was the Pastor's son. Hannah wasn't sure which one she wanted, but at the moment she didn't want to know what her father would do. She didn't want to know what the town would do, because she had a feeling they wouldn't do much of anything.

Bart could say he feared for his life when he struck her, and that he was scared she was going to kill him just like she did Belleveau. Nobody would convict him for that, Hannah thought. She ground her teeth, hating the way Garnet's Lake worked just a little more each day.

Jonathan went back to watching the news, and Hannah followed suit. It had been years since Hannah sat on that couch and watched television with one of her parents. It was nice, warm. Familiar. Something she could predict and understand, and completely different than how she'd been feeling the past few weeks. She understood her mother a little bit in that moment, to not feel like herself. It felt like someone was trying to claw their way out of her, to tell her something that she refused to listen to. The ticking of the white-faced clock distracted Hannah a moment.

"There's been a report of a body found by the lake," the reporter said. His name was Robert Bishop, an old classmate of Hannah's. They'd gone on one date in tenth grade and when he got a little too handsy on the front porch Jonathan gave him a proper punishment by breaking his nose. Suffice to say all they had was one date. He'd always wanted to be a big time reporter, and it showed when he went on the air. He held a finger in his ear as if he were getting breaking news, even though the entire town knew he was reading it off of cue cards behind the camera. Hannah would have laughed at him like she always did if she wasn't so interested in what he was saying.

Robert went on, "The body has just been identified as...as Bart Tompkins! Cause of death has yet to be discovered..." Robert's eyes began to well with tears, making Hannah roll her own. Robert bullied Bart since elementary school—there was no love lost between them. "The police have a person of interest but they do not wish to identify them at this time. Witnesses say Bart was found with a purse, as well as multiple wallets. More will—"

The television flickered off.

"I was watching that," Hannah stated, not looking away from the black screen.

"Bart Tompkins robbed you," Jonathan stated back. Hannah knew that if she looked over his eyes would also be on the television.

"I didn't want him to get into trouble," she replied.

"I suppose that's your purse that was found," Jonathan said quietly. It was more to himself than to her.

"I'm probably the person of interest, too." Hannah clenched her hands into fists, heart rate picking up. Of all the things for Bart to do before he died, he just had to mug her. He just had to steal her purse, with her identification in it, and smack her in the face to get her blood all over him. She muttered, "Prick."

"You should head to the station," Jonathan suggested, turning to her. She faced him as she stood. "Tell them you know it was him that mugged you."

Hannah gave him a nod, no intention of doing so. If they were going to drag her name through the mud, call her a killer some more and accuse her of doing it on purpose this time...she wasn't going to make their investigation easier.

When Hannah went to the front door she couldn't help but look down the hallway to the kitchen, and through the thin screen door that led to where her mother sat. A shadow stretched across the back porch, gently swinging back and forth—the only sign that her mother was there. Hannah turned back to the door and left quickly, not waiting to hear if her father was going to lock it behind her. Not waiting to hear if he was going to put the chain over it.

She knew he would.

She knew that was the only way her mother was going to feel safe in that house again and what she had done.

Hannah didn't have to go to the station to find the police; they were already at her apartment. But rather than hold a light over her head or haul her into an interrogation room, they simple asked about her relationship with Bart. She'd reported the second mugging but left out the gritty details.

"I saw on the news," Hannah said. Despite growing up with Bart, she couldn't muster up any tears for him. She wasn't even that sad he was dead—he was kind of a jerk. Still, she looked to her feet, finding herself loyal to the boy she once knew. "Pastor Tompkins must be devastated."

The officer nodded. "Do you have any idea why Bart would be robbing people?"

Hannah shook her head, letting her hair fall over her shoulders. "I know he did a little breaking and entering in high school but he never took anything." She gave a low chuckle. "He just liked to watch TV and eat chips."

That made the officer smile. Hannah gave her a sad smile back. "I don't know why anyone would want to kill Bart—he was a good man."

Hannah wasn't sure when she'd last lied through her teeth. Small white lies came out almost every day, reminding her that there was a fine line between honesty and kindness. The lie she'd just told however was a big one.

The small officer nodded at her partner. He nodded back. The woman faced Hannah, all sympathies gone and replaced with a hardened cop. It seemed unlike all the other officers in town. Hannah searched her mind for who this woman was, but came up blank—this woman hadn't grown up in Garnet's Lake. "Something else was found on the body."

The body, Hannah repeated to herself. It sounded so distant. Like Bart was no longer Bart, just a leftover piece of meat. "Something else?" Hannah asked.

"A note," the officer replied.

Hannah arched her brow.

"It said 'he will not hurt you ever again'," the other officer said. His partner elbowed him but he added, "What's more interesting is they added, 'It takes one to know one'."

Hannah didn't know what kind of reaction they wanted. If they wanted her to gasp and faint right in the doorway they were going to be disappointed. If they wanted her to get angry or sad or who knew what else, they were also going to be disappointed. Hannah was at a loss for reaction so she merely tilted her head.

"I'm not sure I understand what that means, officer," she replied. "He hurt someone? And they know what?"

"You," the tall one said. His lips were pressed hard together.

"I suppose. But I'm not going to kill him over a stolen wallet." She tried to laugh but it came out strangled.

"You did before though," the small one stated. There was no refuting that. Hannah narrowed her eyes on the officers, the light in the hallway beginning to feel like a dim spotlight. They were fishing for something, for any kind of evidence that she had done this.

"If I killed him why would I leave a note saying he wouldn't hurt me again?" Hannah asked.

"So you think the note's about you?" the woman asked back. A smile tugged at her lips as if she had won some kind of battle.

"No," Hannah replied instantly, making the smile fall away. "But you clearly do."

"We're just following all our leads," the tall one stated.

"Well I suggest you follow them elsewhere." Hannah kept her sneer under control but it came out in her next action. It was a bold and most likely stupid move, Hannah knew, but she slammed the door in their face. They had no evidence that she had killed Bart, and it wasn't only her wallet found with his body. They went straight to her because of Belleveau. She was beginning to curse that name more and more, even though she had caused his grisly end.

After Hannah bought another cell phone to replace the replacement she thought she should see Mariana. She'd been dodging Mariana for a few days in hopes of avoiding a full out strike at the hotel, and figured it had been long enough. The odd part was Mariana wasn't picking up.

It's the new number, Hannah thought. She sent Mariana a quick text and then tried calling again a few minutes later, but again to no avail. Thinking of her parents, Hannah thought a surprise visit might be best.

Hannah stared at the Lux Hotel for a moment before she could step inside. It's old brick exterior was crumbling in some parts, but people always said that added to the appeal. Hannah didn't see any appeal in staying somewhere that looked like it might collapse—being fired might have been a blessing. As she approached the revolving glass doors she caught a glimpse of her bruised face, and became certain that being fired was a blessing. She touched her nose and felt it sting, wishing Bart had just punched her in the gut instead. At least that would make it feel like people weren't staring so much...although Hannah knew her face wasn't the reason people were staring.

There was an unusual hush in the Lux that evening. There were no guests anywhere in the dusky golden lobby, and only two girls at the front desk. One of them was Mariana, and Hannah told herself that was why Mariana wasn't answering the phone. As Hannah walked up she caught Mariana's eye and was on the receiving end of a falling professional smile. Mariana turned white, eyes unblinking as she watched Hannah approach.

"You aren't answering the phone," Hannah said quietly. The other girl, Alexa, shuffled down the desk to get away; her attempt to look busy was laughable at best, and Hannah did what she normally did; Hannah ignored her, focusing unblinking eyes on Mariana. Mariana never did well under just the right amount of pressure.

"I'm at work," Mariana predictably replied. She pretended to click on the computer mouse, darting her eyes between Hannah and the screen.

"You're avoiding me."

"I'm not avoiding you," Mariana said halfway through Hannah's sentence. Hannah arched one brow and pursed her lips, getting more annoyed by the second. The clock that everyone complained about, the one that sat behind the counter and ticked away each second like a foghorn, began to grind on Hannah's nerves. The odd thing was it never had before. She found solace in it's constant, unstoppable rhythm as it counted the seconds, just like the rose-gold watch around her wrist. It kept the world around her in check. It was...Hannah didn't know how to explain it.

"It sounds like you're avoiding me," Hannah said. She dropped her eyes to her feet in hopes of playing to Mariana's mothering side. "I don't understand."

"You wouldn't," Mariana replied. Hannah had to look up at the woman that had used such a harsh tone. It felt like a flinch, like Mariana had just threatened to hit her and Hannah had no choice but to move away. Mariana kept her eyes on the computer as she continued. "I'm sorry but I can't talk to you right now. Everyone is talking about...that, and you."

"Me?" Hannah asked innocently. She knew the truth. She knew what this town now thought of her, but she didn't really care. In fact, she found herself a little elated at the idea of being on so many people's minds. She was an intrusive thought they loved to hate.

A tingle ran through Hannah as she thought of an entire town thinking of her. Her hands began to shake in wonder at what people might be saying, actually saying. Not the expected unified gasps and pullbacks that Hannah knew they were doing when they heard the news. When they heard of what she did to protect their little town from a nefarious criminal. To save them from suffering at his hands. It was becoming clear after the police visit that they didn't consider her a victim—not the police, not the people she grew up with, and apparently not Mariana. She wasn't sure she herself was thinking of herself in the same way, either. Shaking out of her head Hannah raised her eyes to Mariana. "So what are you saying?"

"That I can't talk right now." Mariana went back to the computer, her fingers typing away at some official report that could always wait until later. She paused and glanced over at something on the desk before picking up a white box with red ribbon wrapped around it. "This was left for you in the back."

Hannah looked at the box and the elegant cursive her name was written in. Her eyes then went back to Mariana, who kept facing the computer. "Is it—"

"I don't know who it's from."

"Then throw it away."

Mariana finally looked over and nodded. She picked up the box and threw it with a little too much force into the trashcan that Hannah knew was hidden at her feet.

Hannah waited for a full ten seconds for Mariana to look back at her. For a wince or a twitch, a simple head turn to signal that Mariana really did want to talk and this was just pressure from management. After all, they had just fired Hannah. But Mariana wasn't giving her any hope that this wasn't the end of a lifelong friendship. There was a pain in her chest that pinched and made it hard to breathe. Mariana was telling her that they couldn't be friends anymore. Just like that. Hannah stared for another moment but Mariana didn't give way as she normally did.

Hannah nodded. "All right then." She spun on her heel and left, only giving the revolving door a light shove.

As Hannah walked away from the hotel it seemed like she was walking away from something she had known her entire life. Mariana felt like a weight around her neck, the kind that kept her grounded and in place. An anchor of sorts. Her cheeks burned with emotion, not embarrassment, but anger at making a scene in the lobby. Even though only one or two people noticed the scene, Hannah knew it would be all over town within a few hours. Hannah didn't understand how Mariana could drop her so easily, but in a way she respected it. It wasn't personal, just Mariana's way of furthering her own fortune. Still, Hannah's chin sunk towards her chest.

"Hannah."

Hannah stopped beneath a cloudy sky. A clap of thunder echoed above her and travelled through her feet, up her legs and torso, and into her hands. How she had managed to make them stop shaking was a miracle in and of itself. She hated that her anger was so easily shown. Calming her features to a neutral expression Hannah turned towards the voice, a shadow in the small alley beside the hotel. Her eyes darted to the ground a moment, imagining the pool of blood that had sat there two weeks ago and she shivered.

"You're shaking," Dane said. He stepped forward until he was right in front of her, directly beneath the streetlamp. It created a perfect circle around them in the evening darkness. "It really scared you, huh?"

Dane was dressed in black slacks and a white button down shirt, a leather book bag slung over his shoulder. It was a simple outfit but the shirt was just a little too tight and pulled across his chest. Anyone would drool over his fit body, but Hannah found herself annoyed by it. He was purposely choosing to wear ill-fitting clothes, and that had always been a pet peeve of hers. She'd made Mariana dump four boyfriends in high school because they're clothes were too loose; in her opinion too tight was just as bad.

Hannah narrowed her eyes and kept her mouth firmly shut. It felt wrong to admit she was scared, even though that was the logical reaction. A man held a gun in her face, and to her friend's head. Even now she could remember how hard her heart had been beating—it threatened to break her ribs, she'd thought. Afterwards her entire body felt pained, tiny aches crept out of seemingly nowhere.

Dane smiled at her, that same charming smile that made her warm. She never thought she would be one of his select few, but now that she was she didn't know why he hadn't made a move sooner. Hannah lifted her head and stared down her nose at Dane.

He said, "I've heard not many people are talking to you—I'm sorry these small town people are so close-minded."

Hannah furrowed her brow.

"I don't mean you, of course," Dane added quickly. He smelled of cigarettes, his body only a half a foot away from Hannah. She resisted wrinkling her nose at the unsavoury scent. She hadn't noticed it before because she was too distracted by the coffee he'd made for her, but now it was obvious. Despite wanting to, she didn't move. She watched him, unblinking. His unease became obvious in his slight step back, his right hand moving to rub the back of his neck.

"Of course," Hannah agreed, putting Dane more at ease. "I have noticed that people aren't...acting like themselves. But that's understandable considering nothing like this has happened here before."

"So I'm told," Dane replied. The charming smile never faltered, never failed. His lips didn't even twitch downwards. There was a slight tremor in his hand as he lowered it to his side. "I'm just heading out."

Hannah dragged her eyes up and down his body, enjoying the view just as much as she hated it. "I can see that."

"Would you like to join me for a drink?" he asked. The tremble in his voice crawled across Hannah's skin. Down the street something metallic clattered against the sidewalk and she turned her head to see the source. A small red soda can rolled towards the street, pushed by the heavy breeze that swept over the lake. Dane didn't seem to notice, and when Hannah turned back to him he was still watching her.

"Is a drink all you want?" Hannah asked, tired of this game. She wanted him to admit he wanted her. Suddenly she'd never wanted anything so badly in her life. She could already feel his lips on her skin, the way he would taste like the mints he was always popping to hide the stench of cigarettes, and how his hands would hold her perfectly against the wall of the alley.

Dane wasn't one to be tripped up by snarky banter. "Why don't we have a drink and find out?"

Hannah looked back towards the soda can as it teetered on the edge of the sidewalk. It threatened to fall over into the street, on the verge of getting crushed by a car passing by. Mariana stepped out of the Lux, her eyes falling immediately on Hannah and Dane.

Mariana had always had a thing for Dane, but she'd never tried anything after discovering Dane's type. Still, she lusted after him something awful, and nothing Hannah said had made enough sense in her chemical filled brain to stop. Dane followed Hannah's gaze to Mariana, and Mariana blushed hard. They were twenty feet away and Hannah could tell what had happened. What she wanted to know was when this had happened, and she hadn't known. The pinch in her chest became a full-blown punch. Hannah ground her teeth before smiling at Dane.

Hannah placed a hand on Dane's chest and pushed him gently backwards. She followed him with small, careful steps until his back was against the wall, and she made sure to take another one forward until she was leaning against him, propped up onto her toes. She could feel his heart racing in his chest, feel his breath begin to accelerate as well. She leaned in further until their lips were nearly touching.

"What if I said I don't want a drink first?" she asked. Dane raised his eyebrows at her.

"Pardon?" he said, caught off guard. Hannah found it hard to believe Dane didn't get hit on occasionally, but she knew he preferred to do the chasing. It wasn't much of a challenge if you were the one being chased.

"You heard me," Hannah replied. She didn't want to move her hand from his chest, enjoying the affect she had on him, but she did. She lowered her eyelids to her hands and then glanced at Mariana, who still watched on. Slowly, she slid her hand up over his should and then down his arm until their hands met. She gripped his fingers and moved towards the alley. "I don't want a drink first, and I have a feeling you're after something...different."

Dane followed Hannah into the alley as if he were dazed. By the time they were in the shadows, the only light coming from the small bulb that hung over the door to the kitchen, Hannah didn't care at all how Dane made her feel. She wasn't warm between the legs anymore for him, but instead warm in the head. Hot, she knew, hot headed. Furious. At Dane and Mariana. At whatever tryst they had had while she wasn't around—at how they'd managed to keep it from her.

Hannah pushed Dane against the wall again, knowing exactly where she had placed him. If Dane knew he didn't give any indication, but Hannah had a feeling he did. She had a feeling this was exactly what he wanted. She pushed onto her toes once more and pressed her lips to his, feeling how perfectly smooth they were. Hannah knew they would feel that way; she'd seen him applying lip balm more than once in a shift.

Playfully, Hannah didn't open her mouth as his tongue slid across her lips. She pulled back and grinned at him, brushing her hair out of her eyes. The sounds of heels echoed across the sidewalk but nobody moved into the mouth of the alley. Mariana had stopped just before and was now listening.

Hannah pressed her body against Dane's, feeling the bulge in his pants. It pressed against her, desperate to get out of it's holding and into her. She shivered as she removed her jacket and let it fall to the ground. She palmed at Dane over his pants.

Dane moaned, too quietly. Hannah kissed at his neck, feeling a grimace beginning to form on her lips. She wanted him to be louder. But still only little moans and heavy breathing came from the man. "Hannah," he said.

Hannah felt Dane's hand move up her shirt. He'd pulled it from her skirt and was now trying to get her bra off. She suckled on his neck and rolled her eyes. If this was how quickly Dane moved it was no wonder his affairs didn't last long. Before his hand could reach the clasp of her bra she shoved his hands away and wiggled her index finger at him.

"Ah, ah," Hannah breathed. She gave him another kiss, letting his tongue meet hers. When she pulled away she added, "I want to hear you first."

Hannah had always chosen cleanliness over everything else. She abhorred the idea of getting dirt and dust on her clothes, but at that moment something else was more important. She fell to her knees, already planning on tossing her stockings away in the nearby dumpster. The gravel dug into her skin, and there would be bruises tomorrow morning. Hannah's hands worked quickly to undo Dane's pants and reveal his sex.

It was smaller than Hannah expected, but bigger than others she'd seen. Dane was staring down at her as if showing off something amazing, something she'd never seen before.

"You like what you see?" he questioned, quirking one eyebrow.

She smiled up at him, thinking that even Mr. Cavan wouldn't be able to tell that she was faking. "Absolutely."

Hannah flicked her tongue out and licked Dane's tip. She swirled her tongue around him as one hand began to move up and down his shaft, before she finally pushed her head further down. He filled her mouth and began to groan louder, but still not quite as loudly as she wanted. After a few minutes of quiet, breathy groans from Dane she pulled back and looked up at him.

"You want me to be louder?" he questioned. She nodded. "Well I'd like you to be loud, too. It's only fair."

Hannah considered it, just as she had before. And the thought appealed to her, but not because of Dane. He'd never been of interest to her, she realized in that moment. Something else was what made her want to do anything at all with the man. Hannah pulled back suddenly and grabbed her coat, standing quickly.

Dane gaped. "What? Too much?"

Wiping at her mouth, Hannah couldn't give him an answer. Her tongue felt dry as she stared at the ground, eyes bulging in her recent revelation. Forgetting all about Dane, and Mariana's betrayal, Hannah walked out of the alley. Nobody was waiting there, listening in on the not so private moment.

"Hey!" Dane called. She heard him stumbling behind her, struggling to get his pants back on over himself. "What the hell? Hannah!"

She didn't look back. In the reflection of a nearby car she saw that he had stopped at the mouth of the alley. His mouth was moving as if he was yelling at her but she didn't hear any words. All she could hear was the blood rushing in her ears.

It was never Dane that had turned her on; after all, he'd never been of interest until recently. A nervous bubble of laughter escaped her throat.

It had been the thought of getting back at Mariana. It had been the thought of being the one and only woman for Dane. It had been the image of herself as the notorious outcast of Garnet's Lake. It was never actually Dane himself. It could have been anyone in his place and she would have felt the same heat pooling between her legs moments earlier.

It had been the alley that turned her on. Hannah quickened her pace and checked her watch; three minutes behind.

By the time Hannah arrived at her apartment her legs were wobbly and the heat had completely vanished. She felt chilled now, as if her entire body were covered in frost. It was hard to move, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was unbelievably unsatisfied. She still desired something, but since it wasn't sex she didn't know what. Humans were easy for her to understand, and their simple biological needs even easier. Yet it wasn't a biological need that Hannah had experienced in the alley with Dane, or even in the kitchen with him. It was something else.

And that something else haunted her all night like the ghost it was. It haunted her until her alarm went off at seven o'clock, and she realized she had nowhere to go that morning. It haunted her as she made her coffee and turned on the news and found nothing interesting had happened, and there were no leads in the death of Bart Tompkins; it hadn't even been ruled a homicide or suicide. For now it was just suspicious. It haunted Hannah until late that morning and there was a banging on her door, and two police standing in front of her.

"Are you here to give my wallet back?" Hannah asked.

The same woman as before stared her down, eyes narrow. "We're here to ask where you were last night?"

"Why?"

"Answer the question," she ordered. Her partner gave her a small elbow, all of them knowing Hannah didn't have to say a thing if she didn't want to.

"I was here," she stated, "my neighbour saw me come in. Ask him if you want, Officer..." She pointed to the door beside hers, where she could hear Chuckles growling from the other side.

"Officer Martin," the woman said. "What time did you get in?"

"About eight," Hannah said. She wasn't sure, really. Last night was a memory of blurred action and vivid thoughts, and her watch was still set to the wrong time. She might have been home but her head hadn't left the alley.

"And you were here all night?" Martin asked.

"What is this regarding?" Hannah asked back. The ghost that stood behind her and held her shoulders down vanished, and she was able to stand tall. She seemed to tower over Officer Martin, who didn't flinch beneath Hannah's gaze. Hannah made sure not to furrow her brow as her father did, and instead chose to look down her nose at Martin and the other officer.

"You were with Dane Hemlock last night," the male officer stated. Hannah finally read his nametag; Rowen.

"I saw him at the Lux, yes," Hannah said. "I was there to see my friend."

Martin nodded. "Witnesses say you went into the alley with Hemlock and there was...moaning." The alley, Hannah thought, not an alley. Her lips pursed, growing tired of this conversation already. Her hand rested on the edge of the door, ready to slam it shut again when Martin inched forward.

Hannah watched her but didn't move. Martin said, "You were the last person seen with Dane Hemlock that evening and it would help our investigation if you would cooperate and tell us what you did with him in the alley. There's no denying you weren't with him, like all the other women he's taken a shine to."

"I wasn't with him," Hannah denied. But even if she was it was none of their business. Annoyance crawled over Hannah and she wondered how she could have let her anger take over her so easily. It was obvious how stupid that was, now. "What investigation?"

"The investigation into his murder." Martin tilted her head and Hannah saw her lips twitch again. She was enjoying this far too much, and she wanted a reaction out of Hannah more than any officer of the law should.

Hannah raised her eyebrows to show as much disbelief as she could. "You can't be serious."

Martin tilted her head a little more, seeing right through Hannah's words. That pinch in her chest was back. Martin asked, "I can't be serious that Hemlock is dead or that I think you killed him?"

"Martin, shut it," Rowen hissed. He laid his hand on her elbow, preparing to pull her away. She yanked out of his grip and almost tripped into Hannah's apartment. Hannah doubted it was an accident.

"I think we're done here," Hannah stated.

"Yes," Rowen agreed, "we are. Officer Martin." He gave his partner a glare. Martin gave him one right back before turning it on Hannah. A lesser person would have given in to anything the woman wanted, maybe even given a false confession just to get out from under that deadly gaze. But Hannah had experience with a deadly gaze, and Martin didn't intimidate her. Two weeks ago maybe she would have looked away, but now she wouldn't. Couldn't, even. Hannah realized it was impossible for her to show such weakness.

Martin blinked first, and when she did Hannah shut the door, making sure to give a small smirk to the officer first. She peeked through the peephole to see the officer's reaction but was disappointed to only catch a glimpse of a blonde ponytail vanishing on the edge of the glass.

Hannah fell back onto her heels, hands pressed against the door. The emotion she had over Dane's death wasn't what she knew it should be. It wasn't sad or angry over the death of someone in the prime of their life; he had after all brought the hotel up to five-star status. He nearly single-handedly brought Garnet's Lake back from the depths of destruction. It was sad that he was dead.

But Hannah didn't feel sad. Instead she was...curious. Curious about how he'd died, how long it had taken. Who would be so willing to murder the man and why? She almost opened the door back up just to chase down the officers and get a good look at what was going on in her formerly quiet town; if she had enough time to talk with them she was certain she could make them tell her everything. But she steeled herself, and knew she would have to wait. Having too much curiosity in the investigation might look suspicious to certain people, namely Martin.

Before she could do anything there was something she had to take care of.

Hannah walked to her parent's home for the second time that week, finding it funny that it took murder for her to see them more often. She'd never described their relationship as strained, but she was never very close with them either; most days it felt like they simply didn't want to see her. It had never bothered her until recent events made it feel like something out of the ordinary. If her parents didn't want to see her because they didn't need to then that was fine with her, not everyone needed the constantly stay in touch. But if they no longer wanted to see her because they thought of her as a murderer, then she had a problem with that. She would make them see her, whether they wanted to or not.

Unable to find them at their home, Hannah headed to church. She hadn't been there for quite some time, and she knew there would be some murmurs over her appearance. All it took was murder to get her back to church, too, it seemed.

But as she made it to the old steeple, it's point driving into the sky with fierce determination, she found it nearly empty. Hannah looked at the bare parking lot and clean steps and was confused that nobody was there. With the discovery of Dane's body she thought everyone would be here praying for his soul. And yet...the only person she could find was Father Tompkins.

"Hello, Father," Hannah said, her voice echoing through the pews. Nobody could even whisper in the church without everyone hearing it. Hannah had loved that as a child—hearing everyone's secrets. They all knew they were broadcasted around the large church, but they spoke anyway. It entertained her to no end.

"Hello, Hannah," Father Tompkins replied. He was the silver fox of Garnet's Lake. Tall and traditional, he looked quite a bit like Dane. Hannah tilted her head at him with a gentle smile, noting that he tried to give her one back. He turned to her from the pew beside her. "What brings you here?"

"I'm looking for my parents," she answered. "But I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Bart—Bartholomew."

Father Tompkins inhaled deeply and nodded, his hands clasped together in front of him. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a black button-up shirt, the white collar showing through beneath his Adam's apple. "Thank you."

Silence rang throughout the church. Hannah began to sweat lightly in the heat, the dark red hues of her surroundings making it feel even hotter than it was. Father Tompkins didn't say anything else; he wasn't giving any of his sage advice to her like she thought he would, nor was he talking about her parents or what she'd done. It was comforting, in a way, but she thought that might have just been the church. She'd always liked coming to church, even if she thought it was all silly stories.

"Would you like to sit down?" Father Tompkins asked. "Or have you come to confess?"

Hannah looked to the two boxes she'd never sat in before. They were small and stifling, and Hannah still couldn't understand how confessing to the things she'd done would let her into Heaven. She'd never done anything, in her mind, which needed confessing. It felt like apologizing, and Hannah didn't have anything to apologize for.

To answer, Hannah sat beside Father Tompkins. She could smell his aftershave, musky and dark, and knew he had only shaved out of habit. He wore that collar out of habit, came to church out of habit. Her mother had always said people survived after tragedy because of their faith, in God and in themselves, but Hannah knew better. They survived because that's what the human race had to do—it was ingrained in them to keep going, and to keep doing what they always did. People didn't change because of tragedy, they were simply revealed.

"Where is everyone?" Hannah finally asked, breaking the silence. It bothered her that they weren't in church.

"There's a vigil being held at the hotel." Father Tompkins shifted against the hard wood.

A vigil for Dane but not for Bart, Hannah thought. That's what happens when you're found with a bunch of stolen wallets. "And you're not going?"

"I couldn't find the strength."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't understand," he said. Father Tompkins leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands together beneath his nose. "It wouldn't be right for me to go."

"Because of Bart?" Hannah asked.

"Because of judgment," Father Tompkins replied. "I'm sure you've noticed a change in those around you. Your own mother confessed to me she is afraid of you."

Hannah's eyes darted towards the confessional box. "I thought you were sworn to secrecy."

"She didn't tell me that in confession." He sighed leaned back, eyes forward. It seemed like nobody was going to look Hannah in the eyes again, either because they didn't want to or they couldn't. Hannah felt the latter was a better option. She furrowed her brow and looked towards the front, folding her hands in her lap.

Father Tompkins went on without provocation. "You were a child when your mother began to fear you, you know. I thought it so strange that a mother would fear her own child."

Hannah blinked at the dozens of candles in front of her, unable to say anything. He said, "Do you remember what happened?"

Hannah's head turned slightly. She then shook it, completely baffled by the fact that her mother feared her. She would never do anything to harm her family—what did they have to fear?

"She always said you had the devil in you," he admitted. "After you killed a cat."

"I never killed a cat," Hannah denied, appalled at the idea. While she wasn't about to have any pets, she didn't wish them harm. She faced the preacher, challenging him.

"I didn't think you would remember," he said, "you were young. Your mother never told me the story, but your father did. He was hoping I might have some insight for Jessica about the situation but...I suppose nothing could convince her it was the act of an innocent child."

Hannah gulped. "I never killed a cat," she repeated.

"I don't believe you were malicious in the act." Father Tompkins faced her, his brown eyes exactly like Bart's. Small but knowing. Certain but...lost. "You found it dying on your front porch; you knew it was sick and wasn't going to make it, so you put it out of it's misery. A merciful act, according to your father."

Rubbing her hands over her arms Hannah was suddenly chilled. There was a flash in her memory of a white kitten on her porch, but she didn't know why. She couldn't tell if it was her imagination concocting the image or an actual memory. It felt like the weathered words on a gravestone—something that should have lasted forever but didn't. Something she could almost understand, but unable to read.

Father Tompkins leaned an arm on the back of the pews, opening up to Hannah. "Your mother knew it wouldn't be the only time you killed something. I told her that couldn't be true and now..." He shook his head and inched back on the wood. "I didn't know what to tell her now."

Hannah trembled in the pews. She held herself, unable to deny what the preacher was telling her, but unable to agree with it as well. Her heart was beating so hard she thought it might give out, or give up. It whispered to her that this was the truth. "Why are you telling me this?"

Unlike Jessica, Hannah didn't hold any blind trust in people, not even Father Tompkins. And while he had never lied to her, Hannah knew he was capable of it; but this wasn't a lie.

This was a confession. A confession of fear towards her, a confession that he knew even when she was a child that she was capable of terrible things.

"What I did wasn't wrong," Hannah said, standing. "I did what I had to do to protect my friend. I'm sorry somebody had to die, but I'm not sorry I killed that man!"

Father Tompkins flinched back, eyes wide. The words echoed around them like a chorus but when they came back to Hannah she had to cover her mouth. A chill ran through her body, making every hair stand on end.

A footstep drew their attention. They each turned towards the doorway where a group of people stood; among them was Jessica and Jonathan Best. Jonathan shook his head while Jessica clutched at her dress. Her sandy blonde hair was tied back in a bun, like it always was. As soon as Hannah met her eyes they darted away, ashamed of her daughter.

Hannah looked over the few faces that stared at her. Her lips pursed, and that pinch in her chest came back. She resisted wrinkling her nose, because that would only add fuel to the flames that surrounded her. The holy ground she stood on felt tainted, but not by her presence. By theirs.

Head held high, Hannah did her best to walk forward. With each click of her heel on the carpet Hannah felt worse and worse. Her own parents feared her, shunned her. Her best friend refused to talk to her. And now she was certain she was going to become a plague on the town she called home. Maybe she already was; there had been two more deaths after all, ones she was somehow connected to.

It couldn't have been a coincidence, Hannah thought, that Bart and Dane were each killed after being with her. It wasn't coincidence that a note was left with Bart; she was the common link between them all.

Somebody was killing on her behalf.

Going to the police with the idea that she could help them catch a killer made Hannah feel hollow. She wanted to stop this person, but having them in police custody made her feel somehow defeated. Like she blinked. But the lessons her father taught her since she was a child commanded her body to go to the station and talk to Martin about what she'd realized, what the officer already realized.

Predictably, she was put into an interrogation room. It was obvious since the beginning that Martin wanted to get Hannah into handcuffs, but since that couldn't happen without some kind of evidence, the beige walls and unwelcoming metal chair would have to do. Hannah stood behind the chair and hated to think of all the people that had sat in it. It was an easy weapon; heavy and hard, and not bolted to the ground as it should have been. Garnet's Lake had never needed to bolt their chairs down—bad things didn't happen here.

Growing impatient, Hannah moved towards the two-way mirror. She kept to the edges and peered at that way it wasn't built into the wall—she held up two fingers and found it was mounted. Not a two-way then. She huffed and spun on her heel, looking casually to the camera that sat in the corner. If she stood below it nobody would see her, so she did just that and pretended to look out the barred window.

The door clicked as it opened behind her. "I know what you're thinking," Martin said, stepping inside. "What kind of interrogation room has a window?"

Hannah looked to her and shrugged. "I know the police station doesn't see many dangerous criminals."

Martin gave her a tight smile, as if that were an insult. "It's usually peaceful around here, but not anymore, right? That's what you're here about. Take a seat."

Hannah eyed the chair disdainfully. "I'm more comfortable standing."

"All right," Martin replied. She slapped a brown folder on the table with the label "Hemlock" on the front. It was in big blocky letters, an obvious tease towards Hannah. Hannah pretended not to be too interested in it, since she knew nothing important would be kept in it. She looked out the window again, counting the two police cruisers that sat in the lot. Garnet's Lake only had three, and she assumed the third was either out patrolling or watching the area where Dane had been found.

"You wanted to talk yet you're not talking," Martin said. Her tone was a little more relaxed here, more in control than when Hannah had seen her before. This is her territory, and Hannah was no longer a threat but rather potential prey. Hannah looked at Martin over her shoulder and gave a single nod.

"I was just at the church talking with Father Tompkins when I realized something," Hannah admitted.

"What's that?"

"I think you already know." Hannah turned, leaning her back against the window frame. "I'm the only connection—I didn't want to admit that but...maybe there's something to it."

Martin quirked a pale eyebrow. "I'm surprised it took you so long to admit. You don't seem like the type to live in denial."

Hannah inhaled deeply through her nose. "You've clearly never met my mother." That earned her a chuckle from Martin. Feeling more at ease, Hannah decided to move forward and sit in the chair. It was just as uncomfortable as she imagined, but it made Martin sit down as well. A level playing field, Hannah thought. Much better.

"I was with Dane the night he died," she said. Martin nodded. "I imagine Mariana Tern was the one that gave you that information."

Martin didn't make any motion, a perfectly still face that Hannah gave her credit for; not something easily accomplished. But Hannah didn't need her to make any kind of move to know that Mariana was the one that had turned her in. "She was jealous."

"Of your relationship with Dane Hemlock?"

Hannah nodded, twice she counted. It felt strange to do so more than once, but she found it appropriate for the setting. "He'd taken an interest in me since I killed Belleveau. She's always had a crush on him."

"From what I hear all women at the hotel do," Martin said. "Did you?"

Hannah gave another shrug. "I was flattered, but not interested. He wasn't looking for a relationship, and he was only interested because of what I did. That's why I took him into the alley—to prove it wasn't him and it was the alley I wanted."

"You mean to prove it wasn't you, it was what happened, you mean," Martin corrected.

Hannah furrowed her brow. "Is that not what I said?"

"No," Martin replied. Hannah thought of her words and things began to grow jumbled. She held up her hand and pinched between her eyes. "I'm sorry I haven't been sleeping well lately. I keep having nightmares."

"Understandable," Martin said, her voice softening. Whatever hunter instincts Martin had were dwindling, replaced with the kind caring that most people in town harboured for each other. Hannah remained as calm as she could, ensuring her hands didn't start to shake with the thought that she was actually fooling an officer of the law. Martin, the woman that had been so determined to prove Hannah was an intentional murderer, was letting her guard down.

"Dane is...was a charming man," Hannah admitted. "I was caught up in the moment and when he kissed me I kissed back, but I regretted it and left. I knew how Mariana felt but..." She shook her head and lowered her hands to her lap, keeping her eyes focused there. The cherry red nail polish was almost gone, either picked away by her other hand or worn off from daily use. She noted that she would have to repaint them when she got home. "I don't know how it happened."

"Witnesses say you initiated the kiss," Martin added.

Hannah huffed through her nose. "Maybe I did. I was mad at Mariana—she won't talk to me anymore. Nobody will. All I did was defend myself and now..." She hiccupped, finding a shred of real emotion for herself over what had happened. Hannah really did hate that nobody was talking to her, especially Mariana and her parents. She hated that they feared her, because they were the ones that had nothing to fear.

Martin shifted on her chair as she leaned her elbows on the table. Hannah listened intently, trying to gauge what kind of expression she must have. Soon Hannah looked up and found Martin watching her with soft eyes, the complete opposite of what Hannah had previously seen. Martin said, "There's something you need to see."

She pulled the brown file closer to herself and opened it, fingering through a small stack of reports before coming to a thin plastic bag. Inside it was a piece of paper, with writing scrawled elegantly across it.

"What's that?" Hannah asked, already knowing the answer.

"A note was found with Dane," Martin told her. "We have reason to believe that he was killed because of his interaction with you. It seems you have an admirer." She slid the note towards Hannah.

"He's been cleansed and soon so will you," Hannah read, "I'll show you the light." Hannah leaned back. Whoever had written those words had nearly pierced the paper on every word. "That doesn't mean it's about me."

"It was found pinned with this," Martin said, pushing another bag forward. In this one was a photograph of Hannah standing in front of the hotel from a few nights ago, waiting for a taxi. She was looking down the road beneath the streetlamp, her bag hanging low in front of her as she held it with both hands. It would have been a nice candid shot, if it hadn't been pinned to a dead body.

"How did he die?" Hannah asked, unperturbed by the photograph. If Martin noticed Hannah's calmness she didn't say anything about it.

"He was burned to death," Martin answered. "'Cleansed'." With one small hand Martin pulled the elastic out of her hair, letting it fall towards her shoulders. It brushed against the top of her navy uniform, and that one simple movement made her look even more human. Nothing like the hardened cop she seemed to want to be. "Have you received any gifts recently? Any anonymous notes?"

Hannah shook her head. "Maybe..."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Hannah said, "I think I remember getting a gift."

There was a moment of hesitation as Hannah answered, unsure if what she was about to say would reveal the identity of the killer. She didn't like the idea of Martin figuring it out before her so she added, "I threw it away, I'm sorry. I thought it was from Dane."

Martin's eyebrow twitched. "What was it?"

"I don't know I never opened it."

Martin's small nose twitched. It was the only sign Hannah could read of her annoyance, and it elated Hannah to know she could still get under Martin's skin even as the victim. Still, she added, "It was in a small white with a red bow. You know the kind men always think is romantic." She shrugged lightly.

Martin's nose gave another twitch. Hannah kept her gaze matched with Martin's, and the longer she stared the easier it was to hold. Martin looked away. "What did you do with it? Where did you throw it away? I'll have officers go and look for it."

"Is it really that important?" Hannah asked. "What could be in it that—"

"Of course it's important!" Martin shouted, slamming her hands on the table and she jumped up. The hit vibrated through the metal and into Hannah, making her flinch at the sudden outburst. Of all the reactions she'd thought Martin would have that wasn't one of them. Her eyes widened as Martin glared down at her, the woman's small stature suddenly gone. She seemed like a burning tower crashing upon Hannah. It was getting hard to breathe, Hannah's own chest heaving with each shallow intake.

Hannah furrowed her brow. "I threw it away at the hotel, if you must know." She stood. "I'm done here." She held her purse at her side, her hand shaking as it gripped the strap.

Martin's little nose didn't move this time, but the crinkle on her forehead smoothed out. Soon enough she was the picture perfect, or better yet, neutral officer she was supposed to be. She gave a small inhale and nodded. Once.

Hannah felt her own nose give a small twitch.

Martin moved towards the door without a word, and within a minute Hannah was walking onto the crooked steps of the station. Something had gone wrong, and Hannah didn't know what.

All she knew was that Martin was closer to finding the killer than she was, and she couldn't let that happen. The insignificant box Mariana had thrown away was very significant now, but she knew it wasn't going to do her any good to try and find it. If this killer really was interested in her as Martin thought, Hannah would just have to wait for them to come to her.

And if Hannah was good at anything, it was waiting.

Without anyone to talk to Hannah turned inward. She couldn't go to her parents for advice, not that she often did, but she wanted to call her father in that moment. She wanted to ask him for the truth, if she really had done what Preacher Tompkins claimed; if her mother really was afraid of her. If Jessica wasn't before, she was now. Not only that, Hannah wanted to ask her father if he ever felt the way she did—if he'd ever enjoyed the things he shouldn't. Thinking of the alley still gave Hannah a squirm in her stomach, knowing she had fought someone and won. But Hannah knew that wasn't something you asked your parents, or anyone for that matter. Their answer would always be a resounding no, even if they wanted to scream yes.

Society survived on the dark desires of humans. Alcohol, drugs, smoking, sex; all of it was looked down upon yet Hannah saw everyone do at least one of them on a constant basis. Garnet's Lake might dress up for church in their Sunday best, but after dark was another story. After dark was when Hannah knew the people of her town were truly themselves, even if it was behind locked doors. She'd always wondered what each of them did, and how it might show on their faces if she asked.

The way the town avoided Hannah was proof enough of their delectable sins. They avoided her in hopes of hiding what they truly wanted; to be like her. They all wanted to be as free as she was about her feelings, but that thought only made Hannah question her own honesty. She thought of Dane and a chill rolled over her skin at the thought of touching him. Touching him in the alley however... She sighed as she sat down on her couch, the lights off in her apartment.

The town was jealous, and that included Martin. Martin was only determined to catch the killer to further her own career, and get out of Garnet's Lake for good. In a way Hannah wanted to find the killer first just so Martin didn't.

The sound of shuffling paper caught Hannah's attention. She turned towards her door as a thin white envelope slid beneath it, sweeping across the hardwood until it met the kitchen tiles. Hannah stood quickly, recognizing the red ribbon that wrapped around the paper. She rushed to her door but by the time it opened she was alone. She knew there was no point in chasing a ghost down the hall because she wouldn't catch up.

She kept a cool exterior in case anyone was watching, namely her neighbour. Chuckles was clicking his nails across the tiles on the other side of the door, and apparently tired of growling at Hannah. It was odd that he didn't growl at whoever was out here seconds earlier, making Hannah think the person that dropped the letter off was familiar to him. Of course, in this town anyone could be familiar with the dog.

Which left Hannah with the only option of reading the letter. As she turned back she realized she couldn't assume what was in the envelope was a letter, but she found it a safe assumption. The killer's first gift went unopened, so maybe this was delivered to her home on purpose. Maybe it was a threat...

Hannah made sure to shut her door before picking up the envelope. It was light and carefully wrapped, immaculate even; just like the small gift box. But there was a small lump on one corner, the only imperfection.

Hannah leaned against the kitchen counter and turned the envelope around, pulling at the red ribbon. It fell onto the counter, a soft hush as it brushed against the marble.

In one swift movement Hannah ripped open the top. She knew if she didn't do it quickly it would only taunt her more.

She expected a gift, something small and nice that the killer wanted her to have. Instead she pulled out an earring, a small clean pearl. She observed it in the evening light, recognizing it instantly. It was Mariana's.

Straightening her back Hannah no longer felt relaxed. Her heart had skipped a beat and there was a distinct chill over her skin. She was right in the sense that the killer wanted her to have this, but it wasn't a gift.

Right?  Hannah questioned it, unsure. People that did what this person did had strange ways of sending messages, didn't they? Her lips pursed harder together as she yanked out the paper inside the envelope, carefully setting Mariana's earring on the counter.

Unease rarely settled over Hannah. It had barely been there after she'd killed Belleveau, and even when Mariana and her parents had decided she was no longer deserving of their love. She'd gotten angry over that, but this...this taunt against her made her furious. But it made her feel something else too.

Nervous.

Hannah scanned the letter with care:

Tonight at 0000 hours in the church. I'll show you what a true friend is.

Hannah blinked at the black ink words. Not a threat, she mused with a smirk. An invitation.

The paper fluttered as Hannah flipped it back and forth, checking for any clues as to where it came from but finding nothing. Plain white paper with plain lettering...the only clue was the ribbon. It was stamped with the same little logo that was hanging over a small shop in the centre of town. A shop only the locals knew about.

"So you're one of us," Hannah mumbled. One of her own. She shifted her jaw in thought. Her anger dwindled at the thought of someone she grew up with being the one behind this, and she thought they would have come out and talked to her. What was the point of hiding behind ribbons and gifts?

They held all the power, or at least they thought they did. Hannah felt they were being a coward—embracing the darkness but hiding it at the same time. Smart, but dishonourable in her eyes.

Still, a slight against Mariana, no matter how disloyal the woman was, was a slight against herself. Hannah had no choice but to follow the instructions, and do exactly as the killer wanted.

Hannah found herself walking on her toes, nerves settled in. Her hands were fisted in her pockets, and while she was moving quickly she felt like she needed to move faster. She had to check her reflection in each store she passed just to make sure she was in as much control of her body as she always was; and each time she check, she found she was the visage of the woman she always appeared to be, going to an unknown location. Nobody around her would be able to guess she was headed to a rendezvous with a killer. A killer that had her best friend in their clutches.

In the back of her mind Hannah was still working through the possible scenarios she could come upon. Perhaps Mariana wasn't actually taken, and the earring was a ruse. Perhaps she was already dead and the perpetrator intended the same fate for Hannah. Perhaps Father Tompkins was the one behind all of this; since the note had said Dane was cleansed, and she was now heading for the church. Perhaps Mariana was behind everything.

Hannah found herself kind of liking that thought.

Not knowing, however, was killing Hannah. It had been fun for a short while but now she hated how vulnerable it made her. She swore that when this was over she would always make sure she was the one in control—starting with convincing the town that she wasn't a threat.

Hannah's heels clicked against the concrete and each one felt like an announcement of her presence. She rounded the street corner and came upon the church, the point looming overhead. The small cross at the very top wasn't doing anyone in this town any good, it seemed, least of all Hannah. But she found it comforting that it was still standing, and she stepped towards the church.

There was nobody around so late at night, and Hannah didn't worry about looking over her shoulder. The church was always open in Garnet's Lake, and anyone that might see her could draw their own conclusion as to why she was there. Nobody would guess the truth.

The large door creaked as it opened, a sound that was normally drowned out by all the voices inside. Hannah could hear the faint sound of someone breathing—steady and calm across the room. She peered into the moonlight but didn't see anyone. Her senses were on high alert, and she had to decipher between what she knew was there and what she assumed.

Hannah moved forward again, letting her purse drop to the ground. Her eyes scanned the pews as she walked, heels silent against the carpet. Wings fluttered outside, casting mixed shadows across the church floor. Hannah stopped at the front of the pews.

"You didn't jump," a voice said. "Interesting."

Hannah flinched at the sudden voice but managed to keep her face still. She turned slowly, as if she weren't a surprise there was a person behind her. In a way she wasn't surprised that she'd been caught off guard, but she had anticipated they would come from the side entrance not the front. It irked her, and the pinch in her chest hurt.

"Officer Martin," Hannah said clearly. Before she could inspect the officer her eyes fell to a figure in the pews. Mariana was unconscious on the bench, chest slowly rising and falling as a dried pool of blood surrounded her head like a halo.

"She'll be fine," Martin said. Hannah turned to her. She was wearing her civilian clothes—a black and white striped dress with heels and makeup, her hair clipped behind her head with a sparkling pin. Martin noticed Hannah cataloguing everything. "Do you like it? I wanted to dress up—you always look so put together, even when you aren't. I thought my uniform would fall kind of flat."

Hannah met her gaze. "You killed Dane."

"And Bart," Martin confirmed. "I think you know why."

Hannah thought, but she didn't quite understand the answer she came up with. "Because they hurt me."

Martin nodded and moved until she was a foot away from Hannah. With her heels on they were almost the same height, but she still had to tilt her head up to properly look Hannah in the eyes. "Are you happy?"

"Happy?" Hannah repeated.

"Not with what I did," Martin clarified, "but with your life. You can't be—we're one in the same. Once you accept it it's easier to understand. Easier to accomplish what you want."

There was a brief moment when Hannah thought she could keep going at her life like she always had and things would remain the same. That her parent's and Mariana and the rest of Garnet's Lake would soon understand she was the victim of a heinous crime and accept her again. That she would get another job and continue on as society intended. But looking into Martin's dark brown eyes now she realized she could still have that...and something else.

"I'm still coming to terms with it," Hannah said. She shuffled the pocketknife out of her sleeve quickly and drew her hand towards Martin's throat.

Martin caught Hannah's wrist without blinking, the knife an inch away from her throat. Their hands shook in the struggle for power, neither of them giving up but also not trying as much as they could to win. "You like blood, so I thought you might bring a knife." She pushed Hannah's arm away and in her surprise Hannah stumbled backwards. How could Martin have seen that coming?

"I went through all this, too," Martin said. "After I shot a woman on duty. She was a drug dealer. Do you remember hearing about that?"

"When you first joined the force in the city," Hannah confirmed. It was the talk of the town for one day, but Hannah hadn't given it much thought since it happened so far away. Even when Martin came back to Garnet's Lake she'd barely noticed; what did she care about some girl that had chosen to leave town?

The knife was still in Hannah's hand, and while it was small she had thought it would at least make Martin hesitate. But like the gun in the alley had no affect on Hannah, the knife had no affect on Martin.

"Everyone said it was for the better in the big city," Martin went on. She stepped towards the pews and set her hand on the wood, gazing towards Mariana. "The world was better off without that woman. But I couldn't shake this—this chill I got whenever I thought of it. I thought it was fear."

Hannah ground her teeth, understanding too well.

Martin looked up at her with a gentle smile. "But I learned it wasn't fear at all. Coming here made me realize that."

"You're not from Garnet's Lake," Hannah said. A surge of adrenaline rushed through Hannah's system knowing that. An outsider had never bothered her so much in her life.

"No, I'm not. I was born here but then my parents moved to the city, and came back as a teen. I left again thinking the city was where I belonged." Martin tilted her head slightly in confusion, unaware of what Hannah was truly thinking. Unaware of the rage that bubbled beneath Hannah's pristine surface.

Hannah dropped her knife. It fell against the carpet silently as she kept her eyes on Martin. To her left she saw Mariana begin to stir, but Martin didn't seem to notice. Hannah said, "So you killed Bart because he hurt me, and you killed Dane because he what? Liked me?"

"Because he was trying to use you," Martin said. Her voice cracked as she spoke, emotion taking over. That was something she and Hannah didn't have in common. She stepped towards Hannah. "He wasn't right for you and you know it."

Hannah shook her head and looked away. "No, he wasn't."

"I can show you a better life," Martin whispered. "A life that you can do whatever you want with. We can be friends—real friends. I understand you."

Hannah wet her lips. "How?"

"We can leave tonight," Martin suggested, her smile growing. "We can go to the city, or leave the country—anywhere in the world. Somewhere the people don't know our names." She was nodding too much, too eager to start a new life. Blinded by the possibilities.

And while Hannah had been tempted to take Martin's offer at first, she no longer was. "Leave Garnet's Lake?"

Martin nodded, her grin so wide Hannah finally understood what it meant to smile ear to ear. "This town is too small for us."

Hannah's nose twitched, emotion finally falling over her. While she didn't like that she could be controlled by her emotions so easily, she really didn't care at the moment.

Mariana stirred again, a groan coming from her lips this time. Martin looked towards her. "We just have to settle one thing before we leave."

"I won't let you hurt Mariana," Hannah replied quietly. "But you're right, this town is too small for us." She paused and checked her watch; it had stopped. She mumbled, "My town."

Martin turned, her brow furrowed. She looked like a puppy that Hannah had just kicked, and it pissed off Hannah to no end. Hannah jumped forward and grabbed onto Martin's hair and shoulder, pulling her away from Mariana. Martin grabbed onto Hannah's jacket and they stumbled backwards in a fit of screams, each of them pulling at whatever they could on the other. Blood wet Hannah's fingers as she ripped Martin's hair out, her own black jacket ripped beneath Martin's long nails. They twisted and turned until they came to the ledge at the back of the church and Hannah's heel was the first to hit it, sending her onto her back. A hand clasped around her throat, and she suddenly felt very foolish for thinking she could take on Martin, a trained police officer. Still, she let Martin think she'd won.

"I really wanted us to get along," Martin said. "But there's plenty more people like us out there—I can find someone else. After all, someone found me, and I found you." She pressed her other hand around Hannah's throat and began to squeeze.

Hannah's vision was already starry from the fight, but now the edges began to turn black. Her lungs felt tight, her mouth open but unable to take in any air. Her eyelids fluttered closed. Just as she began to lose consciousness something wet hit her face, and the pressure on her neck disappeared. Hannah opened her eyes in time to see Martin fall to the ground, the thud echoing through the church. A figure stood before Hannah.

"Ma—" Hannah croaked. She rolled onto her side coughing, choking on her own words. When she covered her mouth she felt what was coating her face, and her hand came away red with blood. She looked over her shoulder at Martin, face down on the church carpet and blood quickly pooling around her. Between them stood Mariana, chest heaving and Hannah's pocketknife in hand.

"Mariana," Hannah said quietly. Too quiet—Mariana didn't react, her eyes on Martin. Hannah couldn't speak up any louder, so she stood. She stepped over to Mariana, knees shaky but holding. They each watched as the blood seeped into the carpet and a siren rang in the distance.

"I called 911," Mariana said. "While you were..."

Hannah nodded once.

"She kidnapped me." Mariana's voice cracked. "She was going to kill you; I had to do it."

The knife fell once more to the ground as Mariana let out a sob. She turned to Hannah and buried her face into Hannah's shoulder. Hannah wrapped an arm around her friend, listening as the siren outside got closer and closer.

"I know," she cooed, stroking Mariana's hair. Her eyes stayed on the still body before her. "I know."

Even as she went through the motions of comforting her friend and then explaining what Martin had done to the police—as the town learned of what had happened the next day, and the flowers and notes of condolences came flooding in to her and Mariana—as the town forgave her for what she had done weeks earlier, and now wanted to help her, Hannah could only think of one thing.

She had finally found her reason to start going to church again.

Thanks for reading to the end! I hope you made it this far because you enjoyed this novella, and am here to ask if you'd write an honest review from wherever you have purchased it.

## Afterword

Every human has the basic instinct to survive. Many consider this the "fight or flight" response, in which when danger is around, you either fight it or run the hell away. Personally I'm a flier, and any person that gives me the wrong vibe I stay away from. My friends and family always say I'm paranoid, but I trust my gut instinct.

So trust your instinct; it's there for a reason.

## About the Author

Natalia Hale is a journalism graduate with very little interest in writing news articles of any kind. A reader of the mysterious and morbid, she decided that it was time to start her publishing journey in 2015 with her novella It Takes a Killer. Focusing on short fiction, her stories delve into the disturbing tales that toe the line between acceptable to read in public and "if this is what you think about maybe you should talk to someone" (semi-joking advice from a friend). She is not as dark a person as her writing, but tends to get lost in existential thoughts.

## Connect with Natalia Hale online

www.nataliahale.wordpress.com

