

### Dark Corners

Book One of _The Ella Reynolds Series_

### Liz Schulte

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * *

Dark Corners

Copyright © 2011 by Liz Schulte

ISBN:

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any names, places, characters, and incidents are a product of the author's imagination and are purely fictitious. Any resemblances to any persons, living or dead, are completely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

### Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Sneak Peek: Dark Passing - Book 2 Ella Reynolds Series

About the Author

Books by Liz Schulte

#  Prologue

A sticky, sweet smell veiled the house, making it hard to breathe. I should have known immediately. After all, how many times had I described it in my books? Yet it didn't even occur to me as possible. Never could I have imagined my fiction so brutally brought to life. And so close to home.

The odor stuck in my throat. I gagged. Fear caressed my skin with its clammy hands. In the pit of my stomach I knew something was wrong, dead wrong. The intense certainty propelled my feet forward despite my legs unwillingness to move. They felt sluggish and uncooperative as I entered the only place left to look, the kitchen. The odor grew stronger, burning the inside of my nose. Swallowing several times to force the lump in my throat down, my mouth went dry. I concentrated on not throwing up, instead of what I might find. I stretched my hands out defensively. Time slowed. Every one of my senses assaulted by blood and death, I froze in place. The cold, blank, dead eyes of my husband met mine. Rocking back and forth, the room spinning, I couldn't process the whole of what I was seeing. All I could do was stare back into Danny's eyes—eyes frozen open in horror and pain. The floor smacked against my body as my knees gave way.

Everything went black.

#  Chapter One

"Happy people" disdain filled me as I glanced around the bar. Small groups of college students and regulars chattered away unaware of my existence. I settled into my usual back corner booth while Joe, the bartender, brought over a drink without me having to order it.

I made obligatory small talk with Joe before he returned to his post behind the bar. As he resumed polishing glasses with a dirty bar towel, I inspected the all too familiar little dive. Pictures were haphazardly spread over walls covered in smoky grime from the years when the bar was less desolate. The few rickety tables and chairs marred with juvenile graffiti in the center of the room had seen better days. However, the laughing, smiling patrons occupied them without noticing their feeble condition. An electronic dart board in the opposite corner blinked and buzzed tiredly, giving a strobe effect to the dim room.

There was a time I enjoyed this. I fidgeted with the coaster that was supposed to be under my drink and wondered why I bothered coming here at all, but the thought made it no further than a sigh on my lips. It was hard to believe that not so long ago I would have fit in with the people around me, cheerily visiting and drinking away the stress of their day. Though it seemed like little more than a fairy tale, I remembered when we used to come here with a group very similar to the ones I now scorned, a group of friends I called my own. Not anymore. Now there was only one. Me.

"No dwelling, Ella," the practical, motivational voice I chose to ignore most days rang through my thoughts. "Lingering there isn't going to help anyone. Deal with it."

But I was dealing with it—the only way I knew how. Coping had become a full time job and it left little energy for anything else.

The vodka warmed as it trickled into my belly. I didn't want to cope right now. My head rested against the wall and I let my mind carry me away. It took me back to when things were good, when the world was black and white and not so many shades of gray. It never occurred to me then, that things could, or rather, would, be different. I always assumed life would just work out. Bad things didn't happen to people like me; they happened to other people... people who deserved it.

Was I one of those people others saw as "asking for it"? Maybe, but I didn't care. I no longer tried to be friendly or socially acceptable. I no longer forced a smile when I wanted to scowl. Most of the time I didn't even respond to direct questions since I couldn't be certain what was real. It was safest to treat everything as a figment of my imagination until proven otherwise.

But now some poor bastard was making his way towards my table with a stupid lopsided grin on his face, oblivious to the emotional black hole that was my life. I watched him approach with a detached interest similar to that of a zoo animal watching the hordes of people waving to it from the other side of the glass.

"Hello," he said, as if we had known each other for years. He sat across from me folding his hands on the table.

I blinked slowly, staring straight ahead as if he didn't exist. The best defense was to ignore everything around you so when you had to lash out you took them by surprise. No indication that I had heard him or could even see him showed on my face as I took another long drink, savoring the moment.

This stranger remained unfazed by my reaction—or lack of one. He continued on as if I had given him a warm, enthusiastic greeting. "I've seen you here before. You're not with anyone, are you? Can't help, but wonder why."

Good Lord, he wasn't here to mock me or find out the juicy gossip—he was hitting on me. I sighed and fought a short battle in my mind about how to proceed. Should I make an attempt at civility? Or should I ignore him until he left? I tried the latter, drawing in another large gulp of straight vodka while staring at the pictures and signs on the wall. However, this fellow had more determination than I'd been able muster up in years. He didn't speak any further just watched me with a curious gaze that sent chills down my spine. The hairs stood on the back of my neck; my posture stiffened.

"Look," I said, glancing his way, carefully avoiding his eyes, "I'm not here to meet people. As flattering as it is, I want to be alone."

"That's too bad. I want to meet you."

Just who did this man think he was? Was I not clear?

"Do I look like I want to have a conversation?" I made eye contact for the first time, clenching my jaw. I didn't need this right now.

"Not at all," he said with a grin that others might have found charming. "But I have a way of changing people's minds. I'm a doctor. New to the area—"

I cut him off before he could recite his whole resume. "I bet this normally works on _all_ the girls," I said with a roll of my eyes, "but I'm not one of them. I don't need your company or your conversation. Do us both a favor and leave."

"As I said I've seen you here before. And tonight's the night I find out why a pretty girl like you is sitting in the corner looking surly."

Telling this man to leave was as effective as talking to the glass of vodka in front of me.

My eyes closed in response to his probing. Bitterness inched its claws into me. A flood of angry emotions washed across my mind. I tried to let them ebb before I spoke again. I just wanted to be left alone more than anything else... well, more than _almost_ anything else.

"Was this a bet? Can I help you win it? Whatever it takes to make you leave, just let me know." He raised an eyebrow, but didn't dignify my rant with a response. "Seriously, buddy. I'm tired I don't have the energy to deal with you."

He inspected me for a few moments longer. "Ok..." his voice trailed off, but he didn't move away.

I waited, but still he made no attempt to leave. "You're leaving?"

"No. I was wondering why you're so tired. Thinking out loud really."

I looked in his eyes. They were so caring and empathic I could throw up. Rather than chucking ice cubes at him I decided to actually talk to him, perhaps a little less dramatic, but hopefully still effective. After all, being bitchy only encouraged further conversation and meaningful looks. Perhaps a small dose of my life would be the coup de grace of this conversation. "What's your name?"

"Ahhh, a moment of civility, I'm honored," he teased giving me a half bow. "My name is Grant."

"Grant? _That figures,_ " I said under my breath, then pushed on before he could comment. "Well, _Grant_ , I'm tired because I have problems at home ... in a manner of speaking. Problems that keep me awake most nights and this time, right now," my finger tapped against the tabletop, "that I have here alone is the only silver lining in what would otherwise be an unbearable day. So let me ask you this, why are you ruining it?"

"Husband? Boyfriend?"

I rolled my eyes again, as deliberately as possible. "If I say yes will I be less interesting?"

"Roommate?"

"How much longer do you expect me to answer your questions?"

Grant continued to ignore my open hostility. "You have yet to answer any questions. _Love_ a mysterious girl. What kind of problems at home?"

"Don't you think that's a bit personal when you don't even know my name?"

"Now _that_ could be remedied very easily."

I stalled by taking another languid drink. "Frances, my name is Frances."

"Frances?" His head tilted to the side. "You don't look like a Frances."

I shrugged.

"Well, it is nice to meet you. Now, that wasn't too hard was it?"

"You'd be surprised."

"Hey Ella, you ready for another?" Joe interrupted, ruining my perfectly executed farce.

I nodded.

"Your name is _Ella,_ pretty—suits you much better."

I gave him a tight smile, annoyed that my lie failed so quickly. I couldn't escape who I was even for a few moments in a bar.

"Well, now since I know your name and we're friends, will you tell me all about your problems?" He tried the charming smile again, but I remained unmoved.

Telling the truth, however, was a provocative thought. Someone listening, maybe even understanding, who wouldn't want that? But the reality of the situation didn't escape me. He would run back to his friends with a new story about the raving lunatic of Montgomery. "I didn't tell you I live alone," I said absently, "and you wouldn't believe me if I told you the truth."

"Try me."

"Ask around. I'm sure any of these folks would be happy to tell you about the woman who killed her husband. In a town this size, it's a big story," I said with a flippant tone I didn't feel.

"I'd rather hear it from you."

What was wrong with this man? My words would have sent most people here running for the hills with a story about their brush with death. "What kind of doctor are you?" I asked, giving up. He didn't have to leave if I didn't have to talk about myself.

"I do a little bit of everything."

"A general practitioner?"

He nodded, looking slightly amused which bothered me. It felt like he was laughing at me. Once again the desire for him to leave took over. "Why are you here? You aren't exactly ugly; other girls in this bar would probably love to talk to you... like that one over there." I pointed vaguely towards a group of girls. "Why do you have to pick on me? I'm literally the only one here who isn't going to talk to you."

"I like a challenging woman. Stop avoiding my questions."

I didn't notice that someone else was approaching my table until she was standing in front of it. The woman was blurry through the fog of cigarette smoke coming from a nearby table. I found focusing on her easier if I only used one eye. Slowly she became clear enough to recognize—and the night just got better.

"What is this, harass Ella day, Susan?" I grumbled, mostly to myself though I made no attempt to hide it from her.

"Joe thought you might need a ride, El," she said warily.

I stared at her deciding whether or not I wanted to be difficult. "And you just dropped everything to come and get me?"

Susan sighed. "Are you ready to leave?"

"Whatever." I slid out of the booth. This wasn't the first time the bartender called Susan to come and get me, and in the end it was pointless to fight against it. If Joe called Susan it was probably time for me to go home. Susan, Doug, Danny and I used to be regulars until all the pieces of our happy foursome shattered around us. I was the only one who still came and probably more often then I should. Joe was the last person left in this town who was nice to me, but then again he hardly spoke. I glanced back at Grant. "You are amazingly pushy."

"I'll see you soon." He said with a disturbing amount of self-confidence.

I followed Susan, who was shaking her head disapprovingly, to her car. After a few moments of driving Susan broke my sullen silence.

"You can stay with us tonight if you want."

"Why?" I asked with feigned ignorance. "That would be pointless. Everything's all in my imagination, right?" The smile I put on held no humor or hint of teasing.

"Ella, I don't want to fight with you. You can stay with us or I'll take you home."

"Take me home." We rode the rest of the way to my house without speaking.

"It doesn't have to be like this," Susan said finally, before I could shut the car door.

"Really, Susan? How does it _have_ to be?"

"There're still people who care about you. There are people that can help."

"I don't want _your_ help, Susan, or the kind of help you think I need." I wasn't sure if my vehemence was for her benefit or mine. "I know perfectly well what happened—and what you think I did. Stay away from me." Cold, hard anger clenched my stomach.

"Ella, be reasonable. Reconsider the hospital ... With the stress of losing Danny, plus everything else, anyone would need a break, would need to get out of that house. I don't know how you stand it."

I rubbed my hands hard over my face trying to ease some of the frustration and anger that was still boiling to the surface. "For the last time, Susan, I'm not sick. I'm not crazy. I know exactly what happened and I don't care if you believe me... And for Christ's sake, I didn't _lose_ Danny. He isn't..." I stopped myself, corrected my speech. "He _was_ not a puppy, I know exactly where he is. I buried him there."

"Ella..."

She was too late. I slammed the car door and headed towards the pretty Victorian house that had become my own personal hell. As I looked for my keys, I heard Susan's car drive away. I didn't know why I even bothered locking the doors anymore; part of me welcomed an intruder to come in and put me out of my misery. I was stuck here, in the house that killed my only family. I dreamed about leaving, but couldn't. This was Danny's legacy. Figuring out what happened was the least I could do for him.

#  Chapter Two

I walked into the house; goose bumps spread up and down my arms. I knew deep in my gut that I wasn't alone. Someone or something was always watching. I wished it was Danny doing the haunting, but it wasn't. After all, nothing about this feeling was new, I felt this way the first day we looked at the house–that somehow the place was evil. " _Don't be silly, baby—this house has been in my family for generations,_ " he'd said with such enthusiasm. It was all he had left of his heritage. I couldn't disappoint him.

The house was a large and imposing Victorian mansion with a lovely view. The stained glassed windows were exquisite and original. The lawn was perfectly manicured. The Tiffany chandeliers had been there for over 100 years. I tried my best to make the beautiful house a home, but an uneasy feeling lingered in the pit of my stomach long after we unpacked. I had never been in such an oppressive space. The walls seemed to close in on me. Sometimes I even found it was hard to breathe. I was brought harshly back to reality by a knocking sound. I sat very still on _my_ couch, one of the few possessions in the house that I had actually purchased, trying to decipher if it was my imagination, the house, or someone outside.

The knocking persisted, so I risked being wrong and checked the door. Slowly opening it, my heart fluttered at the prospect of seeing no one there, though it wouldn't be the first time.

Relief washed over me when I saw Detective Troy on the porch. Even though I pretended to hate him, I couldn't suppress a small smile. Honestly, I was so relieved to see anyone at all I opened the door all the way.

"Detective Troy, this could be considered harassment," I said in a matter-of-fact voice, making a point of looking at my wrist where a watch would have been if I bothered to wear one.

Detective Troy was the officer in charge of Danny's case. Ever since he investigated me for Danny's murder, he had been making periodic, random stops by my house. I was never entirely certain of his purpose in stopping here. He always seemed uncomfortable to do so. His brash, pushy ways irritated me, but then again almost everything irritated me. Tonight was no exception. As soon as the relief wore off, annoyance quickly resurfaced. I was in no state to defend myself from the probing eyes of the police.

"I saw the light on—thought I'd stop by to check on you," he said, looking past me into the house.

"Seeing if I am ready to confess more like it," I snarled. "Why are you even in the neighborhood? Are you staking out my house?"

"Should I be?" He finally looked at me with a raised eyebrow, but no conviction. "I'm just making sure everything's okay."

"Okay ... that would be a matter of one's perception, wouldn't it?"

Detective Troy glowered as if he were in no mood to play games which made me want to play them even more.

"It's the same as it always is." He didn't seem satisfied by this explanation and peered into the house again.

"By all means come in, Detective. I have nothing to hide."

The detective walked into the house, his steady eyes scanning the room.

"Do you mind if I have a look around?"

"Gee, nothing would make me happier."

He grimaced, but kept walking. I took a seat in an overstuffed chair and waited. After a couple minutes he came back into the room.

"I'll be on my way." He nodded good bye. Halfway to the door, however, he stopped abruptly and turned back to hand me his card. "Call me if anything happens. Anything at all."

I gave him a half wave, half salute and closed the door behind him.

Everything about him was serious which made me nervous.

He was a strange duck. He'd been here a few dozen times in the past year and every time it was the same. He walked around the house, then left without explaining himself. This was the first time he stopped to give me his card though or made any indication that he might believe me more than he originally seemed. What had changed?

I glanced around the living room, trying to see my uninviting house from a neutral point of view. It didn't work. I rolled my eyes and headed for the stairs. Half way up I heard another knock on the door. My shoulders sagged, I fought to keep the weariness at bay as I went back to answer it my feet suddenly very heavy. Assuming Detective Troy had forgotten something, I swung the door open wide with my best annoyed scowl, but there was no one. I peeked out onto the porch—nothing.

You should be used to this by now, I lectured myself, but it didn't help. Dread swept through my body making me wrap my arms around myself tight.

As I crawled into my pajamas, I lamented my profession again. After all, it was my job that sealed my guilt in everyone's mind. Writing horror novels, at one time, made me a bit of a celebrity in the town; now it just seemed like elaborate planning. No one wanted to hear my stories of strange occurrences. They assumed they were clever tales to divert attention from the murder I committed in my own home.

The solution struck me as I slid under the covers, I could write the story I knew to be true. The story I couldn't convince anyone else to hear. They didn't have to believe me, the facts would still be out in the world. I could accomplish at least that before the house succeeded in taking me as well.

#  Chapter Three

My head's throbbing made me force my eyelids apart the next morning. It could have been a hangover or a general lack of sleep, having tossed and turned most of the night, but I was as tired as when I'd first fallen asleep. The pain, however, was a relief so I didn't take anything to dull the ache. At least it was something real, something to indicate I was still here. I was still alive.

I didn't bother changing out of my pajamas. Slipping on my thick terry cloth robe, I let the belt drag on the floor as I did my best zombie shuffle to the kitchen.

In the hallway I picked up a half finished glass of vodka off the entrance table. The ice cubes had long since melted and the vodka was room temperature, but I drank it anyway. The watered down vodka did little to help my churning stomach, but it did provide the welcome sense of something familiar. The kitchen held new unwanted surprises. All of the dishes and glasses were out of the cabinets sitting across the counters and table. I blinked a few times, hoping it was my imagination, but the kitchen remained a stubborn realm of chaos. I opened each cupboard and sure enough each one was completely cleared out.

"Son of a bitch. Next time why don't you pack them in boxes?" I yelled to whatever I inhabited the house with. The house answered me with stillness and absolute silence. It was good at playing possum—with me and any time other people were around. It was only on rare occasions I had actual witnesses to my torment, someone to say, "I saw that, you aren't crazy."

I rolled my eyes; I just did not have the energy to deal with this now. Picking up the backup vodka from the counter, I officially gave up.

"You made the mess, you clean it up." I said loud enough it made my head pound. I sauntered towards the living room holding the vodka bottle by the neck in one hand and my glass in the other. Before I could crash on the couch, an explosion of breaking glass came from the kitchen.

"Shit," I grumbled and went back to peek around the corner. One of the stacks of plates was shattered on the floor.

"Break them all, like I give a crap. I'll burn the place down," I snarled, setting my precious vodka down. The front door slammed behind me. I whipped around. The door looked as it always did—except it was unlocked. I crept over to it and yanked it open, hoping for an element of surprise, trying to push away the fear of what I would find...

No one was there. No one was on the porch. No one was even on the street. Nothing at all.

I shut the door locking it, then double and triple checking it. The living room waited patiently for a slightly more scared, but definitely more annoyed me. The couch was calling my name. I poured a generous drink, then sprawled out, setting my glass where I could easily reach it. Nuzzling underneath the throw blanket, I closed my eyes in an effort to forget where I was. I tried to imagine myself in a happy place, but all my memories were bitter sweet and my reality was...well lacking to say the least. I gave up on finding a happy place and took to counting my breath instead.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—door slam—nine, ten, eleven, twelve—footsteps upstairs—fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen—plates clanking against each other.... And so the morning went until around 10:30 when it all inexplicably stopped. There was nothing. My head wasn't better, but it wasn't worse. My vodka was depleted, and my body hurt from inactivity, but I didn't have the will to force myself to get up. I didn't have the attention span to watch television or read a book. Listening to music seemed like too much work. My current energy level was conducive only to staring at the back of my eyelids or occasionally the ceiling.

"You have to get up. You have to move, all of this laying around is killing you. Get your ass off the couch!" Eventually my short mental pep talk forced me to fake signs of life and go back into the kitchen. I swept the shards of glass into a pile and bent over to push them into the dustpan. And since I was being productive, I wondered if I should continue this cleaning throughout the house, well the first floor at least. A sharp stabbing pain in my hand brought me back to reality.

"Damn it," I complained to no one in particular as I pulled the glass fragment from my finger. The blood welled red and angry against my pale skin. I emptied the dust pan before running my finger under water in the sink.

I scanned the floor for any glass I missed, but didn't see glass.... Drops of blood from my finger glowed against the white tile. Suddenly my mind was flooded with images from the last time I saw blood in this kitchen. I couldn't let myself think about it. I wouldn't fall into those shadows again. I wrapped my finger in my last paper towel, then scrubbed the spots off the floor, refusing to think of the last time I had to do this.

I worked for the next hour getting everything back where it belonged. I was moving so slow every task seemed insurmountable. I wanted to scream, shout, cry—but but it wouldn't do me any good. No one was listening and if they were they didn't care. And as much as I hated to admit it, even to myself, that was what I wanted more than anything: someone to listen to me. Someone to believe me, to help me.

Not the kind of help Susan wanted me to get. What good would a mental institution do me? I wasn't crazy. Selfish, self-centered, mean, drunk, grumpy, miserable, maybe—but not crazy. I knew what I had seen, what I had felt. Once the kitchen looked as it should, revealing no trace of its dark past, I went back to the couch. It occurred to me that perhaps I should stop using the kitchen, period. After all, my stomach still fluttered every time I went in there. I couldn't round the corner to the kitchen without expecting to see the bloody massacre again. My mind fought to retreat into memories that would curb the anger, but spike the sadness. But I didn't want to be sad! Anger at least kept me somewhat functional. Yet I knew I had to do something. If I didn't want to be stuck here for the rest of my life I had to pull myself out of this routine. There had to be a way to move on with life. Some sort of closure was the only way I could let this go, let Danny go. Even the thought made my heart heavy.

I stood up and flung my glass against the wall, smiling when it shattered. I grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the bar and emptied it over the floor, then went to the kitchen and rummaged for matches. I found some, finally, buried deep underneath dish towels that had been a wedding shower gift. I would end this once and for all. I went back into the living room and struck a match into a flame. Before I could drop the match, it snuffed out. I pulled out another one; the same thing happened. I tried again. And again. Same results. I cried out in frustration and knelt down so I was closer to the alcohol. I would watch this God forsaken place burn to the ground with a smile on my face even if I had to burn with it. Before I could strike my last match, all of the doors in the house slammed open and shut with such force the house shook snapping me back into reality. The doors continued their assault. The noise was deafening. Pain tore through my head. I dropped the match, unlit, in the puddle and covered my ears. I rocked back and forth trying to block out nose.

"Stop," I shouted. "Stop!" My eyes watering from the ache, I wanted to pass out.

Then there was silence. I opened one eye at a time. Nothing. The house sat as if nothing had happened. I consciously slowed my breathing before I stood up. The hurt spiked again, staggering me. I went up to my bedroom and crawled back into bed.

This time I slept like a rock. When I woke late in the afternoon, my sharp, throbbing headache had eased to a dull ache. Guilting myself into cleaning the mess I had left downstairs, I returned to the living room, armed with a wet wash cloth and a towel. But nothing was on the floor. No puddle, no broken glass. I checked the trash can. It held two empty bottles, but nothing else. I touched the floor, no trace of moisture.

"What in the world?" I muttered and stumbled back into a chair. My thoughts swam. The memories that had been threatening to take over all day licked the edge of my consciousness. I finally let them through.

The smell of coffee and pancakes wafted through the air, and kitchen sounds reached to the comfort of my soft, warm bed. I stretched under the covers then snuggled down further, hoping for a last few moments of lingering sleep.

" _El, wake up! We have a long drive," Danny's deep voice called._

I pulled the blankets over my head. I was having the most wonderful dream. Soon I heard his footsteps coming into the room. He tugged the covers back to whisper in my ear.

" _Ella, get up. I made breakfast." He kissed my neck. Our dog Piper stood on me ready to play if given the slightest encouragement._

" _Mmmm, I'm up," I said, turning my head to kiss him. "Good morning."_

" _Good morning, sunshine. Get up, get dressed—we're going to Montgomery today." He ruffled Piper's fuzzy little ears. She perked up and chewed on his hand._

" _Small town life. I can't wait."_

" _Don't be a smart ass. It's not all that bad. We'll never have that much room here." Seeing that I still had doubts he played his trump card. "Besides, this way our children will have a yard to run and play in."_

" _Well, when you put it like that." A smile spread over my face as I rolled out of bed._

It was one of those perfect mornings where everything in the world was right and good. We ate breakfast and hit the road. It was was a four-hour drive to Montgomery, where Danny had grown up.

As we drove, I reminded myself again of all the reasons moving was a good idea. Danny had good memories of this house and would always love it as home. It was also the last physical connection to his heritage.

Danny was an only child, and his parents passed away when he was fourteen. His grandparents raised him and were the last of his family. Understandably he took their death extremely hard, so hard in fact, that though he'd inherited the house over a year ago, this was the first time we were making the trip to Montgomery to even look at the property.

Like Danny, I had no family. I was brought up by a single mother who worked hard her entire life to provide me with the opportunities she never had. She passed away while I was in college. Danny and I had been there for each other through the good and the bad. We both understood loss and shared a strong desire for a large family full of children and joy. Danny was right: it would be perfect to have a large house in a small town to raise our family. Despite being a self-proclaimed city girl, I was excited.

As we drove into Montgomery I couldn't have been happier with the town. It looked perfect. Children were playing on the freshly mowed lawns. Cute, quaint shops were set up all around the business district. The town square looked like a Christmas village or something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Large trees sprinkled throughout the town made it green, shady, and peaceful. We drove down Main Street; I took in every detail my mind logging it for future stories.

We turned down a street with an odd mixture of houses. The beginning of the street consisted of fairly new, modest homes, but as we continued on, the houses became older and statelier. Finally, the street ended at a large Victorian house. It was in need of some repair but for the most part it had been treated with love. In the back there was a large yard that met up with a wooded area.

I could understand why Danny's great, great, great, great grandfather, Jonah, would have chosen this spot for the house. It was gorgeous country. Jonah was one of the founding fathers of Montgomery and through his vision, foresight, and hard work, the town had prospered. Danny belonged here, it was in his blood, therefore so did I. Seeing the beautiful house filled me with happiness and contentment. Life was working out just as I had scarcely hoped it would. Danny wrapped his arms around my waist.

" _Do you like it?"_

" _It's gorgeous!"_

" _It's just like I remember it."_

I smiled at him over my shoulder. "Let's go in, you can give me the grand tour."

We walked up to the porch, hand in hand. With every step closer to the house, however, the more uncomfortable I felt. Danny opened the door and strode in, but I hesitated before shaking the feeling off and joining him on the other side of the threshold. Claustrophobia blanketed me; I felt watched.

The house had large rooms, high ceilings, and lots of light, but it seemed dark and crowded. Danny was oblivious. He walked around lost in memories with a smile on his face. I quickly looked for my source of discomfort. My eyes lingered on the door. I wanted to leave. I needed to escape. Danny came over to me and grabbed my hand with excitement, ending my chance to leave.

He showed me every little detail of the house that meant something to him and told me a million stories that had flooded back into his memory. I couldn't refuse to go with him, though each additional room made me feel more unwelcome and suffocated. It was a vile house and Danny's words were lost on me because my mind refused to focus on anything besides my discomfort.

By the end of the tour Danny started coming back to reality. He noticed the shift in my mood and set out to decipher why.

" _It's old fashioned," he said slowly, watching me, "but we can make it our own. It's perfect and you know it. New furniture, some paint ... It'll be completely different, you'll see."_

Standing back on the porch I was finally able to breathe again. "I don't know, Danny. It's not ... comfortable. I can't place my finger on it, but I feel like an outsider, an intruder. It doesn't feel like home."

" _It's just new to you, El. You'll get used it. Give it a chance. This is what I want, what_ we _wanted ... but if you are absolutely against it then we'll sell."_

I could see the sincerity and passion in his eyes. How could I break his heart? It was his dream house ... Surely I could manage.

" _I'm probably being stupid," I finally mumbled. "It is a magnificent house—I'm sure it will be a blessing for our family. And I'll have enough room to set up an office, plus Piper will have plenty of room to run and play—I'm sure it will be great." I said trying for enthusiasm, but coming up just short._

" _We could even get another dog for her to play with," Danny suggested, sensing my weakness. I had wanted to get Piper a friend for a while now, but Danny thought the apartment was too small for two dogs._

I looked back at the house still feeling doubtful. "It's great."

" _You've said that."_

" _And I almost mean it." I shrugged and fought for a cheerful note. "What doesn't kill me will only make me stronger, right?"_

Danny grinned and slung his arm across my shoulders. We looked back at the stately home and saw our future.

I opened my eyes, pulled out of the memory. Defeat and pain waltzed inside of me.

"What doesn't kill me will make me stronger... God, what an idiot I was," I muttered. I glanced out the window into darkness. How much time did I lose this time? My stomach rumbled—Great, I'd forgotten to eat again today. Thankfully, it wasn't too late for delivery. The sandwich delivery shop recognized my voice and I ordered my regular. With twenty minutes to waste, I made myself a drink and paced the living room, stomach rumbling impatiently.

The sound of footsteps on the porch stopped my pacing dead. It was too soon for the delivery boy. I threw open the front door, trying to catch whatever was out there, but not really expecting to find anything. My heart skipped about ten beats when my eyes met another pair. A startled cry escaped my mouth and I took an instinctual step away. Detective Troy looked almost ready to scream too. His hand was still paused midair, ready to knock.

"Uh, hi," he said, taking a step back and frowning.

"Back again?" was all I could think to say.

"Yeah," he said, lifting an eyebrow as if questioning whether or not that was all right.

I narrowed my eyes, my heart still racing from shock. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

"Not scared, just startled."

I stepped back to let him in the house.

"Any strange occurrences today?" he asked in an official tone.

"You have no idea," I said but didn't elaborate. He and I played this game often. He asked questions he really didn't want to know the answers to; and I didn't really answer his questions.

His eyes scanned the area. "It smells like alcohol in here."

"You're quite the detective," I said.

Detective Troy wisely let the subject go. "I'll be back. Are you staying here?"

"Yeah."

I watched him jog up the stairs. I couldn't get my mind around his faithful random checks. Did he believe me? Or did he have some angle? He'd investigated my life inside and out after the murder. He knew me better than any person in this town. Not because we were friends, but because outside of Susan and Doug I'd spoken more to him than any other person in Montgomery. In fact, after the murder I only spoke to him and my lawyer.

He'd cleared me as a suspect—or at least they'd never been able to bring charges against me—but I wondered what he felt personally. My sandwich came while he was still searching the house for God only knows what. I took it into the kitchen to eat at the counter. When he was finished he found me.

"Everything looks clear."

I nodded, faking interest.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

I nodded, not wanting my voice to betray the stress I felt. After Danny died I told anyone who would listen what had happened. All I accomplished was making people cross to the other side of the street when they saw me coming. Then the whispering about the crazy writer started. Detective Troy was kind, but his doubt was obvious. I no longer spoke of the odd things that happened at the house; I didn't need or want the attention.

"Do you want to tell me what happened today?" he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side.

"No," I replied curtly.

He frowned, but nodded. "Have a good night."

He walked down the hall and I trailed him. Before he left, he turned back to me. "You know I only want to help. I'm not going to spread more gossip."

I made full eye contact, searching for the truth in his eyes. He seemed sincere. I did want to talk to someone and I almost told him. The words were ready to spill out of my mouth, but I swallowed them back down. It would have been so nice to have a shoulder to lean on, a voice of reason, but I couldn't do it. I don't do damsel in distress and he wasn't my knight in shining armor.

"Have a good night, _Detective_."

"Think about it," he said softly, then trotted down the stairs to his car.

I closed and locked the door behind him. There was nothing to think about it. I had already opened myself to enough ridicule. My stomach rumbled reminding me of the sandwich I abandoned in the kitchen. When I got there, however, the counter was sparkling clean and completely empty.

"I hope you get food poisoning," I shouted. I went to my bedroom talking to myself the whole way. I slipped into bed without turning on the lights, still pouting about my lost dinner. Immediately, I felt something cold and hairy at my feet. Imagines of _The Godfather_ flashed in my head. I jumped out of bed faster than I had ever moved in my life and darted for the light. Doing a nervous dance I yanked the covers back. At foot of my bed lay a dead rat, its claws curled towards its body. Disgust engulfed me, followed by a weird sense of confusion. It didn't seem very ghostly to leave a dead rat at the foot of my bed. In fact, I even had a villain in one of my books leave a rat at a victim's house much like this... before he killed her.

Not wanting to touch its filthy little body I went to the kitchen for a garbage bag. After a lot of hopping around and nervous disgust, I disposed of the rat as well as the sheets. With my bed freshly made, I tried to force myself to sleep, but the house was as active as ever. Almost like it was laughing at me.

#  Chapter Four

Night was always the worst for me. Alone in the dark house that already made me feel like an intruder was not ideal, but what choice did I have. Every small noise seemed huge, rattling my already frail subconscious. Every shadow seized my mind and filled me with inexplicable terror. A scream sat locked and ready in my throat. I spent the night drifting in and out of a light sleep, waking up every few minutes with a new fear. By sunrise the tension started to ease from my muscles and stomach. Finally, I was able to drift to sleep until I heard what sounded like the front door slam.

It left me even more edgy—something I wouldn't have believed to be possible just the day before. I couldn't hide here forever so I forced myself out of bed and walked around the house. Nothing was out of place. Nothing ever was. The front door was securely shut and locked. My reflection in the mirror on the wall caught my attention; who I saw was hardly recognizable. My hair was a mess from too many rough nights and not enough brushing. My skin was starting to look stretched across my face making my cheek bones jut out. Large black circles nearly encased my eyes. I smiled a little bit, but it didn't help. No wonder everyone was so scared of me, I looked like the monster they thought me to be. I believe haggard was the appropriate word.

Eventually I shrugged off my image and walked away from the mirror. Who did I have to impress? The only people I saw were Detective Troy—and I doubted he cared what I looked like—and Dr. Livingston. I certainly wasn't interested in impressing him.

I started going to see Dr. Livingston over a year ago and almost immediately he had become the bane of my existence. I knew my dislike for him was completely irrational, but that didn't stop his mere existence from offending me. I hated the days I had to visit him more than my normal days, which was quite an accomplishment on his part. However, he held the keys to the medicine cabinet and I needed refills, thus him by association. Dr. Livingston was a stickler on not missing appointments and being on time.

I showered, dressed and brushed my hair, though still didn't bother with makeup. I called a cab then scrounged for something that didn't have alcohol in it that could pass for breakfast. Unfortunately, nothing fitting those very specific requirements was present. What I had fit no requirements whatsoever. A block of cheese that had more green than the grass in my front yard, a completely spoiled half gallon of milk that I was willing to bet would be as lumpy as it was pungent, and something else that was entirely unrecognizable—bon appétit! Given my lack of culinary choices, I would have to grab something on the way to Dr. Livingston's. I opened the door, deciding to wait for the cab on the porch—and was surprised by the sight of Doug was walking away from the house.

"Hey," I called out to him.

He turned around, looking surprised "I've been knocking on your door for ten minutes."

"I didn't hear you."

He started back towards me. "I'd given up. I was about to head back to tell Susan you weren't home."

"I could've been in the shower," I said but felt uneasy. How had I not heard the knock? "What's going on?" I asked, curious as to why they were suddenly bugging me again. It was one thing for Susan to show up, but Doug wasn't the type to reach out. It was strange Susan sent him to check on me.

"Susan is... concerned. Since she dropped you off the other night, she's done nothing but worry, has hardly even slept"

"You don't look like you've had much sleep either," I said with as much sympathy as I could muster, which admittedly wasn't much.

"Well, when Susan doesn't sleep, no one does," he said dryly.

I almost laughed. "Yeah, why don't I find that surprising?"

"So is everything okay?"

"I'm really tired of people asking me that, but yes, it's fine. Why wouldn't it be?" I said a little snappier than I had intended.

"Just asking..." Doug looked like he wanted to escape. He kept glancing back behind him like he was looking for an excuse. "You know Susan misses you...we both do. You should come around more. Danny wouldn't have wanted you to close yourself off."

I smiled tightly. "I'm sorry, but you knew Danny for what, two seconds? I don't think you have any idea what he would or would not have wanted for me. You know nothing about him... or me." My cab pulled up saving both of us from our own awkwardness. "I have to go." In the cab I breathed a sigh of relief and gave the cabbie the address, although I was certain he already knew it. There were only so many drivers in a town this size and I never went anywhere else. I beat myself up again for not having my license. I'd just never gotten around to it—I was a city girl born and raised. Chicago was my home and after all of this was over I was going back. That is how I justified it at least. Really though, I just didn't have the will to learn. Danny said he would teach me, but we didn't make the time in our short life together. We didn't make the time for a lot of things. Now even thinking about someone else teaching me to drive made me lonely.

Dr. Livingston's office was in its normal state. I sat in the waiting room thumbing through the same boring magazines that were there week after week. Dr. Livingston's receptionist—the picture of ineptitude—was giggling on the phone with a friend rather than answering other calls. She was very image of a cliché secretary and I loathed her. Her ear piercing laughter echoing through the office and making my ears want to bleed may be what irritated me so much, hard to say. Perhaps I was projecting my anger and animosity for Dr. Livingston on her, since he was the one who forced me to wait for my ridiculous appointments each week. No matter what time I arrived, I always had to wait at least five minutes. Today was no exception. I often wondered if he played these mind games with all of his patients or if I was singled out.

Finally the insipid airhead said that I could go into the office, a large and spacious room with a minimalist's décor and two low and not so comfortable sofas. His desk had nothing on it except a lamp, not even a post-it note. Dr Livingston was seated on the edge of one of the sofas with a note pad. He was a small weasely looking man with short brown hair and small wire rimmed glasses. I sat on the other sofa as far away from him as possible and tried to be hostile.

"Not feeling social today, Ella?"

"I'm feeling perfectly social," I said in a completely monotone voice

"Hmmm."

I smiled and lifted my eyebrows slightly. It was a challenge to Dr. Livingston to make the first move in this game of chess. I normally gave in first because otherwise the hour lasted forever, but I liked to make him work for it. After a few minutes of silence and Dr. Livingston watching me expectantly, I broke.

"Why am I here?"

"That's an interesting question."

"I don't get anything out of these 'sessions' except for my anti-depressants, anti-anxiety, and sleeping pills ... I do like those."

"Do you think you need them?"

"They make life easier. And if I didn't need them, would you be prescribing them?"

"Is this life?"

"What do you mean?" I narrowed my eyes.

"Is this life, Ella?" he gestured wildly with his hands. "Do you have any other interaction during the week besides with me? Have you established or maintained any relationships? Are you just going through the motions?"

"I don't think it's any of your business who I interact with. This town has nothing for me. No one has helped me. No one has stood by me. Why should I reach out to them?"

"Because you're human. People need other people. It's in our genetic makeup. You need people. No one is perfect, Ella. No one can stand up to the impossible standards you set for them, yourself included. Your friends lost Daniel too—you make no allowances for their pain."

"They're not my friends. Friends would have stood by me when everything was falling apart. I don't need them nor do I want them in my life."

"Then why stay?"

"I can't leave until it is over," I mumbled, no longer feeling like talking to him. He wouldn't understand if I explained it to him. No one would.

"What's over?"

"Danny's case."

"What if the killer is never caught?"

"Then I'll stay forever."

"Don't you think Danny would want you to be happy, would want you to move on with your life?"

I laughed bitterly. "I'm sure he would—just like I want him to be alive. Looks like neither of us are getting what we want. I'm willing to compromise, but God hasn't responded to my proposal yet—See there, doc, make a note. Check 'bargaining' off that chart of yours. I'm almost through all the phases now."

Dr. Livingston ignored my rant. "You still believe a ghost did it?"

"I never said it was a ghost."

"What was it?"

"Why do I constantly have to justify myself? I didn't ask for any of this."

"Other people have been there. What do they say? You aren't the only person to have lived in that house—why does no one else see what you see?"

"Are you feeling hostile today?"

"Why? Do you feel as if I am attacking you? You said you don't feel like you're getting anything out of this—"

I nodded.

"Well then you need to talk to me. Even if you're not 'crazy' you will soon be if you keep holding everything inside." Dr. Livingston is totally an air quotes type of person who watches too much Dr. Phil.

I closed my eyes and strained to maintain patience. "I don't care what other people think or feel. I felt this from the moment I stepped into that house two years ago—something there is evil."

"It's just a house."

"I'm at its mercy."

"Weren't you at its mercy before Daniel died?"

"No, it's gotten worse. Now things are happening every day, every night. I never have a break. When Danny was around it was less frequent; the situation is escalating."

"Ella, have you reconsidered a stay in the hospital. Just for a while, give yourself time to work out some of your grief and anger."

"A hospital will not help me anymore than those antipsychotics you put me on did, because I'm not crazy. I'm telling the truth, but you aren't listening."

"I think we need to increase the frequency with which we meet."

"No. I don't want to come any more than I already do. You cannot help me. I'm not fixated. This is not a delusional break. I simply have to figure it out on my own."

Dr. Livingston's egg timer went off in his head. He looked up at me. "We'll discuss this further next week." He tore my prescriptions off from his note pad and handed them to me. "And please consider upping your sessions to twice a week. I think we've started to make some progress today. You spoke more this afternoon than you have in your last three appointments."

Outside his office I felt myself being pulled away into another memory. These memories were like land mines in my imagination. If I wasn't careful, I'd drift away into the past and never come back. Sometimes I lost hours when that happened.

It was too late to stop this one, however.

#  Chapter Five

" _Ella." I felt a finger rub the end of my nose. "Ella," the voice said again._

I opened my eyes to see Danny leaning over me. "What time is it?" I asked groggily.

He shrugged. "You're having a nightmare."

My dream came back to me. It was horrible. There was a strange man in our house and he wanted to kill me. I was running and running, but could not get away. He found me everywhere I hid. I was hiding when Danny woke me up.

Similar nightmares had plagued me since we moved in, but this was the first night my dream woke him up.

I tried telling Danny about the dreams, but he only teased me later. He didn't understand because he didn't feel the uncomfortable vibe the house gave off. He was so happy to be starting fresh and doing something he loved. I never knew how handy he was until we started renovating. It appeared I'd married a person who was absolutely wonderful at everything he did.

" _Do you want to talk about it?"_

" _No, I hardly remember it." I lied._

" _It must have been violent—you were kicking and crying for help."_

" _I really don't remember anything."_

He shrugged and lay back down, wrapping his arms around me as I rolled to rest my head on his shoulder. His hand gently rubbed a small circle on my back until I drifted back off to sleep.

When I next woke, it was morning and the sun was bright through the window. Stretching my stiff muscles I noticed that Danny's side of the bed was already vacant. I listened for him in the bathroom, but was met with only silence. Navigating my way downstairs through the boxes and clutter, I sleepily appraised the never ending task in front of us. We'd been there two weeks, but were still trying to fit our stuff in and decide what we wanted to keep of the old. Every closet or corner I looked in held something new and unfamiliar. I found Danny in the kitchen eating cereal, reading the newspaper.

" _Mornin' sunshine—anymore bad dreams last night?"_

" _Nope, slept like a baby." And it was true. Piper heard the sound of my voice and raced in from her bird watching out of the library window. She jumped against my legs, begging to be picked up. I scooped her into my arms and snuggled her._

" _And how did you sleep last night, Piper?" Piper tilted her fuzzy head and looked at me questioningly before she licked her nose and took to chewing on my hand that was petting her. I kissed the top of her head and set her back on the floor. She happily trotted out of the kitchen and back to her self-appointed post in the library._

Danny walked over to give me a bear hug. "If only you were that open with other people."

I rolled my eyes and swatted him. Suspicion came naturally to me. I didn't trust most people because most people didn't deserve to be trusted. Danny was always the life of the party, and I was always the girl on the outskirts talking to a couple people I already knew. It was amazing we ever got together.

" _If other people were as trust worthy as dogs, I wouldn't have a problem," I replied. "And I've been trying. I was nice to those people at the hardware store, the Daniels."_

" _Yeah, they seemed nice and young. We should invite them over for dinner some evening."_

I made a face.

" _What happened to being nice?" Danny asked._

" _Being nice is one thing, but we're nowhere near having this house ready for guests." I looked around at the boxes and piles everywhere. The kitchen table was so full we couldn't even sit down for a meal._

" _Then we can go out to dinner."_

" _Fine." I shrugged nonchalantly. Some people make friends easily; I was not one of those people. Danny loved to have big groups of people around so I would try for him. I was fonder of intimate settings, though maybe the house would seem less looming with a crowd. Or, perhaps, if I didn't feel so alien in this town, I'd feel more comfortable in general ... It would be good for me. What could it hurt?_

"Excuse me." A voice came from behind me pulling me out of the cloud of melancholy hovered over me. I stepped to the side to let the woman pass. Why did I never feel better after leaving Dr. Livingston's office than when I arrived? I was making my way distractedly through the maze of hospital hallways to the elevator, when a booming, triumphant voice brought me back to reality—or at least got me to peer through the prison bars of my mind.

"Ella? I knew I'd see you again!"

I glanced into the elevator for the source of the voice, hoping it wasn't just in my head. Relief filled me as my eyes rested on a real, flesh and blood person. It took me a moment to recognize him though. I frowned out of habit. "Right ... from the bar."

"Yep, it's me all right—what are you doing in the hospital?"

"Visiting," I lied. It was none of his business what I was doing here.

"Well, then I'm lucky to catch you. I have a few moments, would you like to accompany me for coffee?"

Would I like to accompany him? Seriously, who speaks like that? Should I curtsey? "Thank you, but no. There are things I need to do today." I hoped my excuse sounded more convincing to him than it did to me.

"Later then?"

I smiled tightly. "Perhaps."

"When will you be visiting again?"

"Next week, same time," I said automatically, then mentally kicked myself.

The elevator door opened on the ground floor. Grant had obviously missed his stop, the strange persistent man. I stepped out and was slightly perplexed when he followed.

"Are you leaving too?"

"No, I didn't want to hold the elevator while we finished our conversation."

"What conversation? I'm pretty sure our small talk was over."

"Ella, that was almost a joke," he teased with his goofy lopsided grin.

"Who's joking? Have a nice day Grant."

"That's it? You're leaving? You're breaking my heart."

I waved over my shoulder and walked off without looking back. My cab was already waiting. I needed to go to the grocery store, but I was drained from the social contact. Instead, I had it take me home. Thankfully the cabbie was aware of my no talking rule and we rode in silence. I promised myself I would shop the next day ... do it "tomorrow." It was always tomorrow. Tomorrow I would do everything I had been avoiding. Oh, how I wished tomorrow would arrive.

Walking up to the prison I called home, I heard someone snarl, "Hold it in the right place, you stupid bitch."

I looked over at my creepy neighbor, Mr. Sexton, yelling at his wife, who looked no more than 14 years old. I made eye contact with her for only a second and had a surge of sympathy. That second, however, seemed to cost her dearly. Mr. Sexton hit the flashlight out of the girl's hand and shoved her towards the house.

"If you can't do nothing right, go inside," he screamed inches from her face, pushing her once more. She lost her balance, fell to the ground.

I told myself to mind my own business and continued to walk towards my door. I wanted to say something to make him leave that child alone, but it wasn't my place. I wasn't getting involved. The last thing I needed was a neighbor feud on top of everything else.

I was reaching my porch when I heard him yell, "Hey girlie!"

I kept walking.

"Hey, I'm talkin' to you."

I turned and looked at him with undisguised disgust. "What?"

"How do you like living in that big ol' house all alone?"

I had no idea how to respond so I walked in the house without responding. I stood at the door for a moment gathering my thoughts. Maybe I would tell Detective Troy about Mr. Sexton—his frequent visits might actually prove useful.

Bang, bang, bang—

The door thudded behind me, making my heart stop. I opened the door and Mr. Sexton was standing so close to the screen his nose was almost touching it. I gripped the doorknob so I could hold it closed in case he tried to come in.

"I was talkin' to you, girlie."

"I thought it was pretty clear I was ignoring you."

"Don't get all high and mighty with me, you little bitch."

"You're not welcome on my property. Leave or I'll call the cops."

"I know things—I know what you did."

"I seriously doubt whether you would know your ass from a hole in the ground."

"Don't think I can't see what is going on here."

Before he could continue, I shut the door in his face and locked it. Then I listened for him to leave. After a couple of minutes I heard his heavy footsteps on the stairs. I suddenly became aware that I'd been holding my breath and let it out with a gush.

I started towards the kitchen to make some tea when the phone rang. The shrill sound was ear piercing in the silent house and made every muscle in my body contract; obviously Mr. Sexton had left me a little jumpy. My voice shook when I answered the phone, which made me cringe at my own cowardliness, but no one was there. Some days were worse than others for the hang up calls. They always left me feeling very alone and vulnerable with only the house watching me.

Sometimes my mind took its own path and wondered if someone was calling to check that I was home. It was a thought I tried dismissed as fast as it came, but with each new call, it was increasingly difficult. Finding the most opportune time to place rodent bodies in my bed, perhaps. The memory made me feel sick.

As quickly as the urge for tea had come, it passed. Vodka seemed more my speed. I drank in the living room, in the dark, in silence, cursing the house, my life, and myself. Then I drifted back into a world of happy memories not caring if I got lost there forever.

Bit by bit, despite my continuing misgivings and bad dreams, Danny and I fell into a rhythm. We made friends with the couple who owned the hardware store we were constantly in and out of because of our ongoing restorations—Susan and Doug Daniels, a very nice, normal couple around our age.. Before they moved to Montgomery, they'd lived in Seattle and worked for a software company. They moved here to start a family and be near their own.

Though the Daniels lived here and owned a business for the last five years all of us were considered outsiders by the locals. Having unfamiliar faces and being instantly labeled as "city" forged an instant connection between us. It wasn't long before they became like family. They helped with the house in their spare time and we had dinner together weekly.

One day while Danny was with Doug at a hardware expo and Susan covered the store, I stayed home to finally do some writing. I'd been working on a new book before we moved, but since the move hadn't written anything. It was the first time I ever had writer's block and it drove me mad. I blamed it on being busy and settling in, trying not to acknowledge that I'd had no new ideas since I stepped foot in the house.

I unplugged the phone, so I wouldn't be interrupted by the onslaught of hang up calls we had since moving in. I sat at my desk with Piper lying on my lap. Staring at the computer screen my mind was completely blank.

I grabbed my hard copy and settled down on the couch to read what I had last written, trying to get back into the story. As I read, my eyes became heavy and before I knew it I was napping.

The sound of the front door opening woke me. Piper bolted awake too, barking frantically. She hopped off the couch, running to see who it was.

A low male voice said, "Hello Piper," and she stopped barking. I assumed it was Danny, though why he was whispering was beyond me. I thought about getting up to see him, but I knew if I did that my nap would be over. My tiredness won, I remained on the couch, eyes closed, hoping to recapture the comfortable sleep I had been enjoying.

Danny walked past the office, crumpling a paper bag, Piper's quick steps right behind him. I was tempted to open my eyes, but something stopped me. A little voice inside my head whispered, "What if it's not Danny? What if it's someone breaking in? If they see you and you see them, they'll have to kill you."

I dismissed it as irrational. Of course it was Danny; who else could it be? When Piper jumped back up on the couch with me I relaxed. Had it been a stranger she wouldn't have come back. I slowly drifted back to sleep.

Sometime later, the front door opened again, but this time it was followed by Danny gently waking me. "Hey you, I thought you were writing today."

" _I meant to," I said, stretching "Where did you go?"_

His brows pulled together in a line of concern. "The hardware expo. Remember?"

" _I know that, I meant just now."_

" _I'm not following you."_

" _You came home earlier today."_

" _No, I just got home."_

" _Are you joking?"_

" _No... I just walked in the door."_

" _I heard someone come in earlier; I thought it was you. It woke me up."_

Danny looked at me for a moment to see if I was serious, then he went and checked the house. Soon he came back into the study and shrugged.

" _The door was locked when I got here. It must have been a dream."_

" _It wasn't a dream. I woke up." Seeing the disbelief in his eyes I defended my position. "Piper started barking."_

" _No one is here. Nothing is missing. It had to be a dream."_

" _It wasn't—I'm a hundred percent certain."_

" _Then what happened?"_

" _I don't know."_

I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling of my silent house. Even with just Danny and Piper here the house had so much more energy to it. I should have insisted, made him listen to me. It was too late now, I sat up with a crick in my neck. It was dark outside and I had spilled my glass of vodka on the floor and myself. I was rubbing my neck, trying to soften the knot when a strange feeling hit me like a ton of bricks. Something was wrong, horribly wrong. I looked up quickly.

Bang! Something hit the house with tremendous force. It brought me to my feet. Through the window, I saw the porch swing rocking madly back and forth. My heart thudded wildly in my chest; I stood frozen, unsure what to do. There was a knock on the door. My heart continued beating so loudly I was surprised I could hear anything. Cautiously I walked towards the door. I didn't want to open it. My stomach fluttered. I licked my lips, though my mouth was dry like it had been packed with cotton. I reached slowly for the knob, trying to find courage where none existed. With a deep breath I pulled the handle towards me.

"Susan!" I exhaled in relief.

"Yes..." she said, giving a weird look. "Can we talk?"

"Were you just on the porch swing?"

"No..."

"Did you see someone leaving as you walked up?"

"No," she shifted and looked over her shoulder. "The porch swing is moving."

"Someone was here."

"It was probably a cat."

I looked at her with annoyance. "Why are you here?"

"I came see if you're all right."

"I wish people would quit asking me that."

"You reek of alcohol." She sniffed the air in front of me.

I self-consciously wiped my hand over my shirt where I had spilled my drink, but gave her a defiant look.

"When's the last time you ate?"

"Breakfast," I lied.

"You should probably eat more than once a day. I'll make you dinner."

"I haven't been to the store in a while. I doubt you could find anything to make."

"I figured. I brought groceries."

Susan picked up the bags sitting by the door and pushed past me, not waiting for an invitation. I followed her sluggishly as she walked to the kitchen. I saw her looking around the house and I knew she was judging me for not keeping it together. In the kitchen, she immediately started searching for pans and rummaging through her bags. I sat on one of the stools along the counter and watched. My mind drifted back to how it used to be.

Danny and I pulled up in front of the Daniels' home.

Game night—my favorite part of the week. It was the only night we escaped the house and all that we needed to do. Danny and I stopped working early to head over to Doug and Susan's every Thursday for an evening of fun and entertainment.

It was a good stress reliever and kept us from killing one another. Constant exhaustion and unending home repairs was making the little things the other one did, like smacking their gum, not changing the toilet paper roll, and the constant humming, unbearable. It was nice to have one night every week that we could relax.

Loud music blared from their house as we walked up to the door. Danny rang the doorbell and Doug opened it immediately as if he'd been waiting by the door. They lived in a new house in a new subdivision. It had a wonderful, open floor plan and a lot of natural light. I greeted Doug, then made my way to find Susan. Doug and Danny trailed behind me as I walked to the kitchen where Susan was dancing as she assembled pizzas. She grinned widely when she saw me.

" _Hey, lady! How was your day?" she asked, bubbling with enthusiasm. Susan was the type of person who had endless amounts of energy and never seemed weary. She worked long hours at the hardware store, even more than Doug, and volunteered for countless organizations. The woman knew no limitations and I often wish I had her spirit._

Doug was much more reserved and quiet. I often caught him staring, at Susan, at Danny, occasionally even at me. Sometimes he'd stare off into space and you had to actively try to get his attention. He was always careful about what he said, never really cutting loose. Susan, on the other hand, never thought before she spoke. Everything tumbled out of her mouth as soon as it hit her brain. They were definitely a case of opposites attract, yet they fit together. Together they were a complete person, each making up for the other one's deficiencies. To a certain degree they reminded me of Danny and me.

" _Hey, yourself! What can I do to help?"_

" _Ummm, you want to chop vegetables for the salad?"_

" _Sure." I said and grabbed a chopping knife. Doug got two beers out of the refrigerator behind me, while Danny sat at the counter watching us cook. Doug handed Danny his beer, then leaned against the refrigerator taking a swig of his own._

" _Doug, you should show Danny our new entertainment system." Susan said. She couldn't stand to see other people just sitting around; everyone needed to be engaged in some sort of activity. She directed her attention to Danny next. "You should go look. It's ... elaborate. Doug did all the wiring himself. We now officially have a theater room." She spoke the words brightly, but there was an edge to her voice._

Doug rolled his eyes. "It's only elaborate to those with the technical knowhow of an 80-year-old, but I'm always happy to show off my work. Do you want to see, Ella?"

" _Thanks, but no. I'll stay and help Susan. It's not fair to leave her with all the work."_

The guys headed to the basement to look at the theater room, leaving us to finish dinner.

" _Good, that should keep them busy for a while," Susan said as she put the pizza in the oven and came over to help me with the salad. "So how are things with you guys?"_

" _Great. We finished the floors today. I'm exhausted physically and mentally, but everything's coming along."_

" _The house still picking on you?" she asked in a teasing voice. I gave her a tight grin in an attempt to keep from frowning. She sounded just like Danny._

" _Something like that," I mumbled, suddenly very interested in the mushrooms I was chopping. Neither of us said anything for a while. I felt like Susan had more to say, something she wanted to discuss, but she wasn't sure how to approach it. Uncertainty hung in the air between us until she finally said, "Home improvements can be stressful. How are you two holding up?"_

" _Fine. We argue a little, but that's life, right? Once things settle down we'll get back to normal. How are things with Doug? Is he still sleeping the guest room? Did you talk him into couple's counseling yet?"_

Susan's jaw clenched. "No. I envy you—at least Danny will argue with you. Doug pretends like nothing's wrong. He spends all his time in his workshop playing with cameras, circuits, and God knows what else. I think he misses working with technology. Maybe he regrets moving here ... I don't know he won't talk about it" Susan flipped on the oven light to check the pizzas. . "When I ask him, he tells me nothing's wrong, he's just tired. I told him it's no wonder since he stays up most of the night. That's when he started sleeping in the guest room." Her eye twitched from the stress. She pressed her hand against it, and forced a smile. "We'll work it out."

" _Of course you will," I assured her. "Everyone goes through rough patches. The two of you are perfect for one another."_

She nodded, but her eyes glistened as she put the final touches on the salad. Doug and Danny wondered back into the kitchen. I distracted them by assigning them to set the table while Susan pulled the pizzas out of the oven. I set the salad on the table and we all took our seats.

" _So what's new in the Reynolds house?" Doug asked._

" _Nothing, just working away." I said._

" _Well, not quite nothing, this morning Ella told me how there was banging in the walls and kitchen all night. She barely got a wink of sleep. Apparently our house is haunted by a drummer." Danny smiled as he started on his newest favorite thing to do. Telling "my crazy wife" stories. Susan and Doug laughed, smiling at me as if I were a silly child. I bit my lip to keep myself from making a scene._

" _Have you checked the pipes?" Doug asked. "Plumbing in those old houses can do that..."_

" _Yeah, I've checked everything. Our drum-playing ghost likes apples too, isn't that right, Ella? Tell them."_

I gave him an icy glare "What and rob you of being the center of attention? I wouldn't dream of it. Be my guest." I tried to keep my voice light and mocking so Susan and Doug wouldn't know how much he was getting to me. Sometimes Danny was just so— gah!

" _Apples?" Susan asked._

" _Yes, apparently our apple tree in back had bushels of apples on it last week. Ella had grand plans to make a pie for tonight with them, but when she went out this morning there were no apples on the tree or the ground."_

Doug laughed and Susan wrinkled her nose. "It was probably that creepy neighbor of yours, Mr. Sexton. That man gives me the willies."

Doug laughed even harder. "That old man is harmless."

Susan shrugged, but Danny joined in the laughter. He kept on telling stories while Susan and Doug laughed loudly, egging him on. I sat quietly fuming about being the butt of the jokes. Eventually they tired of the subject and moved on to other things. Furious did not begin to cover what I felt towards Danny for doing that, but it wasn't worth fighting with him.

The rest of the evening was pleasant. We talked about movies, town gossip, and anything else that came to mind. When dinner was over and the dishes were cleared Susan pulled the game choices from the closet. We decided a cut throat game of Cranium would ensue once we were divided into teams.

" _Let's do couples," Danny said._

" _No, we do that every week." I shot the idea down thinking it might be easier on Susan and Doug, plus I was still mad._

" _I'll be on Ella's team," Doug said brightly. "We can mix it up a little."_

" _No," Susan said, looking uncomfortable which surprised me. "Let's do girls against boys." Both of the guys shrugged, but went along with the suggestion._

Susan and I won without even exerting ourselves. We played three times and each time the guys were no where even close to us. We did a victory dance around the living room after each win, as Danny watched laughing and Doug smiled.

" _Well, Doug," Danny said with feigned seriousness, "next time when the girls want to be on a team together, just say no."_

Susan and I eventually stopped gloating and soon Danny and I gathered our jackets, saying goodbye. Before I could leave Susan hugged me.

" _It was fun tonight, thank you guys for coming over," she said. Her face looked happy, but her eyes looked sad. I hugged her back then jogged to catch up with Danny on his way to the car._

" _Did you have a good time?" he asked_

I nodded. "Well, except for being the butt of all your jokes I did. Did you?"

" _Yes, it was especially nice to see you laughing and smiling again. You're so serious at home. And you weren't the butt of any jokes. I was simply sharing your experiences with our friends."_

" _You were belittling me and you know it."_

He sighed. "I wasn't belittling you. It's a sad thing that you can't laugh at yourself, El."

I didn't reply. I had nothing to say. No matter how many times I explained myself to him, he could never see my point of view. It was all a big joke to him. We pulled in front of the house; the windows watched us suspiciously.

" _Sorry," he said quietly as we sat in the car._

I got out, slamming the door behind me.

Home, sweet home.

I yanked myself out of the memory and forced myself back to the present. Susan was looking at me like I'd grown an extra head or something. Whatever she had said I completely missed it. I attempted some sort of conversation. "You don't have to make dinner. I'm fine, a little messy perhaps, but fine. You can go."

"I came to see you, Ella. You don't seem to realize you don't have to do this all alone."

"Funny. You weren't here a lot while the police were investigating. I could have used you then."

"You shut everyone out. We were grieving Danny too. I didn't have the energy to fight you every step of the way."

"You thought I did it," I said, incredulous over the way she was recasting events.

"I didn't think you did it."

"Really." It was hard to keep the recrimination out of my voice. "It didn't seem that way to me."

"Well, you seem to think a lot of things happened that didn't actually happen," she snapped.

I narrowed my eyes. I was not about to back down on this. "You still think I'm making this up, that I'm insane."

"I do now, because you're acting that way."

"You never believed me about anything."

"That isn't necessarily true. I don't know how I feel about your stories. They are ... implausible, extreme. Even Danny didn't think they were real." Susan suddenly looked tired and sad.

"Is that why you think I killed him, because he didn't believe me?"

"Ella, this isn't easy for me either."

"Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?" I asked coldly

She sighed. "I don't think you killed him. I don't know who did. I want things to be they way they were—I miss having my best friend. I need a second chance... please."

I weighed the truth behind her words. She seemed sincere, but I couldn't be sure. I would let her stay for dinner.

"At least you can't say I am boring," I mumbled.

"No, never a dull moment with you." Susan understood immediately that the conversation was dropped, a veritable 'to be continued.' After a few moments of awkward silence, she asked, "Have you been writing?"

"No. I can't. Nothing comes to mind. I can't think of anything new, I can only remember. I think it's the medication or my muse is dead."

She shrugged. "You weren't writing much before you started seeing Dr. Livingston. Have you written anything at all since you moved here?"

"Yes. Just not in this house. But I don't really see how my writing is any of your business. Thanks for bringing it up though."

"So that subject's off limits too? Exactly what can we talk about, Ella?"

I walked out of the kitchen without explaining myself.

"Where are you going?" Susan called behind me.

"To get a drink."

"There's a shock," she grumbled

I pretended I didn't hear that last comment; I didn't want to talk about my drinking either.

"This is my house. If I want another drink, I'll damn well have one. Everyone works through things in their own way." It was something I'd told myself many times—so many times I almost believed it. I poured a double of vodka then went back into the kitchen for round two.

"Would you like anything, Susan?" She glanced up. "Or are you afraid to come over to the dark side?" I jingled the ice in my glass at her.

"Wine would be nice."

"I'm not sure I have any." I couldn't remember the condition of our wine cellar. It was more Danny's project than mine, but I went down there anyway. I had few bottles left, nothing to brag about. I brought three back into the kitchen, set them on the counter and dusted them off.

"You have your choice—Merlot, Cabernet Sauvignon, or Chianti."

"So... red, red, or red."

"Your lack of knowledge about your drink of choice never ceases to amaze me," I told her.

She grinned. "I'll have the merlot."

I uncorked the bottle letting it breathe. "What are you making?"

"Pasta."

I took in the massive amount of groceries on the counter. There was a lot more than could possibly be put in the pasta she was preparing. "What's all of this?"

"I assumed you hadn't been to the store, so I picked up some of the essentials for you."

"I was going tomorrow." My words were hollow with the lack of any real intention.

Susan chose to ignore my lie. "Are you going to help me?" she asked not making eye contact.

I sighed and considered her offer. There was a time she wouldn't have had to prompt me to help, but now it was hard to even be in the same room with her.

"Never mind," Susan said the frustration evident on her face.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Make a salad?"

I decided that it was better to be occupied than to sit there pulling up old resentments in my mind, and I began washing the spinach. We worked in silence. There was nothing to say. We were two complete strangers who just happened to be having dinner. The tension in the air was thick like smoke and it choked out any small talk that might have been attempted.

At the table Susan gave me a tight smile. I didn't bother returning it. Instead I took a long drink of my vodka, hoping it would make me feel less ridiculous for forcing myself to participate in this charade. Whatever friendship we had died with Danny. It was time we both admitted it. She sat in front of me as a bitter reminder of all I lost.

"When did we become like this?" she asked, then laughed bitterly. "That's become the tagline of my life."

I frowned. "What do you expect from me?" It pissed me off that she might expect anything from me. I owed her nothing.

"Ella..."

"You know what, I don't want to talk about it."

She sighed and her nostrils flared. "I'm sorry."

"It's too late."

"I hope that isn't true. I need you in my life and like it or not you need me. Friends are important—and sometimes friends make mistakes and you have to forgive them."

"Oh, Really? And what does your friendship manual say about loyalty? Or did you just gloss over that section?"

She looked down at her plate. Her eyes welled with tears. Damn it. Forgiveness was not something that was in my nature to give and I certainly wasn't dishing any out tonight. The best I could do was change the subject for her. "How's business?" I asked.

She rebounded quickly. "It's okay, pretty steady. I work all the time, though I'm thinking about hiring some extra help."

We ate and kept the conversation light and neutral. The rest of the evening was pleasant enough. There were even moments when it seemed like old times and Susan seemed happy after dinner, a renewed sense of hope showing on her face.

I was so wrapped up in myself, however, that it wasn't until she was leaving that I noticed how worn down she looked. I had the sneaking suspicion she had ulterior motives for this impromptu visit. I guess I would have to wait to find out what they were. I headed to bed contemplating what I needed to do to discover the truth in all areas of my life.

#  Chapter Six

Knocking sounds and whispers swirled through the vents. I pretended to sleep, trying to ignore them, but they scrubbed against whichever part of my brain caused fear like sandpaper. I spent most of the night with a pillow over my head to drown out the noises.

In the morning, I shuffled into the living room expecting the place to be trashed. Hell, based on all the noise I heard the night before I expected to find a Mack truck parked in my living room. However, everything seemed to be as it ever was—for the house at least. For me the day was different.

Somewhere in the night I had decided enough was enough; I was starting my own investigation. Where to begin was a problem though. Should I begin with the murder or the house? Were they connected or coincidence?

Regardless, this was a new day and a new resolve, which meant I should start it with a non-liquid breakfast. I would do this right and sober. I may not know what my first step should be, but I owed it to Danny to figure it out.

Shuffling into the kitchen, stretching my arms, I felt almost normal. I opened the refrigerator to inspect what goodies Susan left for me and it was as bare as it was yesterday. Nothing. Not even my moldy cheese was in the refrigerator. The cabinets that I had watched Susan stock with cereal and various dry foods only the night before were empty as well.

How could everything be gone? Moved would be one thing—I'd dealt with that repeatedly—but just _gone_? It was a new level of weird. I checked the trashcan and it too was empty, like the previous night never happened. Focusing to the best of my ability, I tried to remember for certain whether Susan had visited last night or weeks ago.

I considered calling her to check, but hesitated. If I were to call, admit that I was uncertain whether or not she had been here, I would be all but admitting to her that I was mentally unfit. The missing food would be a moot point. Whether she had been here or not, she'd think I was crazy. I poured myself a glass of water, but my hands shook too much to take a drink. The shrill sound of the phone carried through the house; the water in my hand sloshed to the floor. The phone rang again. I took a deep breath, set my glass down, then calmly walked over to answer it.

"Hello."

A strange humming on the other end kept me from hanging up immediately.

"Hello?" I tried one more time, but received the same reply. I gently hung the phone back on the receiver and went to the kitchen, consciously trying to keep my breathing slow and steady. I reached for my water on the counter, but it was gone. I glanced around the room to find it six feet away on the table. I looked from the counter to the kitchen table then back again. Without warning a familiar wave of panic washed over me. My chest tightened like someone was squeezing and the room started spinning. I knew I needed to take one of my pills, but I couldn't make it up the stairs. Fear ripped through me like a heart attack, collapsing me to the floor....

Danny's disbelief about the person or thing coming in the house created tension between us for a couple days. Eventually, however, it blew over like every argument we had ever had. Danny liked to refer to it as the "incident" and thought of it as an amusing anecdote to tell to our friends. One morning he surprised me with a weekend trip back to Chicago to visit some old friends and do some shopping.

The break was much needed and appreciated. The stress that had been building inside me had me ready to snap. Danny arranged for Susan and Doug to check on Piper while we were gone and we hit the road.

Walking down Michigan Avenue and Navy Pier with the tourists, eating in wonderful restaurants, and visiting old friends who accused us of dropping off the face of the earth was just what I needed to get my head back in the game. The weekend flew by though and before I knew it, we were on our way back.

" _I'm glad to see the old you," Danny said, taking my hand as he drove._

" _What do you mean?"_

" _This weekend was like old times. You've been so introverted since the move."_

" _I've been trying."_

" _I know." He kissed the back of my hand._

" _I thought I'd adjust faster than this too. I just can't seem to get used to the house."_

Danny sighed. "If you don't like it any better in a year then we'll leave. I'll sell the house and we'll be back in Chicago in the blink of an eye. Life's too short for you to be miserable."

I appreciated Danny's willingness to leave what was left of his family history, but couldn't ask him to do that. On the other hand, I also had no idea how I could survive a full year there. I resolved to try harder to adjust.

" _Maybe it's time to get Piper a friend—and you certainly need to start writing again. You can only dodge your publisher's calls for so long. I have a handle on the renovations. You have a deadline. One of us needs to be working."_

" _I know you're right. I just can't focus. Maybe I'll try writing in the library. This town does have a library, right?"_

" _Ha. Ha. Ha. You're so freaking funny."_

" _You love me, baby."_

" _Yeah, you're ok." His smile warmed my heart._

_We arrived back home about four in the afternoon. The sun was setting and shadows covered the yard. The house resembled a mausoleum right down to being every bit as inviting as one. We burst through the door, our bags in tow, and I stopped in my tracks. Something was missing. I just couldn't put my finger on_ what _. I looked around the house to see if I could discover what was setting me off, but found absolutely nothing. I went back to the car to see if we'd forgotten something, but it was empty and tidy._

Entering the house again, it dawned on me. Piper hadn't come out to greet us. She'd normally be chasing us from room to room by now, demanding our attention with each step. I searched the house, top to bottom. Danny and I looked in all of her usual hiding places, but couldn't find her anywhere. Finally, I called Susan and was flooded with relief when she said she'd brought Piper home with her. Susan said Piper was acting strange like she didn't want to stay in the house so she brought her to the store. Danny went over to get Piper while I started dividing the clothes into piles for laundry. When they got back, Piper wasn't herself. She sat at the bottom of the stairs, looking up the staircase, whining. We tried to distract her with her favorite toy and food, but she wouldn't budge—all day. Occasionally, she'd growl at something unseen by us.

Only later that evening while Danny and I were watching TV, did she finally move from her post. She took off growling and snarling, running back and forth along the bottom of the stairwell. She barked a few times, then yelped and ran into the room with us. Danny got up to check things out, but found nothing. He figured it was a mouse that had her attention all afternoon. She refused to come upstairs to bed, so we let her stay downstairs. I slept well that night exhausted from the drive and the weekend festivities.

The next morning Danny and I woke a bit later than normal. I went downstairs to take Piper for a walk. I found her lying at the bottom of the stairs where we left her the night before, still sleeping.

" _Wake up, baby. Want to go outside?"_

Piper didn't even twitch. My stomach sank as I looked at her. I covered my mouth with a shaking hands and knelt down. Her small body was cold to my touch. I backed up against the wall and called for Danny. He came bounding down the stairs.

" _What's up?"_

Tears started. All I could do was point.

He looked at our dog, then back at me. Understanding immediately, he wrapped me in a tight hug.

" _It's okay. I'll take care of her," he said trying to soothe me._

" _But what happened?"_

" _What do you mean? She died, Ella."_

" _But from what?_

" _I don't know. Maybe she got into something in the hardware store yesterday. She was acting weird last night."_

" _Aren't we going to find out?"_

" _She's just a dog. I don't think they do autopsies on dogs."_

" _Damn it, don't be glib! She was not just a dog, she was our dog. I shouldn't be the only one who cares."_

" _That's so unfair. What do you want me to do? Maybe she got into the mouse poison I put down or the insulation. She died. I care. I just don't have any answers for you."_

I fought against the memory and whatever had a hold of me. Strong hands clasped my shoulders and shook me. Eyes squeezed shut in terror, I kicked and flailed, desperate to free myself. My fist connected with something that felt human. It let me go and I scrambled across the floor. Detective Troy was hovering over me, perplexed and cautious, when I finally looked up. He held his open hands out in front of him and maintained firm eye contact.

"What the hell are you doing?" I asked, continuing to slide myself across the kitchen floor.

Detective Troy seemed shocked at my continued reaction to him. He took a couple steps back, but held eye contact. "It's okay. I came over to see you. I called, but my phone was acting up. I could hear you, but you couldn't hear me. When you didn't answer, I was concerned...."

Relaxing a little, my mind began to process the situation better. "How did you get in?"

"The front door was unlocked."

I pushed my hands through my hair, shaking my head. I remembered locking it clearly.

"What happened?"

"My imagination was picking on me." I felt close to tears.

"What?" Detective Troy truly sounded confused.

"I just... I had..." I sighed, trying to get the words out. "It's been a bad morning."

He looked like he wanted to call an ambulance. "I thought you were dead."

"Not dead, just very, very confused. I think I had a panic attack."

"What are you confused about?"

I picked myself up off the floor and paced around the kitchen.

"If I tell you, you can't judge me. Or make any inferences about me from it."

"No promises ... but I'll try."

"Not good enough."

"That's the offer. Who else are you going to tell? Not a lot of friends hanging around you. I'm probably your best bet."

Ouch, that was harsh. True, but harsh. "I can take care of myself. I don't need friends."

"Maybe. But telling yourself secrets will only get you an embroidered straight jacket." He sighed. "I won't judge you—."

"Much better," I said, but the moment had already passed. I no longer felt like talking about the incident this morning. "You know, looking back, it really isn't that big of a deal. I couldn't remember what happened last night, then I had a hang up prank call. It all ended in a completely disproportional panic attack."

"That's not so bad. I thought you'd blacked out. Maybe you if drank a little less it would help with loosing time."

"Drinking is not my problem—." Something suddenly dawned on me. "That reminds me though—I'll be right back."

If last night happened, I wouldn't still have the bottle of Merlot. I dashed down to the wine cellar. The bottle was sitting on the shelf exactly where it had been. Certain of my insanity, I started back upstairs—then stopped cold again. Something caught my eye. An inconsistency. I turned back around to look more closely. The bottle in question wasn't dusty like the other ones. I picked up the bottle and it was empty.

"What's going on?" I wondered aloud, more perplexed than ever.

"That's exactly what I'm wondering." Detective Troy's voice, right behind me, startled me so badly I let go of the wine bottle. It slipped through my fingers and shattered on the floor.

"Have the sudden urge for wine?" he asked looking at the glass scattered at my feet.

"No, I actually haven't had wine since Danny died. This cellar was more his thing than mine." I made a quick decision to explain what had happened last night, because I desperately wanted an outside opinion. "I wasn't completely honest with you. I do remember last night, but I had a reason to believe this morning that what I remembered didn't happen."

"I'm not really following you."

"The wine answers a lot of questions."

"How does an empty bottle of wine prove anything?"

"I'll explain." I told Detective Troy what happened the night before, then what happened that morning. He listened, but I could see doubt and confusion in his eyes.

"Why don't you call and ask Susan?" he asked, as if it were all really that simple.

"She already thinks I'm crazy."

"Then you have nothing to lose." He shrugged. He was such a guy.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"You were right. I don't have many people who care about me. I would prefer those who do to not think I am completely insane—well, not any more than they already do."

Detective Troy looked at me for a few moments. "Am I one of your friends?"

"I don't know."

He sighed. "That bottle isn't proof of anything except you—or someone else— drank a bottle of wine and put it back on the shelf. You could have gotten drunk last night and came down here and drank a bottle of wine then had a dream that Susan came to visit. Stranger things have happened."

"Well, thanks for bursting my bubble. That was helpful. I may still have some childhood hopes and dreams left, would you care to take a crack at those as well?"

"I have an idea. What's Susan's number?"I rattled off her number and we went back to the kitchen. Detective Troy dialed the number.

"Mrs. Daniels? This is Detective Troy with the Montgomery Police Department. I need to verify your whereabouts last night.... Were you in the company of one Ella Reynolds? ... That is a matter of police business ... I see ... Is that right? ... Well, thank you for your time and input. You have a nice day."

"So what did she say?"

"I can't tell you. Police business," he said, his eyes twinkling slightly.

"What? This isn't police business. It's _my_ business—"

"Does her answer really matter?"

"Of course."

"How?"

"If I can't distinguish my dreams, writing, or imagination from reality then I'm crazy and can't trust anything that I think happened. That's sort of a big deal, given I've been operating under the notion that I'm right and everyone else is wrong."

He studied my face, then confessed. "You dodged the bullet this time. She was here last night."

"She was?" I breathed a sigh of relief and reflexively hugged Detective Troy. "That's the best news I've had in a long time."

The hug seemed to catch Detective Troy off guard almost as much as it did me. Then a slight smile touched his serious mouth. "She also said that our police department is full of small minded assholes, and we should leave you alone because you've been through enough."

I smiled. "That's sort of sweet."

"Depends which end you fall on," he muttered. "But let's not call this solved so fast—I have questions. Who was in your house? Why would they do something so strange?"

"I don't know. I'm just glad someone actually did it."

"Ella. Can I call you Ella?"

I nodded not caring what he called me. I wasn't crazy.

"Be serious. It's much worse that someone was in your home. It could be the same person who killed your husband. You need to start locking your doors."

"Why would it steal food?" I wondered aloud not really listening to him.

Detective Troy was silent for a second. "Maybe someone's trying to make you think you're insane, and trying to convince other people of it too. Isolating you."

"They're doing a damn good job."

Detective Troy looked at his watch and started for the door. "I'll do some digging, see if there are any incidents involving the house, see if anyone leaps out at me as possibly having a motive to try to get you to leave. Do you have any enemies? Crazed fans?"

"Haven't we been through all of this before?" I snapped, then reminded myself that he was helping me and I should try to be nicer. "Not really. No enemies or stalkers that I know about—oh, hey, before I forget.... Do you call my house and hang up often?"

"What?"

"Like this morning."

"No. That was the first time—and I didn't hang up. My call was disconnected."

"Okay." Before I could retreat again, I pushed on. "Thank you... for everything, Detective Troy."

"Call me Gabriel—and I'll be by later to do another walk through."

"Okay, see you...."After Detective Troy left I felt much better. I actually felt like writing. I sat down at my desk and turned on the computer for the first time in almost a year. Staring at the screen I had no idea where to start my story. When in doubt, I thought, research! I didn't need to wait for Detective Troy to look into the house. I could go to the library and do it myself. I called a cab and got ready to go. I was motivated, which was more than I'd been in ages.

The building looked like a large old house. Inside it had a musty book smell and a crowded feel. I half expected the librarian to be a tiny, bespectacled old woman with her hair in a bun, shushing people, but instead a twenty-something man in khakis stood behind the counter. He stared at me as I walked through the door, his mouth slightly agape. I stopped by the desk and asked, "Where are your records and archives?"

"I know who you are," he said with wonder in his voice.

"Yes, well, it is nice to meet you. Records and archives?"

"Did you really kill your husband?"

"What?"

"Did you..."

"No, no, that was rhetorical, as in I can't believe you would ask me that, you asshole." I turned and headed back towards the door.

"Upstairs and to the left," he called behind me.

"Too late."

I left the library, all my fragile good intentions crushed like a bug on a window. I decided to pick up groceries, then head home. My self-inflicted seclusion was much better than being judged by everyone around me. Walking through the grocery store was terrible. People watched every step I took, noted every item I put in my cart. I knew what a caged animal must feel like. I went through the store as quickly as possible, avoiding eye contact and unwanted conversation with anyone there.

After I made it home, I put my groceries away and lounged on my couch. I was sad that my good mood and attempt at being productive failed miserably. I was about to take a nap when it occurred to me that I was living in the past. I had a computer. I had the Internet. What the hell did I need a library with snotty employees for? I had Google! I searched the official name of the house, Magnolia Hill, with the name of the state and town and was surprised to find several hits. The house had a much more sordid past than Danny had led me to believe.

During the Civil War, it had been used as a hospital. Danny's great, great, great, great grandfather, Jonah Reynolds, had built the house about twenty years before the war for his young bride. After the war started, both of their sons went into the military. It was the same old story; one fought for the North and the other for the South. It tore the family apart. Mr. Reynolds died a few years after the war of unknown causes. One of the sons died during the war, but the other one came back to Magnolia Hill. It was said that he was a bit strange and addled always talking to his dead brother, though he did go on to marry the daughter of a neighboring farmer. Tragically, she died after giving birth to a son.

This third Mr. Reynolds also grew up to be reclusive and only came out of the house on rare occasions. However, he managed to marry and father his own son, Justin Reynolds—a child who, by all accounts, was personable and friendly. The members of the town adopted him as their golden child. He was bright and charismatic with a wonderful future ahead of him. He studied at Harvard, but he still came back to Montgomery. He became the longest running mayor in the history of the city. He had six children and raised them in a house closer to town, visiting Magnolia Hill only periodically.

However, after his wife passed and he retired, he moved back to Magnolia Hill and followed in his ancestors' footsteps, becoming reclusive. He left the house to his oldest son, Danny's grandfather, Arthur Reynolds.

Nothing was written about Arthur or his wife Edith and from what Danny told me, his grandparents had lived in the house happily until they died in a car crash. All of Arthur's siblings were childless and died before forty from a variety of reasons: heart attack, street car accident, illness, war, and shot in a mugging.

I had no idea that Danny's family had such a long and tragic past, they seemed destined to die young. While I was trying to save my research, the computer developed a mind of its own. First it froze. Then the screen started flashing. After that it went sort of matrix on me, and a series of numbers rolled past filling up the screen. Finally it turned itself off completely.

"Great. Thanks a lot," I said to God, the ghost or no one in particular.

I picked up a notebook; it looked like I was going to have to do this old school. I flopped down on the couch. If the house wanted to stop me from using the computer, I would write the story by hand. But again, I was stuck.

After a few minutes of free association, however, the words finally began to flow. Mingling facts with the fiction, I let my mind weave its web into a tale of family curses and certain death. The afternoon went by in a flash, and I was so into my work that I barely heard the phone ring, managing to answer it just before the answering machine picked up.

"Hello?"

"How do you feel about Chinese food?"

I was caught off guard. "I don't. Who is this?"

"Gabriel. What do you mean you don't?"

"I have no feelings about Chinese food."

"You seem ... different."

"How?"

"You made a joke."

I laughed. "And what? That's a police matter?"

Gabriel gave surprised sounding snort that might have been a bit of a laugh too.

"I've had the strangest day," I admitted. "It's been ... odd and active, which in itself is odd."

"You can tell me about it when I get there. I'm going to pick up Chinese food and I'll tell you what I dug up today."

"Okay."

"Is your door locked?"

It struck me with weird glee that I wasn't actually sure—I hadn't been obsessing, for for once. "Um, I don't know. I can't remember if I locked it when I came home."

"Make sure it's locked. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Yeah, okay."

As soon as I was off the phone, I went back to writing. I was so happy to be back at it. Every long pent up creative impulse poured out of me. I had no idea if what I was writing was good, and I didn't care. Everything seemed better, brighter and less creepy, as if a haze were lifting....

"You didn't lock the door," a voice said behind me.

I jumped and let out a few choice words. "Holy crap. Don't you knock?"

"You were supposed to lock the door."

"But you were on your way over."

Gabriel shook his head. "What have you been up to today?"

"Writing."

"Really? A new book?"

"That's a bit unclear right now, but hopefully."

"That's great. I brought garlic chicken."

"I'll get plates." I walked into the kitchen, but kept talking. "It's nice to be writing again. It's like a weight's lifted."

"Did you write all day?"

"No." I returned to the living room and handed him a plate. "I went to the library to do my own research, but I couldn't handle it. Then I went to the grocery store where everyone stared at me. I came home in a fairly bad mood."

"You couldn't handle _the library_?" he asked incredulously.

"The librarian was mean."

"All librarians are mean. It's in their genetic makeup. And who cares, it's a librarian."

I moved my hand dismissively. "It isn't important because I realized that I have a computer. I did some googling and found some interesting history about the house and Danny's family. Naturally, I started writing about them. What did you find out?"

"Well... nothing. As far as I can tell, there was never anything reported while Danny's grandparents lived here."

"I thought you had something to tell me."

"I do. Be patient. Your neighbor, Mr. Sexton, made several attempts to buy this house after Danny's grandparents died. He filed petition after petition with the city trying to hassle you into selling."

"Petitions about what?"

"The grass being mowed, the upkeep, normal stuff."

"Why haven't I heard about this before?"

"I don't know. I imagine your husband would have known. Basically, it means he wants the property."

"Well, he can have the damn thing for all I care. Hopefully he bulldozes it." Just as I said it, the window slammed shut.

Gabriel was at the window instantly, checking it out. I stayed seated, watching him react to the unexplainable. "Spooky," he said.

I laughed—he really had no idea—and continued to eat my garlic chicken, hungrier than I had been in weeks.

"Does this window close often?"

"This one, that one, every one—and oh, don't forget the doors and the lights."

"Have you had the wiring checked? Sometimes the way these old houses settle makes it hard for the doors to stay open."

"I know all the excuses. Danny told me them as well. How about you live with this every day, then tell me that it is all just 'old house' stuff."

"Was that an invitation?"

"No, but feel free to buy it after I leave."

There was an awkward silence that grew more uncomfortable with each second that followed. I finally felt guilty.

"Now you see why I don't have many friends. I can't take a joke."

He shook his head. "It was a bad joke."

We spent the rest of the evening chatting and watching television. It was the most relaxing evening I had in quite some time—and it was kind of a miracle: two nights of human company in a row. I felt more at ease with Gabriel than I did with Susan, though, because it didn't feel like he was judging me—or maybe it was the opposite. He had judged me and found me innocent. After all, his investigation left no stone unturned ... and I was grateful, even if those stones were my life.

#  Chapter Seven

The words took residence; I lost track of time and space. My days were divided by time spent writing and time spent not writing—and anything done during that latter time was irrelevant. I had found the zone again, and I wasn't letting it go. Nothing could distract me, not flickering lights, not unexplained noises, not harassing phone calls. I fired away blindly, not bothering to take the time to read what I was writing. Exhilaration filled me. My skin tingled with life, my hands ached, and my mind was blessedly quiet as it listened to the words pour from my muse.

Gabriel continued with his periodic stops by my house to "check on things." Sometimes he brought dinner. Other times he came by late, simply walking through and leaving. Tonight was one of the latter. And as he was walked through the house I realized I was getting used to having him around. There was something lonely I recognized in him. That loneliness bonded us together in ways I could not explain. He didn't drain me of energy or patience. He could simply be there, a rare quality in a person. He was about to leave when I impulsively stopped him.

"Do you want a drink?" My offer surprised me more than it seemed to surprise him. He followed me back into the family room. I made a beeline to the bar, which was still better stocked than my kitchen, but I was getting there. I poured myself a drink and tried not to think about what I was doing.

"Name your poison?" I said over my shoulder

"Uh, scotch, neat"

The detective sat on my couch looking tired and worn, but completely comfortable in my house. And now that he'd stayed, I had no idea what to do.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted, unable to think of anything else to say.

"You invited me," he said, wariness in his eyes.

"No, that's not what I meant." I handed him his drink and started pacing. Why on earth did I feel so awkward all of a sudden? "The case has been closed for what, six months? Why did you keep coming by the house?"

"The case isn't closed." He frowned, then added, "But it hasn't been under active investigation for closer to a year."

"That long? Really? God, it doesn't seem possible." I felt a little melancholy at the notion that time was leaving me behind.

"I've made a point to drive past your house on my way home from work every night since the murder—even the nights I didn't stop."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

We were silent for a few moments, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. "If you didn't do it, someone else did. I'm not convinced you're safe and I can't let go of this one. It's always in the back of my mind."

"And you're not convinced I'm innocent." I was almost afraid of his answer. By trusting him, I let myself believe he believed in me. What would I do if I found out he didn't?

He shook his head. "I never really thought you were guilty. I was doing my job. Following the leads."

"And your investigation led you to me?"

"No, but the spouse is always a person of interest. Had the investigation led me to you, you would have been charged. Instead it led me to one wall after another. Nothing makes sense in this case." He sounded honest.

"If it were to lead you to me now?"

"I would arrest you," he said, without looking away.

I nodded. "Good."

"But it won't, will it?"

"No. I could have left ages ago, moved on with my life. I wish it were that simple."

He watched me for a moment. "I don't."

The room felt like it was a thousand degree. My cheeks were on fire. I changed the subject. "You really think I'm in danger?"

He nodded. "I wish I didn't, but the killer is still on the loose and has to be feeling pretty confident at the moment. The perpetrator either had a key or was already in the house. He didn't steal anything so it wasn't about money. It could have been a random occurrence, but that's unlikely given the level of planning and preparation that had to have gone into it. There have been no similar murders in the state, so we can rule out serial killers. It could have been about something else, something like you. You have a certain level of fame, but there were no other indications, so I've been waiting.... "

"For what?"

"For signs that you're not alone."

"Have you found any?"

He simply shook his head.

"You know what I think happened?"

"I do," he said, taking a drink of his scotch and looking doubtful.

"So you admit that nothing makes sense and every possibility is just as remote as the next, yet you're unwilling to explore my theory."

"I feel you may be too close to the situation."

"The situation is my life. Look, I know how it sounds, but it makes sense and given everything that has happened and what continues to happen, there are no other explanations. You think my mind created a story to make sense of the situation, or perhaps my newly rampant alcoholism has something to do with it. But I swear that isn't the case."

"People aren't killed by ghosts."

"My husband was."

"Well, I can't arrest a ghost, can I?"

I rolled my eyes and jingled the ice in my glass. "Just admitting ghosts are possible would be enough for me. I know they aren't supposed to be real, but..." I trailed off, seeing I wasn't going to change his mind. There was no point in continuing this conversation. "I'm tired and maybe this wasn't a good idea." I waggled my glass to show him what I meant and stood up. "But I respect the fact that you are still looking for his killer, it means a lot to me."

Gabriel got to his feet too. "I'll be on my way then."

I closed the door behind him feeling unsatisfied. I don't know why, but I desperately wanted him on my side. Maybe I just needed someone to sympathize with me or maybe I saw a like mind and kindred soul in the weary, obsessed detective. I had another fitful night. The dream was always same.

Getting off a plane, completely drained from my latest signing tour, I collect my luggage in a sleepy trance. I solicit a cab that was waiting in front of the airport, which was unusually quiet.

Eerily so.

I laugh at myself for being ridiculous. Obviously it was quiet, I took a red eye. But lecturing myself didn't stop my stomach from back flipping or goose bumps from appearing on my arms. Obviously I am overly tired. I never could sleep on planes.

The cab pulled up in front of the house. And as much as I hated the physical building, it is nice to be home. The idea that Danny was inside waiting for me filled me with happiness. I no longer feel so tired. I pay the cab driver way too much, because I don't want to wait for change. I open the door, call for Danny.

I'm met with silence. The feeling from the airport floods back ... and there is a smell, a sweet coppery smell. It makes me feel sick to my stomach. I look upstairs first. There is nothing except an unmade bed. I come back down stairs and head towards the kitchen. The smell gets stronger, filling my nostrils, making me gag the closer I move towards it.

My walk slows. I don't want to see what is around the corner. I force myself to go around the corner, everything inside of me screaming not to.... I walk into the kitchen and what I see changes my life forever.

Danny is pinned to the wall with every knife we own protruding out of him. Each is jabbed through his flesh up to the hilt. The floor is covered in an enormous pool of blood which still seems to be growing. The room spins, fades to black....

I sat up, drenched in sweat and tangled in the sheets, tears filling my eyes. Why did that dream still hurt so damn much? The pain hadn't eased over the last year; it was still a knife, twisting away at my soul. My entire body ached for Danny, for just a moment of once more feeling the safety and security I had with him—

My fresh mourning was cut short. A shadow blocked out the light beneath my bedroom door as something moved passed. My insides went cold and my eyes dried. Mustering up all my courage, I climbed out of bed.

There was no noise from the hallway when I pressed my ear to the door. I opened it just a crack so I could see if anything was immediately on the other side. There appeared to be nothing. I opened the door far enough to stick my head out to look down both sides of the hallway. Again, I saw nothing. Taking a deep breath, I opened the door all the way and tiptoed in the direction the shadow moved. There was only one room that direction, the master bedroom. I had not been able to go into our bedroom since the morning I found Danny. The door was shut, just as it always was. I put my shaking hand on the doorknob. There was definitely something on the other side. I listened more intently, but couldn't tell what it was: perhaps some sort of scratching or sliding.

Fear locked my legs and choked out any sound I would make. I couldn't move. I could only listen to whatever was in the room. My heart thudded so loudly in my ears that I worried whatever was there would hear it. Whatever was on the other side moved closer; a whimper escaped me. Everything went very quiet. I could hear what sounded like someone breathing on the opposite side of the door. I knew I should open it and see it once and for all. The handle rattled beneath my hand unfreezing my body and mind.

I bolted back to my bedroom and grabbed the phone. My better judgment was telling me to call someone, but the more pragmatic voice in my head kept asking who I was going to call. I could trust no one. Nothing, however, was stopping me from getting the hell out. I put on shoes, hesitated at my bedroom door for a brief second, then flung it open and ran for the stairs. I couldn't tell you if it was fear or panic that drove me more, but I have never moved so fast in my life. I was at the front door, fumbling with the lock when a ringing sound halted my feet.

I stood at the door, frozen and listening. It took me a few seconds to realize it was the phone, not some supernatural force stopping me. I felt like I should answer it. The fear momentarily lost its grip on me as something new took hold. Butterflies danced in my stomach.

"Hello," I said, my voice cracking.

I was met with silence.

"Hello," I said again.

The person on the other end still said nothing, though I could hear breathing. A creaking noise from upstairs cracked the silence like a thunder.

All my original fear came rushing back. I tore the front door open to find a person standing in the frame. My body seized, my legs stopped moving. I couldn't even scream. I tumbled backwards, but even once sprawled on the floor I continued to push away from the door in full survival mode.

"What're you doin,' girlie?"

Mr. Sexton stood shadowed in the doorway. Sexton! I had no idea what to say to him. He looked like hadn't showered in weeks and smelled worse. I struggled to calm my breathing. He stared at me, but did not come any closer or say anything further. I scrambled to my feet in case he decided to rush at me.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Heard something." He craned his neck to look around the door frame.

"Well, you're trespassing and it's late, I mean, early. You should go home."

Mr. Sexton walked away mumbling. The only thing that I made out clearly was his favorite insult, "Bitch." I shut the door, no longer wanting to go outside. I looked up the stairs and knew I didn't want to be inside either. I was running out of options and had no idea what to do. I picked up my cell phone from the floor and dialed Gabriel.

His voice was raspy and muted when he answered. The full realization of the time struck me; it wasn't even 5am. Immediately, I regretted calling him. I started with an apology then briefly ran through what happened. I tried not to exaggerate or underplay it. I just told him the facts. I wasn't sure what I exactly expected from him, but he was suddenly alert and taking charge, which made me feel the tiniest bit safer.

"Lock yourself in your bedroom. I'll be there in moments."

I did as he said without argument.

The next few minutes seemed liked years. Every sound, no matter how familiar it should have been, seemed terrible and foreign. My skin crawled with anxiety and my stomach churned. When my bedroom's doorknob jiggled, I yelped, almost keeling over from sheer nerves. Then I heard Gabriel's voice come softly through.

"Which room?"

"I'll show you," I said opening the door.

"Just point."

"There's no way I'm staying here any longer." I stepped out of my room and pointed down the hallway. We quietly walked toward the master bedroom. Gabriel listened for a moment then did something I couldn't do.... He turned the handle. My disappointment showed, despite my best efforts. There was nothing there. The room looked just as it had the morning Danny died, except it was very cold.

I couldn't remember whether the window was partially open that morning and had therefore been open for a year, or if this was something new. Gabriel found small scratches on the door and the wall near the window. He studied the window for a few minutes. He searched the room for a bandit animal that could have made its way into the house. I couldn't get past the bed. I wondered if it still smelled like him. The memory of his smell was fading; I wanted to collapse on the bed and inhale deeply.

Gabriel didn't find the animal, but, with effort, he was able to shut the window. He said something, but whatever it was didn't register through the fog I was falling into. Eventually, he took my arm and led me out of the room, securely closing the door behind him. He searched the rest of the house, while I sunk to the floor in the hallway, my head resting on my knees. What had I expected to find? The killer? The ghost? Stupid, stupid me. I should have known better _._

In the midst of wallowing in my new surge of pain and guilt, Gabriel came back.

"I didn't find anything."

"I'm sorry." I felt miserable. I wanted to scream, shout, cry. Maybe Susan was right. Maybe I should consider the hospital.

"Did you see someone walk past the door?"

"I think so." I now doubted everything. I just didn't know anymore.

"I believe you."

The words I'd been waiting to hear for so long almost brought tears to my eyes. "Don't humor me. I don't even believe me."

"Ella, I have looked through this house more times than I can count, including just a few hours ago. That window wasn't open. So unless you went in there..."

I shook my head.

"I think you need to get out of the house. Why don't you leave? You could live anywhere, why stay?"

"I can't leave until it's over. I _need_ to know what happened."

He looked empathetic. "You could leave for a couple days at least. Get some sleep, come back with a new perspective."

"But I'm afraid," I wasn't sure how to express myself so he would understand, "afraid if I leave I may never come back."

"Okay then." He nodded. "Well, at the very least I think you owe me breakfast for getting me out of bed this damn early."

I tried to smile. "I suppose I do."

"Let's go. Do you want me to speak to your neighbor before we leave?"

"No. It won't do any good. Honestly it will probably make him hate me more. He's a misogynist and I doubt he has any respect for authority, I think the best thing to do is to ignore him. Give me a minute to get ready." Gabriel went downstairs while I dressed. We left the house as the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon.

Being out of my routine was refreshing. I felt different, less like a prisoner in my life and more like I had some control. We went to a small café on the outskirts of town. The pressure I normally felt in public was mysteriously missing. Detective Troy twirled a straw in his fingers across the table from me and I found myself studying him.

I'd seen him a thousand times, but never truly looked at him. It was impossible to place how old he was. He looked as tired as I felt, but he was still handsome, a bit worn looking with his unshaven face and dark hair slightly graying along his temples. His face was lean with intense brown eyes that somehow managed to be both kind and probing. A tattoo on his wrist peeked out from underneath his shirtsleeve, which made me think he was a bit wild at one time too.

"Force of habit," he said sitting the straw back on the table.

"What?" I asked.

"Fidgeting. It clears my head."

"Oh."

"That's not why you were staring at me is it?"

"Sorry, I was thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Why was the window open?"

"Excuse me?"

"In Danny's room? Why was the window open?"

"I don't know."

"You said there was no sign of forced entry. Could someone have come through the window? Was the window open that night?"

"The window is on the second floor. There'd be no way to get there without a ladder. Someone surely would've seen it."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"There were no prints on the window except Danny's and yours. There was no sign of forced entry on the screen. I don't think it's very likely."

"So the window was open that night?"

"Yes." A frown creased his forehead.

I nodded, no longer wanting to talk about Danny. "So, detective, do you have a family I'm dragging you away from?"

"No, I was married once, but it isn't a good fit with the job."

"What happened?" I asked before it occurred to me just how personal that was. "If you don't mind my asking."

"Not at all. My job took over a lot of my life. I hadn't learned how to make room for her and the job, so she took the back burner. The more I saw the worse it got until we were two strangers who once knew each other."

"I find it hard to believe you saw a lot happening in _Montgomery_."

"I was in Chicago. I transferred up here around year ago. Your husband was my first case."

I hadn't realized Gabriel wasn't from Montgomery either. No wonder it was easier to be around him. "Rough start."

"I had more experience than the other detective with homicides," he said with a shrug, but he didn't really seem comfortable talking about this aspect of his job.

"And why did you choose Montgomery?"

"My grandparents live here. They're getting older and someone should be nearby. I also needed a change. The job was eating away at me and it was time to take a step back. I was in vice and just finished a lengthy undercover op. It was as good a time as any to leave. A now or never sort of deal."

"Is that where you got the tattoo?"

Gabriel tugged on his sleeve self-consciously so the tattoo was no longer visible "Ah, yes, this ... a souvenir from another life. Maybe you should've been a detective."

"Right, 'cause that would suit me so well. It's much better to write about murders and detectives than it is to live it. Besides, I'm crazy. I'd never pass the psych profile."

He laughed, took a mouthful of coffee. "I've met some seriously disturbed people in my life. If you're insane, you're the most lucid 'crazy' person I've met."

"Well, we come in all shapes and sizes. Straightjackets don't discriminate."

"Do you really think that way about yourself?" Detective Troy asked.

His question threw me off slightly. "Sometimes, maybe not ... I really don't know anymore."

"Sometimes we all feel like that."

"Yeah, well, I've had my fair share of those moments."

"You have," he said. "It will get better, you know."

"Detective Troy, I would've never pegged you as an optimist."

Gabriel smiled as if no one had ever accused him of such a thing, and looked down at his hands uncomfortably. Awkward silence filled the space between us until I broke it.

"I don't know what to do."

"Do whatever gets you by, and hope for a good outcome."

"I think I lost my faith along with everything else."

This new revelation hit me like a sledgehammer, just one more setback to add to the list. Gabriel reached over and touched my hand, jolting me back into reality. I pulled my hands off the table before I even looked up.

"I'm sorry." I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye as I pretended to inspect the cafe. "It's a reflex. I know I brought it up, but can we stop talking about me?"

Detective Troy looked at me steadily with the kind eyes I was beginning to become accustomed to seeing. "Of course."

"How long were you married?"

"Eleven years."

I raised my eyebrow hoping to encourage him to dig deeper.

"We were young, met while I was a beat cop. Got married too quickly. Rebecca constantly worried about me when I was at work, which was all the time. My career moved along almost too well; I was promoted to detective quickly. I couldn't see how unhappy she was being alone so much. I was gone for a long periods at time and didn't know how to deal with what I seeing day in and day out. I shut myself off to protect her. It shouldn't have been shocking when she left me."

"But it was?"

"I was floored."

"Was there someone else?"

He nodded. "It took me a long time to understand."

"That's terrible." For the first time in ages it didn't feel like I was just going through the steps of pretending to empathize, I actually meant it.

"She's much happier now. She wanted a family, a home, a husband who comes home at a reasonable hour every night from a boring job—all things I couldn't give her. I'm honestly happy she found what she is looking for."

"Do you ever regret not transferring here sooner? It could have saved your marriage."

"No. If I had, what about the things that happened between then and now? Would they have happened? Sometimes there's a reason for things, good and bad. As much as that job drained me and losing Rebecca hurt, I helped people. I made a difference in people's lives."

"If things happen for a reason, where's our choice in the matter? Maybe bad things happen that are really, really shitty for no reason at all. We accept them because we have to, because they're our reality, whether we like it or not." I cracked my knuckles and sipped my coffee. "We learn from the mistakes that brought us to this point so we are less likely to make them again. And then other times life just sucks and there is nothing to learn. You just get used to it sucking until something else happens to make it worse. Maybe nothing ever gets better, you just grow accustomed to constantly increasing levels of bad."

"Life does suck." He smiled making me smile in return. "I'm amazed you've been able to maintain such a sunny disposition through this past year."

"Well, I try." It felt so foreign to smile so many times in a row. "Damn, I should be allowed to skip therapy. I don't think I've spoken this much or this honestly in the last year."

"Then don't go."

"I have to go. Dr. Livingston could cut off my meds."

"Are they helping?"

"The therapy or the drugs?"

"Both."

"I can't tell anymore. The numbness makes it hard to write, but I'm working through it."

"About your husband's family?"

"Yeah. Dr. Livingston has been trying to get me to return to my normal routine for a while. So he will feel like this is his breakthrough, maybe he will let me go earlier than usual. Writing is about as normal as I get."

"It can't hurt, right?"

"That's what I'm told."

The server brought our food over, and for the rest of the meal we spoke about books and Gabriel questioned me about my career with genuine interest. Unknowingly he accomplished something that no one else had been able to do since Danny's death. He allowed me to feel like a normal girl.

After breakfast I headed over to my weekly meeting with Dr. Livingston, though part of me wished I could do what Gabriel suggested and just not go to therapy. It seemed to validate everyone's impression of me. It did not help matters that my doctor treated my account of the house as a figment of my imagination. I even had doubts about my medication—it was supposed to keep me from becoming a basket case, but really it just kept me coming back to him. And how could he possibly know I needed them? We'd never tried me without them.

It was clear I needed to reevaluate my therapy and perhaps find a doctor I liked better. I would speak with Dr. Livingston about weaning me off the prescriptions.

#  Chapter Eight

Meandering my way to Dr. Livingston's office I arrived late, _but I still had to wait_. I brushed passed the receptionist with nary a glance as the okay was given. Nodding to him as I walked through the door, I sat on the edge of the couch, tapping my foot impatiently. Immediately he began to scrutinize me with his beady little eyes.

"Well, you seem to have a lot more energy today, Ella"

"I've been writing again."

"That's wonderful. I told you, you could work past the medication barrier."

"Yeah, I don't think I want to though. I would like to stop taking them. I need to get back to normal."

"What is normal? What about Danny?"

"What do you mean?"

"Is that over? Have you let go?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course, it isn't over. Has the killer been caught? Look, I can't write like I want and find his killer in a drug induced haze."

"This wasn't a personal attack. Just a question. Haven't you already been doing both? Perhaps the medication is helping."

"I've been trying, but not accomplishing much. I don't know, I feel like I'm fighting against it more than it's helping. I struggle constantly with apathy. I _had been_ feeling a bit more normal today ... before I came in here," I muttered.

"You sound like you feel guilty."

"Why would I feel guilty?"

"You tell me."

"I don't."

"Are you sure? Are you not feeling guilty about moving on with your life and leaving Danny behind? Perhaps you realize the medicine is doing its job and you're getting better so you want to stop that progress so you don't leave him. It would be natural."

"No. I'm fine. I don't worry about forgetting Danny or leaving him behind. I just want to find him justice. He will _always_ be with me. How about this scenario? You can't have too many clients in such a small town. I bet you can hardly afford to lose one. Maybe _you_ don't want me to get better. Maybe you want to keep me coming back here and talking to you, never accomplishing anything except throwing more money into the pit that is supposedly my therapy."

"There is no need to attack me, Ella. This isn't personal."

"What about it isn't personal? You're talking about me and my life. Everything is personal."

"I'm glad you're doing better. I just want to make sure it's not only on the surface, that you haven't tricked yourself into believing something that isn't there."

"Well, I suppose, only time will tell. But thank you, I'm in a much worse mood now."

"Other than writing what have you done this week?"

"Nothing. I was focused."

"Focused or obsessed?"

I rolled my eyes. "I went to the library and the grocery store."

"Two public places in a week, that's a lot for you. How did it go?"

"Not great."

"Why?"

"They judged me."

"Who did?"

"The people in the stores."

"Are you sure they were judging you and you were not judging yourself?"

"I don't know. Apparently, I'm nuts. Why don't you tell me?"

"I think you're hard on yourself and you reflect your self-loathing onto other people."

"Well doc, you have everything figured out. Session over." I stormed out of his office early, flipping off the receptionist on the on the way. I knew my actions did little to support my case for my own sanity, but Dr. Livingston got under my skin better than anyone I had ever met.

I rode down the elevator feeling generally pissed off—at myself, Dr. Livingston, the universe.... I didn't see Grant as I marched through the lobby of the hospital, but I wasn't looking for him either.

"Hey!" I heard him shout from behind me. "Did you forget our date? I'm hurt." Grant jogged up beside me.

"Date? I don't think so." I watched his face fall. He looked like a sad puppy. "But I did forget, sorry. I don't feel much like having coffee."

"You can't get out of a promise that easily. You made a commitment. People shouldn't just abandon their commitments, or they'll come back to haunt you," he said with an easy smile.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. It was only coffee, it wasn't like I was marrying the guy. "You're preaching to the choir. I don't want to stay here any longer."

"Bad visit?"

"One of many."

"Well, my afternoon is pretty clear. We can go anywhere you want."

"Fine."

"There's a diner not far from here."

"Molly's?"

"Yes. It's a nice day. We should walk."

"Whatever."

Molly's was the central hub of this little town. Clean, with teal linoleum floors and hardwood counters, it was retro in the best way. Molly, herself, was almost always behind the counter, wearing bejeweled cat glasses perched on the tip of her nose, with her artificially red hair pulled back into a tight bun. We took a seat on the patio and a middle-aged waitress came over to take our order.

"Hey, darlin'! Haven't seen you in a while. Thought you left this small town for good."

I knew the waitress was under no such impression. If I'd left town she would have known about it. They probably would have thrown a parade. Just my having lunch here with Grant would set off a whole slew of rumors and innuendo.

"I'll have coffee and a slice of cherry pie."

As she was writing down my order, Grant said he wasn't having anything. After she walked away I said to him indignantly, "It was your idea to come here and you aren't even going to order?"

He just smiled and shrugged as if he didn't have a care in the world. Pie was for suckers and I fell for it. At that moment it occurred to me that in certain ways he reminded me of Danny. He had the same easy smile and relaxed attitude, but there was something else I couldn't quite wrap my mind around—something unsettling, though not necessarily bad.

"How have things been going?" he asked pleasantly.

"That seems like a loaded question at the moment."

"Are you writing anything new?"

"Actually, yeah, I have started a new book."

"Can you tell me about it?"

"How do you know I write?"

"I have my sources."

"Hmph." I'm sure he had plenty of sources all right—all he had to do was ask anyone However, a nagging feeling that I shouldn't let this go stayed with me. "Did you use the Internet? You don't know my last name, do you?"

"Reynolds—again, I have my sources."

"Why the effort? You barely know me and I only begrudgingly spoke with you in the first place. Why are you bothering to find anything out about me?"

"What can I say, I find you unlike anyone I have ever known."

"And what exactly did you discover?"

"Well, you're an author. You've written a handful of books. Your husband died and there was some suspicion in regards to your involvement."

"All true." He had definitely been talking to the people in this town.

"And it explains a lot."

"What do you mean?"

"The way you approach things. The attitude you've taken since meeting me, the suspicion."

"I just don't understand why you approached me. Or, for that matter, why you continue to pursue conversations with me when I'm so obviously against them?"

"Well, at least, I can't say I find you boring."

I looked at him for what I knew was an uncomfortably long time, but it never made him uneasy. He looked back at me as if he were enjoying himself until I broke eye contact. Again, this reminded me of Danny. He had a way of always making me look away first, like he saw past me and into the depths of my mind. When I first met Danny, I found it incredibly unsettling. Over time I got more used to it, but now Grant was having the exact same affect.

I realized I had drifted into my own thoughts too long for polite conversation when Grant penetrated my own musings.

"What are you thinking about?" He looked genuinely interested.

"You remind me of someone."

"Who?"

"My husband."

"Thank you."

"You don't find it a bit unnerving that you remind me of a man I supposedly killed?"

"No, if he was your husband, you probably liked him—therefore I'm glad I remind you of him. It'll improve my chances of getting you to like me. I don't believe you killed anyone."

It made me a little sad that I could be sitting across from this handsome doctor who said all the right things and still I could think of no one but Danny.

"It's very sweet that you want me to _like_ you, but I'm not dating."

His smile gave me the impression he was trying not to laugh. I found it nearly impossible to decipher anything of what Grant was thinking. "Good, neither am I. We can be friends."

"That's very unlikely."

"Well, I'm not afraid to take a little gamble."

I finished the last of my coffee and gathered my purse. I laid money on the table next to my half eaten pie.

"I have a lot of work to do. I should go."

He nodded. "I'll see you soon, Ella."

I walked away, shaking my head at him. What a strange fellow.

It was a lovely day outside, perfect for walking. Going past the happy neighborhoods where nothing bad ever happened, I let my imagination run wild.

Lost in my daydreams, I almost missed my street. A shabby truck parked a little bit down the road from my house caught my eye. Anyone sitting in it would have a picturesque view of the house and my comings and goings. I had never seen a truck like this on my street. As I drew nearer I noticed someone was sitting in it, waiting. The anticipation of seeing the mystery driver grew inside of me until I wanted to run up to the truck and scream, "Why are you watching my house?"

I wrung my hands nervously as I continued my controlled approach. The person in the truck must have noticed me. The engine started quickly and the tires squealed around the cul-de-sac. The driver went by with an arm raised, blocking his face from view. I stared after the truck wondering if that was the man who killed Danny. Eventually I tore myself away and headed into the house, edgy and still glancing behind me.

Locking and double checking the door behind me, I felt agitated like something was going to jump out at any moment. In hopes of relaxing a little before I sat down to write, I got myself a glass of water. Something moving across the backyard caught my eye. I moved closer to the kitchen window to get a better look. Mr. Sexton was walking through the trees towards the fence separating our properties. I thought about yelling at him, but I wasn't sure I wanted to initiate conversation with him. He looked up and our eyes met for a moment. I stepped back from the window, my heart thudding. I felt like a child who had been caught spying. It only took a second to bully myself into stepping back towards the window to make sure he actually left.

He was gone; relief flooded me. Shutting my eyes for a brief moment I chastised myself for being weak. This was my property. I had every right to go outside and let him have a piece of my mind. My eyes opened to a horrible face pressed and contorted against the windowpane. A scream ripped from my throat as I stumbled backwards into the center island. Mr. Sexton's laughter drifted into the house from the other side of the glass, a sound that was every bit as infuriating as it was ominous. Fear fueled a white-hot anger inside of me.

"Get out of here," I bellowed. "I'm calling the police"

I picked up the phone with shaking hands and dialed Detective Troy's cell phone number. He answered on the second ring.

"Troy."

"Hey," I said and then my mind went blank. I had no idea what to tell him. Was I being foolish for letting Mr. Sexton get to me with his crazy antics?

"Hi."

"This is Ella... Ella Reynolds." I blushed like a school girl. Part of me wanted to hang up the phone and pretend this never happened. Another part of me demanded an ally.

"I know who you are." He laughed. "What's going on?"

He took my silence as a clue that everything was not alright.

"Are you all right?" His voice was suddenly lower and more policeman like.

"I'm fine—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I'm overreacting."

"About what?" His voice hummed with concern.

"I'll tell you later. Don't worry about it—"

He cut me off. "What exactly are you overreacting about?"

"It's not important really. My crazy neighbor was staring at me through my window trying to frighten me—obviously it worked. No harm done, though. I'm fine. Really."

"I'll be there in five minutes."

"No, no—I'll see you... when I see you. I should go, get some work done."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

Gabriel sighed, "Okay, if you're certain—but call me immediately if you see him again."

"I will Thanks...."

I hung up feeling like a jackass. Did I seriously just call him to tattle on my neighbor? Making sure all my doors and windows were closed and locked, I found solace at my computer. I stared at the pages I'd written and imagined the pages I still needed to fill. It was overwhelming at the moment, even insurmountable. Another memory clawed at the edge of my consciousness, fighting itself free. This muse was harder on me than most; it flashed my own life before my eyes.

Danny and I worked tirelessly on renovating the house. Despite promising to try to get back into my routine, I couldn't focus until the house was complete, until it felt more like my own. We redid the bedroom, the kitchen, both bathrooms, the family room.... It was slow going and as with any joint projects, there was more than the occasional argument and much bickering.

After a long, hard day of sanding floors, we were both exhausted and ready to collapse into bed. Danny came out of the bathroom and flopped down on his side .I got up slightly annoyed that I had to turn off the light when he was the last one to bed. The sound of the toilet running in the bathroom furthered my irritation. Couldn't he do anything? I went into the bathroom to shake the handle only to discover it wasn't just running it was overflowing.

" _Danny!"_

His muffled voiced came back at me. "What?"

" _The toilet is overflowing!"_

He came in with a weary expression, grumbling about why I couldn't fix it myself. I ran to the downstairs bathroom for the plunger and found it was flooding too—all three bathrooms were. The mess was catastrophic. Danny had to turn off the water and we spent the rest of the night cleaning the mess up before it ruined all the work we'd done that day.

The next morning we called a plumber who discovered an astronomical amount of candy wrappers shoved into the pipes. We thanked him and paid for his time.

" _How the hell did that happen" I asked Danny as soon as the plumber left._

Danny was lying on the couch, which had been moved into the hallway while we working on the living room.

" _No idea. I hardly ever eat candy. I didn't do it."_

" _I never said you did. I just know I didn't do it either. Don't you think it's strange? The house has been empty for how long? And the bathrooms worked fine until last night."_

" _You're thinking about this way too hard. Obviously some kids got into the house before we moved here and flushed all the wrappers as a joke."_

" _That's the lamest practical joke I've ever heard."_

" _I never said they were bright, just bored."_

And that was just one of many setbacks we endured during the renovation. The constant onslaught of missing tools and flickering lights only added to the tension we both felt. We called electrician after electrician, but no one seemed to be able to fix the lights—though they were all sure when they left that we would have no more problems. We found paint cans we were sure we had closed, open and dry the next morning. It's no wonder our best friends were the people who owned the hardware store; we practically lived there.

On top of all of this, I was hardly able to sleep. Every night I'd fall asleep only to be woken by someone saying my name and occasionally laughing. Danny was never disturbed by noises and never remembered hearing a thing the next morning. He always kissed my forehead and said there was never a dull moment in my overactive imagination, which of course irritated me royally. Finally, the lack of sleep and the constant setbacks with our home repair did inspire me to get out of the house to finish revising my book. I began to spend a good portion of every day on my laptop at Molly's Cafe. It was a nice break from the house—and from Danny.

The waitresses seemed to enjoy the fact that I was writing in their diner. They refilled my cup often, trying to catch a glimpse of the book, occasionally saying something about making history because nothing productive was ever accomplished in this diner. Molly would even sit with me and reminisce about what it was like to be young and in love. She told me I was welcome to use her tales in my books if I liked. Unsure whether she was hinting that I should make the books I wrote less dark, or if she had no idea about the types of books I wrote, I always smiled and thanked her. I enjoyed my time in the cafe. It made me feel more at home, and the people in town started to become friendlier as my face became more familiar.

A loud, official sounding knock on my front door drew me out of my warm memories of Molly's and back into my cold living room. I started for the door, then had a terrible thought. What if it was Sexton coming to harass me again? I hesitated, looking at my watch. Where had the time gone? It had been nearly five hours since I sat down, though it felt like minutes. It was after six and the sun was setting. The knocking persisted, only louder. I wedged my foot against the door as I cracked it open to see who was outside.

"It took you long enough. I almost had to break in," Gabriel said when our eyes met.

"Isn't that illegal?" I opened the door wide.

"Not if you're a cop."

"No, I'm pretty sure it is even if you are a cop. I know this is a small town, but there's still this thing called a warrant. You kinda should have one before you go into someone's house uninvited."

"So _that's_ how it works."

I grinned back.

"Now what was that call about this afternoon? I almost came over but—"

"But you can't drop everything for the girl who cried wolf one too many times."

"No, because I didn't want to push after you said not to come over. So what happened?"

"It's fine, don't worry about it."

"Tell me." I shook my head. "Do I have to insist?"

I sighed. "All right, all right." I ran through what had happened. Maybe it was just my imagination, but Gabriel seemed surprised to hear that I had seen a real face, that I could identify an actual person, not just another phantom.

"You should file a police report. Press charges."

"I don't want to cause problems. Besides, I've dealt with the police department enough for one life time."

"Thanks a lot."

"Not you. You're fine, just _them—_ the damn good ol' boys."

"They're not so bad. They have good hearts once you get past their rough exteriors. If you don't want to file a report, though I think you should, I'm at least going to have a come to Jesus talk with him."

"You could, but you may just piss him off more and make my life even more miserable in the process."

"No, I recognize his type. Bullies only respond to strength. If he sees you as just some woman he can torment. He'll never stop."

"Thank you, Mr. After School Special."

Gabriel ignored my snide remark. "What else happened today?"

"Nothing. I saw Dr. Livingston, had coffee with some guy that I met a while ago, freaked myself out over a strange car as I was walking home, then had the incident with Mr. Sexton. After that I sat down to write."

Gabriel's head tilted slightly back and he spoke slowly as if measuring his words. "Was your coffee date planned?"

"It wasn't a date. I ran into him in the hospital—actually I keep running into him. It's kind of strange...."

"This guy, where'd you meet him?"

"O'Malley's."

"Hmph."

"Apparently he works at the same hospital as my shrink."

"That's convenient." Gabriel's voice had taken on a new sharper edge to it.

"What?" I had a sinking suspicion that things were about to become awkward between us. I wasn't dating Grant nor did I have any intentions of dating him, but I wasn't dating Gabriel either.

"Don't you find that odd? What do you know about this man?"

"Not a lot. He seems to know more about me than I do about him, but who doesn't these days? And I really don't find it odd that we ran into each other—I'm bound to run into the same people here. It's Hicksville, remember?"

"What's his name? I can check around."

"Grant... I can't remember his last name... Actually I don't think he ever told me his last name."

"What does he want?"

"I don't know. He claims to want to be my friend." Gabriel looked at me as if that was the most absurd thing he'd ever heard, which pissed me off a little. "Yes, believe it or not, some people actually do want to be my friend even if they aren't investigating a murder. Amazing, I know."

"That's not what I meant."

I shrugged. "Who made you my guardian anyway?"

"Well, if you don't want help..."

Gabriel was Detective Troy again, but his face held anger beneath its calm surface. Before I could determine how to approach the situation, his phone rang. He answered, but spoke curtly. His end of the conversation was cryptic, making it impossible to determine what the call was about. He snapped his phone shut.

"I have to go."

"Fine."

"Yeah, great." He walked out the door and probably out of my life.

I watched his car go and started to feel a little melancholy. Why did I have to be so difficult? Would it kill me to take it easy on someone just once? The same truck that was there this morning was back. I was still on the porch, trying to get a better look, when it started and drove off without headlights. I watched it disappear down the road, trying to convince myself it was just a coincidence, wishing I knew which house the truck belonged to.

While brushing my teeth, I heard the door open downstairs. I went to the railing and looked down into the living room. I thought I saw a shadow move towards the kitchen. With a lack of other options, I quietly retrieved the baseball bat from beneath my bed and crept downstairs. What I would do with it if I caught someone wasn't entirely clear to me. In reality, the intruder would probably take it away from me, or, even worse, use it on me, but right now it made me feel better to have it.

Why did it always have to be the kitchen? I went the back way, hoping to surprise the intruder, peeking around corners with an awful case of butterflies. It felt like I was in a bad horror movie where the heroine runs to a room without any exits rather than out the door. Except, I found nothing. I searched the entire house, but found no trace of anyone. Coming up from the basement, I heard footsteps upstairs. I rechecked the second floor to the same result. As soon as I started back to my room I heard noises downstairs again, but I was not going to play this game of cat and mouse any longer. I went into my room, shutting and locking the door behind me. If anyone was in my house that was human, he would have to pick the lock or break down the door. If it were a ghost...well, there wasn't a lot I could do about it, was there?

I lay in bed, my mind shouting possibilities of all the terrible things that waited outside of my door, watching the door. Finally, accepting the fact I wasn't going to get any sleep if I didn't do something, I went into the bathroom. The only thing I could find was Nyquil, but that'd work. I took a hearty dose and headed to bed.

#  Chapter Nine

The next morning I showered, dressed, and brushed my teeth. Surprisingly there was no residual lag from the cold medicine; in fact, I felt great. I walked into the kitchen, humming. Maybe it would be a good day.

My eyes lifted from the pair of dark brown shoes that stood in the center of my kitchen in slow motion up to the tan chinos. I couldn't make my eyes move any faster or break the paralysis of the fear that seized my body. My eyes reached the man's plaid shirt and his strong, meaty looking hands thumbing through my mail as if he had every right to be there. His clothes looked like that of an upstanding citizen, but his eyes were something else. When my eyes finally met his, a sinister smile spread across his handsome face, but never reached those cold, reptilian eyes.

My heart skipped a beat, maybe several. I backpedaled as fast as I could. Turning myself around, I sprinted to the front door, a scream lodged in my throat. The door wouldn't open. I pulled with my whole body, but it stayed firm.

I could hear the man casually walking up the hall behind me. Too afraid to look, I dashed up the stairs and barricaded myself in my room. He meandered up behind me as if he had all the time in the world. His heavy footsteps thudded directly to my bedroom door. Each loud thump was like a hammer hitting my head. I sank to the floor against the door, pulling my knees into my chest, and covering my ears. The door behind my head vibrated with each slow, deliberate knock. I could not panic.... I would never survive if I panicked. The third knock was accompanied by a shrill ringing noise. I wondered if I was screaming, but then I realized the sound wasn't coming from me....

My eyes popped open, darting around the room for a threat. The fog from my dream stubbornly lingered even as I sat up tangled in the sheets of my bed and covered in sweat. My heart was thumping so hard I could feel the vibrations in my ears. My hands were shaking and chills coursed down my spine. The phone kept ringing. With effort I freed an arm and answered, still groggy and sluggish from the Nyquil.

"Hello?" I said, my voice scratchy, my mouth dry.

"Thinking about me?" someone whispered

I dropped the phone like it was a snake and struggled to clear my mind. Surely I'd misheard. I picked it back up. "What? Hello?"

My frantic reaction was met with a low, deliberate chuckle.

"Who is this?"

"That's the wrong question, Ella. _Who_ I am doesn't matter. It's what I'm going to do that should concern you," the person hissed. "I like watching you sleep. See you soon." The phone went dead.

The full weight of terror hit me at once. That was Danny's killer. It was hard to breath. Was he bluffing, or had he been in my house? Had he seen me sleeping? I grabbed my cell and scrambled out to the porch, not bothering to get dressed. I couldn't stay in the house a moment longer. I decided Detective Troy was the only person who would give me the benefit of a doubt, but he didn't answer. I sat the phone down on the railing and started walking, not knowing or caring where I was going, but needing to get away. I walked without seeing for a long while in a trance of fear and helplessness. When I finally started to wake from my stupor, I was at the cemetery. I hadn't visited Danny's grave since the funeral, because I didn't want to keep reliving his death. I lingered at the entrance searching for a reason not to go in.

The gates dared me to cross them. I walked through despite the trepidation I felt. Ending up here couldn't be a coincidence. There had to be a reason, so I didn't let myself chicken out. The graveyard was not too large, but it was quite old. I wandered among the oldest tombstones looking at the dates reveling at the history, avoiding the present. They all seemed so long ago, but in the greater scheme of the world, it was barely a blink of the eye. I knew I would eventually come to the one grave that meant something to me. I walked even slower and studied the pictures encased in the tombstones even closer. When I found the sectioned off area that housed Danny's family, the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. I went inside the low wrought iron fence. His modest tombstone looked humble amidst the statues that stood at other graves. Danny had never told me about the family plots or the distinguished past of his ancestors—I learned it all after his death—and I wondered just how well I actually knew him. Perhaps he hadn't known much of his legacy himself, or perhaps he wanted to keep it private.

I knelt down on the grave and rested my forehead against the tombstone, letting all the emotion I'd held back for such a long time wash over me, resulting in machine gun bursts of tears. I missed him. I missed being happy, having fun. Missed the way he made me laugh and the way I felt when he looked at me. It wasn't fair.

I cried until I had no more tears, only dry sobs that jarred my body. Finally I pulled back from the tombstone. "I don't know if I can do this," I said aloud. "I'm so tired."

I paced back and forth in a small room. My image did not look familiar in the mirror. I saw a girl in a white dress who looked calm and flawless like a magazine picture. It should have shown a girl who was tired, stressed and trapped.

I can't do this, I thought to myself. Is Danny really a person who can love me forever?

It was a serious question. I wasn't easy to be with. I was moody, difficult, and reserved—

My maid of honor, Karen, came back in to check on me. "Ella, you look lovely and everything is perfect out there."

As if I cared about that. I had an emotional crisis brewing. "Right. Great. Can you go get Danny?"

" _You can't see him before the ceremony. It's bad luck. You'll see him in a few moments."_

" _I want to see him now. Go!"_

Karen left, shaking her head. She'd been my roommate through college and was used to the snappy moods that sometimes came over me. At the moment, I couldn't think of a nice about her. She seemed to be gone for an extraordinary amount of time—but that's what I got for sending a moron. I should have gone.

A few minutes later there was a knock at the door. I threw the door open so fast it slammed against the wall.

" _Ella, I'm not supposed to see you!" Danny turned his head away._

" _What? Who cares about that? That's stupid—get in here." I grabbed him by the arm, pulling him in the room. I had a slight stab of fear that he'd be mad at me, and was relieved he was smiling._

" _You look beautiful."_

" _Thank you. Why are you marrying me?"_

" _I'm a glutton for punishment, I imagine." He gave me a sly smile, knowing I was in no mood to put up with his teasing._

" _I'm serious."_

" _I know, almost tragically so."_

" _You're... well,_ wonderful _. And I'm, well,_ me _. You shouldn't marry me. You don't want to marry me. I'm..."_

" _Amazing. Kind. Caring, smart, funny, surprising and very, very nervous." He took my hands._

" _I live most of my life in my head—that doesn't lend itself to a very good partnership. I'll make your life miserable. I love you too much to want to do that—and I snore."_

" _I know you snore. What's this really about, El? Are you worried I don't love you?"_

" _No, I know you love me. I'm worried that, that..." I sighed and coached myself to spit it out. "I'm worried that you'll leave me. That everything will fall apart and I'll be alone."_

" _I'll never leave you. You and me, we're a team."_

I smiled, reassured. "That was lame! We're a team," I said mockingly and gave him a light kiss. Suddenly things didn't seem quite so serious. I realized I was marrying the person I loved more than anyone else in the world. "Let's do this."

" _Well, now I don't know. I hear you snore."_

" _Ha ha ha. You're hilarious."_

" _I'll see you in a bit, Mrs. Reynolds."_

I smiled and warmth filled my heart, pushing all doubts to a dim corner of my mind.

My eyes drifted around the cemetery. Studying the makeup of the landscape, I felt almost peaceful. It had been a long time since I'd felt at peace anywhere. The sun rose higher, warming me, and things didn't seem so bad, right here, at this moment. I brushed away dirt and leaves that had accumulated around the base of Danny's headstone. Something sharp stabbed into my hand; I pulled back quickly, blood dripping from my fingers. Using the bottom of my nightgown, I wiped the blood from my hand and discovered a shard of glass protruding from one of my fingers and a slice across the other two. I carefully pulled out the glass and leaned towards the headstone for a closer look at the area I'd been clearing.

Still too obscured by debris to see anything, I pulled a small branch off a nearby tree and swept the area with it. Around his headstone broken glass was strewn as if someone had smashed several bottles. I swept it away as best I could, wondering who would've done something like that?

The small, more reasonable voice in my mind said it was probably kids, but the more dominant voice was telling me there was something very important that I was missing. At length I abandoned my efforts. I knew I should head back home and take care of my hand, but was hard to tear myself from this spot that I'd avoided for the past twelve months.

"You said you'd never leave," I said in a quiet voice and lightly brushed my undamaged hand over his engraved name.

As I walked back to the house, the few cars on the road, slowed as they passed, the drivers turning back for a second look. The state I was in dawned on me. I still wore pajamas, the bottom of which was stained with blood. My messy hair and naturally pale skin probably left me looking like a zombie walking out of the cemetery. A sharp burst of laughter erupted from me which probably only heightened my appearance of insanity. I quickened my pace back to my house, but when it came into view, I remembered why I'd runaway in the first place. My feet slowed again, to the shuffle of a person walking down death row. I couldn't move faster and I was no longer worried about what people thought when they saw me. I stood at my front door much sooner than I would have liked and I wished with all my heart I could just leave and stay gone. Instead I walked through the door, still ajar from my departure that morning.

I took a quick look around the house. Nothing was out of place; everything appeared to be as I had left it. Holding my hand under the faucet's cold stream made my cuts burn slightly while my mind relived the day before. If I was truly determined to find Danny's killer I needed to be more focused in my efforts—and more open minded. No one believed it could have been a ghost except for me—and I'd keep researching that possibility—but considering recent events, I had to consider that idea that the murderer might have been a person? But who? And why? My mind flashed to those who knew us best. Susan? Doug? Perhaps both of them? Why did they suddenly come back into my life? Why did they never find the courage to stand with me when I needed them most? Detective Troy? It was awfully convenient that he'd moved from Chicago and then this town had its first horrific homicide in years. The creepy neighbor, Mr. Sexton? He was scary and deranged enough, and he certainly had the opportunity. But what would be his motivation be? Or could it have been an avid fan? Or Grant perhaps? Sure I'd never met him before, but he seemed to know a lot about me.

The peroxide sizzled as I poured it on the gash across my fingers. The water continued to run in the sink, filling the room with white noise, making it easier to think. I continued to rack my mind for possible suspects when I heard a loud bang from the hallway. I turned off the water straining to hear, my heart quickening as the morning's threat replayed in my head. Why didn't I call the cops when I got back? I continued to admonish myself for my own stupidity, until I heard a familiar, yet somewhat panicky, voice in the hall.

"Ella? Ella, are you here?"

I stepped into the hall, but Gabriel was not there. Now I was completely baffled. Who in the hell was calling me? I crept down the hallway preparing myself for anything, but focusing on the front door, which was standing completely open. The floor board creaked underneath my step making me jump. I reached for the door to close it as someone grabbed my shoulders from behind.

I screamed, thrashing against my attacker.

"Christ, not again—Ella, it's me. Calm down. It's okay..."Gabriel turned me to him pinning my arms to my sides "What happened? Are you hurt?"

I was so relieved to see him that I started shaking. Tension melted out of my body replacing itself with irritation. "You scared me half to death! Never sneak up on someone like that. What if I had my baseball bat?"

"Are you all right?" he asked, his words clipped with impatience.

"I'm fine. You just scared the hell out of me," I said, hitting him one more time for good measure.

"Scared y _ou_? I've called you about fourteen times this morning, but you didn't answer. When I got here and I knocked, _you_ still didn't answer. I didn't know what to expect, but, well, you can imagine what I thought. Then you show up like that," he said through gritted teeth as he pointed at me.

"Like what?"

"What do you mean 'like what'? You're dressed for a Halloween ball—death white, covered in blood..." He shook his head. "What in the hell happened?"

"So much, but also nothing immediate to worry about." His face visibly relaxed as I spoke. "The blood is from my hand. I cut it on some glass; it's not a big deal. I was in the bathroom rinsing the cut when I heard you shout." I looked at my hand. It was welling with fresh blood. A drop splattered at my feet and I began to feel faint. "I'm sorry I have this thing about blood now..." Gabriel steadied me as I began sway. "Let's go back. You can tell me the rest." He took my elbow and led me back to the bathroom.

I sat on the closed toilet while Gabriel soaked a cotton swab in peroxide. He softly pressed the swab to each finger, blowing gently to ease the sting.

"Go on with your story," he said between breaths.

"Well, after you left last night, in somewhat of a huff I might add—"

"Narration is unnecessary."

"Whatever. I went to bed. All night I heard noises and craziness in the house. I got up to look around, but never found anything. Eventually I got sick of it and took cold medication so I could fall asleep. Then this morning someone called me. He asked if I was thinking about him and said something about how he liked watching me sleep. It was creepy and I sort of freaked out. I called you, but you didn't answer so I left."

"He said he liked watching you sleep?" Gabriel did not look amused.

"Yes. And he had this hideous laugh." It gave me the chills just thinking about it.

"Are you sure it was a man?"

I thought about his question and honestly couldn't be sure. The voice was too low and raspy to say anything for certain. I shook my head. "No, it just seems more like a guy thing to do."

"Did you recognize the voice at all?"

"Well, you know I asked for a name, but forgot to write the message down." I rolled my eyes. "What do you think?"

"Honestly, I don't know where to start, Ella. First of all, why would you investigate the noises? What would you do if you found someone? You should've called the police, that's why they're there. Second, you should never leave the house. What if he was trying to scare you into the open so he could abduct you? Did you think about that? He could have been waiting on the porch for you. You should have secured yourself in a room and called the police."

"If a person's behind all this, he's coming and going from my house whenever he wants anyway, so why would he lure me to the porch? And I called you—you are the police."

"I was sleeping, and you must have left as soon as you hung up because I called you back immediately." He eyed my pajamas and messy hair. "Where did you go like that?"

"To the cemetery—no dress code."

"You were scared, so you went to the cemetery?" He shook his head, the hint of a smile tilting his mouth.

"I went to see Danny ... or his grave, anyway. I hadn't been there since the funeral. It wasn't like I intended to go there. It's just where I ended up."

Gabriel's expression turned thoughtful, but he didn't say anything right away. "When did you cut your hand in all of this?" he asked as he put the last bandage on my finger.

"At the cemetery, someone broke bottles on the grave and I didn't see the glass. I used the bottom of my nightgown to stop the bleeding, then I came back here."

He nodded, still staring at my hand though his mind seemed lost in thought. His thumb gently rubbed over the inside of my fingers. "You should probably get a tetanus shot."

"You were worried."

He tore his gaze away from my hand to look me in the eye, but kept a firm hold on my fingers. "Yes, I was worried."

"What did you think happened?"

"I don't know. I kept thinking of how ... your husband was and..." his voice trailed off. "I don't like you being here alone. It hasn't felt right since I started the investigation."

I understood, but couldn't voice my understanding. Horrific images were flooding my head again; I pulled my hand away so I could vacate the close quarters of the bathroom. In the living room, I wedged myself in the corner of the couch and pulled a blanket around myself, suddenly cold. Gabriel took a seat in the chair opposite from the couch.

When I finally had my voice back I asked, "What do you think is happening?"

He hesitated as if he wasn't entirely certain what I was talking about. "With?"

"With _this_. The house. I hate to say it, but these things aren't new occurrences. This has been happening for a while. I need to know. Am I crazy? Is the house haunted? Or is someone doing this to me? I want your opinion."

"I don't know," he said slowly, "but my money would be on someone doing this to you."

"Why?"

"That's the question, isn't it? If we figure out the why, then we'll know the who. You said this has been happening for a while. When exactly did it start?"

"As soon as we moved in." I felt like I kept having the same conversations with him. I know I told him all of this when he first questioned me after the murder, but maybe he was hoping I remembered new details ... or maybe he was hoping I would slip up. Anticipating a question about specific occurrences, I went to my computer and pulled up a draft of the book about Danny's murder.

Normally I never let someone read a book before it was completed, but this would be the easiest way to convey what had happened without reliving it. Besides, I had doubts about whether I was strong enough to verbalize the story for him this morning.

"What types of things happened? What are you doing?"

I held up a finger for him to wait just a moment as I hit the print. "This isn't everything, but it's what I have so far. It will give you a good idea of how it all started."

"You wrote it down?"

"My next book is going to be non-fiction."

"You're writing about Danny?"

"You knew that."

"No, I didn't. I knew you were writing again, but you said it was about his family. Why would I know that?"

"I thought I mentioned it. I was researching the house."

"I thought you were investigating the ghost angle."

"I am. It helps me understand and see new angles when I write things down. Writing has always opened my mind to new possibilities. Why? Do you think it's a bad idea to write this story?"

"Not if it's what you want to do. I imagine it'll be an emotional one for you, though—and there'll be a contingency of people that think you're responsible, and they'll use this book against you."

"I don't care what they think," I lied, more to myself than to him. "And anyway, it doesn't matter—I can't finish my book until there is an ending. After that I'll have answers and I'll be leaving. They'll either accept what I have to say or they won't, but the important thing is I won't be here to hear about it."

"Where are you going?"

"Home, back to Chicago," I said as I handed him the pages. "Read. I'm going to take a shower."

I never could stand to watch people read my work. The anxiety was unbearable. I could barely even tolerate the idea of people I didn't know reading and judging my ideas, my effort. I never read reviews or googled myself—what I didn't know was probably for the best. And this book was of a more personal nature, which made it much worse.

Walking back downstairs, clean if not entirely refreshed, I reminded myself that this was not my best work. I could have done better. I hadn't even read it since it was written. It was probably full of a thousand typos and clunky dialogue. By the time I peeked into the living room to see if he was done, I had completely justified his hatred of the story.

Gabriel appeared to have finished and was casually flipping back through the pages. I couldn't read his expression as I walked into the room.

"Is this a joke?" he demanded before I could say anything. He seemed almost angry with me.

"No ... was it funny?" I asked horrified that it could have been that bad.

"Not at all," he practically snarled.

I finally placed the expression on his face: disgust. Maybe the story was beyond rewrites; I should just start over.

"Well, it's a just first draft. I haven't even read it yet. It's just some history and what happened right after we moved in. I'm not sure what you expected."

"That's not what this is."

"Of course it is. I wrote it. I know what it's about."

"Really? You read it." He thrust the papers in my direction.

The first page was just as I remembered writing it, but every page after was completely new to me.

The birds chirped and the sounds of early morning filled the blackness. The soft vibration of his snore was deafening. When would she be home? How could she abandon me with this buffoon? It would just be the two of us soon. I had it all arranged now, and there would be no going back.

Did she miss me?

Would she realize it was all for her?

Excitement coursed through my veins as I unhooked one side of the ceiling rack over the island. Pot and pans plunged to floor causing a tinny rumble. This should wake him. If it did I would only have a few moments to get everything back in order, before he stomped downstairs groggy and vulnerable. I expertly put everything back in place. I knew where she kept everything. I knew better than he did.

As I held the last pan in my hand I listened. He wasn't awake yet. He was never as dependable about on checking on the house. She cared, she understood. He was only worried about himself.

I hit the last pan against the stainless steel sink until I heard him moving upstairs, then I put it back on the rack. Moving silently to my hiding spot, I awaited my moment. Giddy with anticipation, I could barely hold still. So much planning was finally coming to its beautiful peak. I watched him as he walked into the kitchen. Predictable, always so predictable. He gave up the search almost immediately, deciding to get a drink of water. I was so close to him I could hear him breathing, yet he didn't see me. All I had to do was reach out a hand. He would never see it coming. But he never saw anything except himself.

I stepped out behind him swiftly and silently. With a quick flash of steel, I severed his spinal cord. He tried to yell, was shocked by his inability to do so as I stepped down on his throat crushing his windpipe. He could do nothing, the only threat in these wee morning hours was me. I was completely in control now. I retrieved the knives, all of them from butcher knife to butter knife slowly inspecting each blade.

I propped him up against the pantry door to begin my real work. My art. I chose two very long thin, strong knives that I had brought with me to pin him to the door. I stabbed them through his shoulders underneath the collarbones. I felt a rush, a wave of exhilaration, as the blood oozed and the panic in his eyes was replaced with fear.

I took my time arranging all the other knives. I used the butter knives on softer areas and the bigger sharper knives on the thicker areas. Life seeped from him much too soon robbing me of my fun. I saved the best knife for last, however, the wedding cake knife right in the heart.

The blood pool on the floor had been growing larger and larger. I had not forgotten a single detail in my plan. She would be home soon. Would she appreciate my work? The attention to detail?

I wanted to watch her reaction, but I knew it would be risky to stay. Worth it though, to see her face when she realized that I had liberated her. I alone had the power to do that for her. I offered her freedom, life. I alone had the power to take life from her and give life to her. I was God.

I didn't have to wait long. She walked in the door just as beautiful as I had remembered her being. She immediately sensed my presence. She looked upstairs first, disappointing me that she couldn't feel exactly where I was waiting for her. Finally she came into the kitchen. She looked at the door, at my art and slowly reached towards its beauty. She covered her mouth, probably hiding a smile, though she didn't need to hide it from me; I could see her as no one ever did. She fell to her knees, having never seen anything like this before. Still she had said nothing. She was failing me. I wanted more from her. I wanted a reaction, something grand and worthy of the work I put into it. Her eyes rolled up into her head and she crumbled to the floor, just inches from the blood.

Not quite what I had hoped for, but I understood her mind had been overcome by appreciation for all I had done. I could stay with her no longer. It was time I moved to one of my safer hiding spots. I wanted to be able to watch the police work, not to miss a single detail of this day, my day that I had planned for so long.

As I left her in the kitchen, I moved her hand into the pool of blood never feeling closer to her then I did at that moment. Someday she would know and appreciate everything I had done for her. Someday we would be together.

"I can't read anymore of this." My hands were shaking too much to hold the pages. They fluttered to the ground. My eyes filled with tears. I felt the need to shower again or vomit—to do something, anything.... I had to purge this from my memory. Gabriel had been watching me while I read the story.

"You didn't write this?"

I was flabbergasted that he thought I could write something like this about Danny, my family. I couldn't speak. I could only shake my head. Tears streamed down my cheeks and I pulled my knees up, tucking myself into a ball on the couch.

Detective Troy seemed to briefly struggle with what he was going to believe about the situation before him. Finally, he came to a decision. "We have to call the police."

"Fine," I managed to squeak out. I had nothing to hide. This monstrosity wasn't mine. "I didn't write _that_."

"I believe you. That's why we're calling the police."

"You are the police," I said weakly, not wanting anyone else to read this horrible account.

"They probably won't find anything, but we need forensics out here to fingerprint and see what else they can find. This," he motioned at the mess of papers on the floor, "needs to go into evidence."

"I don't want a lot of strangers in my house."

"I'm sorry, but I don't see that you have much of a choice. Do you want us to catch the killer?"

"Of course."

"Then you'll cooperate." His statement had a hint of a question in it.

I nodded. Detective Troy called police department. He explained the necessary information to the responding officers and told them about the events of the night before and the story on my computer. He managed the chaos and worked closely with the investigators, as this was an extension of Danny's case.

It was late afternoon by the time they left. They took my computer, the house was just short of a natural disaster, and my head was throbbing. I felt tiny and insecure. Gabriel had made the process as painless as possible for me, but I could feel the toll it was taking. As the last of the cops left, he came back into the house.

"I have to go to the station to file some paperwork. I'll come back. Is there someone who can come over to stay with you?"

"I'm okay."

"No, you're not and that's all right." Concern lined his face. "I'll leave a black and white outside. If anything scares you at all, no matter how small, get them. They'll check it out for you. Stay in here, near the front window where you can be seen. I'll be back in an hour, tops."

I didn't respond. I had no right to expect him to stay, but it almost felt like he was abandoning me by leaving.

Gabriel forced me to look in his eyes. "You're stronger than this, Ella. If you have any problems call me."

"I'll be here."

As Gabriel closed the door my heart sank. I knew I had told him I would be fine, but after no more than five minutes, I also knew I would go crazy if I kept sitting in front of this window. I went to the police car parked on the street in front of my house. The officer rolled down his window.

"May I help you, ma'am?"

"I can't stay here."

"Detective Troy said you are to stay."

"Detective Troy can kiss my ass. I don't want to stay and I'm not under arrest. Will you take me to O'Malley's?"

"No, ma'am."

"Don't be an asshole. Please."

"We have our instructions."

"If you don't help me I'll walk." They exchanged a look. I could see that they were finally considering it. "I know you wouldn't want that, especially since there's a killer after me. You can radio Detective Troy and let him know where I'll be if he needs me for anything."

They exchanged another look. The officer on the driver's side shrugged to the one I was speaking with. The one nearest to me glanced back at me and radioed Detective Troy. He got no reply.

"It's best if you stay here," he said to me.

"I'll call his cell. Come into the house with me." They both followed me in to make the call. Detective Troy answered on the first ring.

"Troy."

"I can't stay here."

"Why? What happened?"

"Nothing, but I'm starting to lose it. I need to get out. Can you tell the gorillas in front," I gave the police officers a sweet smile, "to take me to O'Malley's? They can leave me there. I'll be safer there anyway."

"That's not really their job. They aren't a taxi service."

"Fine, I'll call a cab."

He sighed. "Let me talk to them."

I handed the phone over. The officer listened and didn't make much of a response to anything said, until the end of the call.

"I understand, Sir." He hung up the phone and looked at me. "We'll drive you to O'Malley's."

"Thank you."

I sat in the back seat. "So this is what a criminal feels like?" I joked.

"No, ma'am. You don't have handcuffs on."

"My mistake," I mumbled. These guys didn't have much of a sense of humor. The one who kept calling me ma'am had a strong military vibe, and the other just seemed quiet and annoyed.

"How long have you known Detective Troy?" the quiet one asked, breaking the awkward silence.

"He investigated my husband's death."

"Are the two of you close?"

Not sure what he was getting at, I decided less information was best. "Not really. We just ran into each other a week or so ago." I couldn't tell if he believed me or not, but at least he stopped asking questions.

The rest of the ride was quiet. When we arrived, the officer let me out of the car.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, gentleman. Have a good evening."

"Ma'am." He nodded to me.

I gave them a tight farewell smile and headed inside. It was the same as ever. Joe was behind the bar and he waved at me as I walked to my booth. In a matter of moments he had my vodka to me, and I was relaxing in my dark corner. I watched the people come and go, visiting with one another. Surprisingly I felt less melancholy than the last time I was here. My mind naturally started to drift back over the events of day and that horrible story, but I shoved all such thoughts to the side. I had suffered enough for one day and besides, I needed to remain calm and functioning. I would wait patiently and not think about anything at all.

Unable to maintain idleness for too long, however, I took the safer route of contemplating my suspects again, and a new one popped into my mind: Dr. Livingston.

Maybe he was a sadist who toyed with his patients and their families, even to the point of torturing and killing them. Perhaps he distorted the minds of his clients during the day and snuck into houses at night to do tricks that would prey on his clients' mental health—it was a great way to keep up his clientele. And he knew I was writing again. He could've broken in and changed my document....

"Is this seat taken?" Gabriel asked with a tired smile, sitting down before I could answer. "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I imagine." He scanned the dark little bar for possible threats out of what appeared to be more habit than paranoia. "So ... come here often?"

I laughed. "Please don't tell me you use that line on anyone."

"I can't swear that was the first time," he said with a grin. "What were you thinking about?"

"Just who's doing this to me."

"Did you make any determinations?"

"No one stands out anymore than the rest. I was just running over possible suspects in my mind and they're all fairly ridiculous."

"I can check them out if you like."

"I don't know. I'm sure you've already considered most of the people who knew Danny and me. It isn't like we had a ton of friends here. It would probably be a waste of time." I shook my head in frustration. "Did you have a nice time at the office?"

"Not really—look, do you want to stay here or do you want to go somewhere else?"

My ears perked up as his tight, guarded tone. "Go where? I'm not going home yet."

"I wasn't planning on taking you home. We could get dinner then maybe a movie. A night away from that house and from everything else might make you feel better."

He was completely right. I did need to get away, even if it was just a temporary reprieve. What did I have to lose? "Take me wherever you want. I'm completely at your disposal."

A slow smile spread over his face making my lips twitch upwards in return. "I was hoping you'd say that. I made reservations." He gave me his hand to help me out of the booth.

"That was rather presumptuous of you, after all that happened today.... A couple of weeks ago, after today's brand of fun, I would have medicated myself into a stupor and hid in bed."

"I made that reservation yesterday."

Trying to hide the nervousness that engulfed me when I realized this was more than likely a date, I walked out of the bar without waiting for him. Had he asked me out I would have said no, but somehow he managed to get me on a date without ever uttering a word about it. Gabriel was much smoother than I'd given him credit for. He caught up, falling in step with me.

"Where are you going?"

"What?"

"I'm parked in the other direction."

"Oh, right, sorry."

"Are you okay?"

I nodded and we walked to his car side by side.

We went to a small restaurant that looked fairly shabby from the outside and for a moment I doubted the need for reservations. Inside, however, we could barely squeeze into the room.

"I think I've heard of this place. I was supposed to come here with Danny when I got back from my book tour to celebrate." As soon as I said it I realized my mistake. I shouldn't have mentioned Danny.

Christ, I couldn't do this _._ I couldn't start dating, not yet. Maybe not ever. Heat rose to my cheeks. What was I doing on a date? It was absurd.

"It's the best Italian in Montgomery." Gabriel turned his attention to the hostess. "Reservation for Troy."

She checked her book then led us to a small corner table with a cliché drippy red candle in the center of a checkered table cloth.

"What's good here?"

"Everything."

I looked at the menu for a while, narrowing down my selection, though my mind kept wandering back to the house.

"Why would the person or whatever it is kill Danny and not me? If it wants the house then why not kill us both?"

"No, we're not talking about that tonight. Tonight we're two normal people—no murders, no ghosts of any kind."

"Right." That left me with nothing to talk about. "So what did happen at the office, you never really said."

"That either. Normal, remember?"

"I'm not sure I know how to do normal."

"You'll find a way," he said with a smile.

"I'm sure I could," I said slowly, "but this is the only thing on my mind."

He sounded disappointed but answered my earlier question. "My captain wanted to see me to make sure that this case hadn't become too 'personal.'"

"Has it?"

He lifted an eyebrow at me, his eyes searching mine.

"The officer that drove me to O'Malley's was asking questions about how long and how well I know you—got to love small towns—but you are always available to me."

"So?" I wondered if I was imagining it or if Gabriel bristled a bit.

I held up my hand. "Don't get me wrong. It's great. I don't know what I would do without you."

He took a long drink of water and refilled his glass with the pitcher the server had left at our table. "But?"

"But what are you sacrificing to help me with this and why? This is my life and I have nothing outside of it, so it's easy for me to forget that you probably do. You probably had a life before this."

"I'm here because I want to be here. I assured him I could remain impartial."

"Can you? Had I written that story what would you have done?"

His intense eyes searched mine, though I didn't know what they were looking for. "I don't know," he finally said. "But I know I need to see this through to the end. If I turned over this investigation would you let another police officer into your life?"

"Probably not." Gabriel was a truly nice man and I probably didn't help his case insisting the cops drive me to a bar. "I'll try to behave myself so you don't get into anymore trouble."

"I would appreciate that. Does this mean you've dismissed your ghost theory?"

"I don't know. The things that have happened, without so much as a trace of any person ... well, a ghost makes as much sense as it doesn't. However, the story of the murder sounds so much more like a person—I don't know. What do you think?"

"I've never believed it was a ghost, but I can't figure out how they do it. Whoever it is has some end goal, I just don't know what."

Detective Troy looked exhausted and it was probably my fault—so much for his hope of having a dinner free from talking about my troubles. But why did he care so much? I held back that question knowing that I couldn't ask it until I was ready to hear his answer. Pity for the poor man who was trying to help me made me change the subject to something a bit lighter.

"So ... who do you think will win the Super Bowl?"

He smiled. "That's over. It was months ago."

"World Series?"

"I have no idea. I don't watch much baseball."

"What is it you do when you aren't detecting or breaking down my door?"

"I like movies, hiking, camping, things like that."

"Things to escape reality—those are all pretty solitary."

"They can be, but they don't have to be. What do you do when you aren't writing or being terrorized by ghosts?"

"Well ....ummm, I really don't do much besides those things, especially the last couple years. I like reading. I used to like cooking and games."

"Games?"

"Yes, games like Scrabble, Monopoly, poker, spades, pinochle, you know—board games, not mind games."

"I would never guessed you as the game type. It's so..."

"Juvenile?'

"Normal."

Now it was my turn to smile. I hadn't been called normal in quite some time. "Ah, so you thought I meant games like cult games and sacrificing small animals and what not... I gave that up for Lent."

"Why don't you do those things anymore?"

"Cult activities? Well, they've become so passé. Everyone is doing it these days."

"No. Play cards, be with your friends..."

"Who has the energy, or friends?"

The rest of the meal carried on the same way: light and easy. Gabriel was right. We both needed a night off, away from the reality that haunted both of us. After dinner, we went to see an old movie that was playing in an equally old theater. We chose _Arsenic and Old Lace_ in hopes that the light comedy would put us further at ease, besides who doesn't love Cary Grant? The movie was a good choice. It was easy to lose myself in the story, laughing along with the other people in the theater. All in all, it was a great evening, which was surprising after the horrendous, roller coaster of a day.

But too soon we were outside of my house. Dread filled me as I looked at the door. I didn't want to go inside. However, I got out of the car when Gabriel opened my door. A light on upstairs in the master bedroom caught my eye. I hadn't been in there since Detective Troy opened that door. That light had not been on since then; at least I did not think it had been. Who had been in his room? I grabbed Gabriel's arm and pointed up at the window.

"That wasn't on."

He looked up "Are you sure?"

"75%."

"Get in the car. Lock the doors. I'll check."

"I'm going with you."

"Ella, get in the car."

"No. I've walked into that house to find one person dead already. I'll be damned if I'm going to find a second one. If you go, I go too."

"Fine. Stay close." He pulled his gun from the locked glove compartment.

We silently crept into the house and upstairs. Gabriel flung open the door to the room, but now the light was off. I reached around him and flipped the switch. Nothing was there. It was just as we'd left it. We proceeded to check the rest of the house, but again found nothing at all. After we'd exhausted our search, Gabriel looked at me with a helpless expression.

"You don't have to stay here tonight."

"Where am I going to go?"

"You can come home with me."

I stared at him, my mouth becoming cottony. Part of me wanted to laugh hysterically, part wanted to walk away, and still another, smaller part wanted nothing more than to take him up on his offer, if only—

"Not like that," he said quickly "I just meant you can stay at my house for the night. Not with me. Separate rooms."

"Right." My mind was swimming, but I pressed through it trying not to let things get any more uncomfortable between us. "I'll have to come back here eventually, so what's the point of running away now."

"Stay at my house tonight. I'll come by here tomorrow with a police dog and see what I can find. Speaking of that, have you thought about getting a dog?"

"I had a dog. She died."

"When? From what?"

"I don't know the date. We'd been here a few months. She was acting funny after we moved in, then one morning I woke up and she was dead at the bottom of the stairs."

"What kind of dog?"

"Toy poodle."

"I was thinking something a little bit bigger, something for protection. The house, the investigation can wait until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I echoed. It was such a nice word. Everything could be put off until tomorrow and tomorrow never had to come. Gabriel was offering to extend my peace of mind for a few more hours and right now that was the nicest thing anyone could do for me. I let him lead me back to the car.

Gabriel lived across town in an old brick house with a large porch and stained glass windows. It was charming. Inside, the furnishings looked comfortable and lived in. It wasn't a large house by any means. It had only one bedroom, which utilized almost the entire upstairs except for a bathroom and some storage. The main floor had a living room, kitchen, office, small utility room, and a small restroom. There was no basement or attic. It was small and comfortable—perfect for one or two people. The best thing about his house was it felt safe and secure. It felt like a home.

Gabriel handed me clean sheets and offered me his room.

"You should have your room. I'll stay on the couch."

"No, I insist you take the bed. There are clothes in the bottom two drawers."

"Thank you." I didn't have the words to express how big of an impact he was making in my life. "You do so much for me and you don't have to—."

He looked like there was something he wanted to say, but he settled for "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

I went upstairs and found a baggy Northwestern shirt to sleep in. Crawling into his bed, I was ready to crash when he spoke softly from the stairs.

"Ella, may I come up?"

"Sure."

Gabriel came around the corner wearing a t-shirt and pajama pants. I could see the other tattoos on his arms.

"How many tattoos do you have?"

He looked slightly taken aback, obviously not expecting this question. "Uh, eight. I came up for a pillow."

"Oh, sorry here you go." I handed him an extra pillow. "Are you sure you don't want your bed?"

"No, you have it," he said quietly as he took the pillow from me, then he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and brushed a piece of hair off my face.

"Do you have everything you need?" He still looked like he wanted to say something else. Something more.

"I'm all set," I said, careful not to invite him to say what he was concealing. We were both better off if words that couldn't be taken back weren't spoken. I wasn't ready to hear whatever it was and Gabriel seemed to understand that too. He gave me a warm smile before he stood up.

"Sleep well. If you need me I'll be downstairs.'

"Night."

He gave me one last look before he shut off the light. I heard him trot down the stairs and I drifted off to sleep in a matter of moments. It was, seriously, the best night's sleep I'd had since I moved to Montgomery—and I didn't wake up the next morning 'til after nine. I wondered for a moment if Gabriel had left me there alone, but the notion was quickly dismissed when I heard the lovely sounds of breakfast being made and the smell of coffee wafted up through the air. I got up and pulled my jeans on under the oversized t-shirt. "Good morning. How did you sleep?" Gabriel asked brightly.

I couldn't suppress the small smile that crept to my lips. "Too well. I'd forgotten what it's like to have a good night's sleep. Thank you." I wasn't sure what he was trying to make, but he had a mess. "Can I help?"

"That's okay" Then he looked at the stove and counter and seemed to rethink his stance. "Actually, that would great. I'm not very good at this." He said with a sheepish grin.

"Scoot over. What are we making?"

"Pancakes."

"You have way too many ingredients out."

He gave me an exaggerated shrug.

"You're hopeless. I'll make them."

I cleaned up his mess and started over. Gabriel kept looking over his shoulder at me, while he made orange juice. I got a pinch of flour and waited for the next time he glanced back and then I blew it in his face. Laughing as the puff of flour dusted his face, I grabbed another handful.

"This is war," he declared and shook the wooden spoon covered in orange juice at me. Before he could finish I hit him with next handful and grabbed another. I moved around the counter to give myself some coverage, but this enabled him to grab his own handful of flour. I was saved by the phone ringing.

"Truce?" Gabriel asked and offered me his hand to shake. I extended my hand, only to have him shove his last handful of flour in my face. Laughing, he made a mad dash for the phone. I laughed too, wiping the flour off my face.

The kitchen was once again terrible mess, but it was worth it. My opportunities for fun were so few that the joy of having one brought tears to my eyes. After the room was once again reasonably clean, I made batter. Gabriel came back in as I was about to flip the first pancake.

"Do you have to go to the office?"

"No, I took the day off. That was the lab. They didn't find any prints except for yours and a few of mine."

"I didn't think they would, did you?" I asked spooning another dollop onto the skillet.

"No. But I was hoping."

"The eternal optimist?"

"Just looking for a break." He leaned against the counter next to the stove.

"Hmph. That's funny."

"What?'

"I hadn't thought about this stuff since last night."

"That's good, right?"

"Yes and no. It's nice to have a break and not be shrouded in darkness all the time, but it isn't helping me stay focused on what's important."

"Maybe it's good to take your mind off the prize for a while, that way you can go back in with a clear head."

"Maybe." I broke eye contact with Gabriel and flipped the lightly bubbling pancakes. I found myself hoping he was right. That I could go back to the house with new eyes and maybe find clues I had missed before. I looked over my shoulder at Gabriel. "I think some of your hope is rubbing off on me."

"It's contagious."

"Lots of things are—and very few of them are good for you. But, hell, I'll give it a shot. What else do I have going for me?"

"I imagine there's a lot more than you think."

"So what's your plan for the day?"

"Ah, I'm glad you asked. Today we scour your house."

"What? We've searched the house a thousand times. It's neither fun nor relaxing."

"No? Well, that's too bad. It's time for this to be over with once and for all. If someone's been hiding in your house, there has to be evidence. I'd look alone, but you know the house better than anyone. We'll start at the top and work our way down. We're missing something; I just don't know what."

"Top to bottom," I agreed, dread knotting my stomach.

#  Chapter Ten

Spending the night away from the house was like a vacation from a job I hated. It was relaxing and a much needed break, but I had to go back. Being away, even for such a short time, left me with the impression that, perhaps, there was more life for me to live. That fledgling hope made it much harder to come back to reality. Continuously I reminded myself I had to do this or never be released. I had to see this to the end.

As Gabriel and I drove towards the house, our conversation dwindled into a heavy silence. The house loomed at the end of the street, shaded and patiently waiting. It watched the car approach through veiled eyelids, like it was expecting my return. The hatred I felt for it re-ignited.

Opening the door to the immediate sensation that I was never gone at all, brought back the weariness I hoped to have escaped. The house seemed to hold on to a piece of me, a piece I was incomplete without. I inspected the room with a wary eye. Nothing seemed out of place, but something was wrong. Exactly what stayed just out of reach of my senses, but its eager anticipation of being discovered was as real, thick, and heavy as humidity. I would go no further. I knew how this story ended. I had finally had enough. Whatever horror lurking in the shadows to traumatize me would just have to wait. I wasn't going to meet it this time.

Whatever it is, I don't want to know, I don't want to know, I repeated as a mantra against the part of me that wanted to push on, the part of me that could never accept that ignorance truly was bliss.

Images of blood and gore washed over my mind in a wave: mutilated bodies, miscellaneous parts, streams of crimson blood flowing down the staircase, hundreds of bodies heaped into uncaring piles. My heart quickened, my breathing became a conscious effort. The sheer terror of the house seized me in a way it hadn't for months.

"Do you want to start upstairs or down?" A voice seeped into my consciousness, interrupting my internal battle. I had forgotten I wasn't alone.

"What?" I said sharply.

"Attic or Basement?" he asked, not noticing the edge.

Attic or basement? Who cared? If the house wanted us dead, it didn't matter where we went. There was only one option for escape. My mind raced in panic.

"It's not safe for you to be here." I fought to keep my voice steady, to not let onto the fear I was feeling.

"What are you talking about?" He looked around, apparently oblivious to the threat all around us.

"I have a really bad feeling about being here today."

"That's because you have something normal to compare it with. I'll be fine, you'll be fine, I promise. Now attic or basement?"

"You don't understand. I know this house—something is wrong in here. There's more anger, hatred than usual. Can't you feel it? I can't remember the last time it was this bad. Nothing good can happen today." But that wasn't entirely true. I did remember the last time it was this bad. That fateful day ended in pools of blood with my husband pinned to the wall, all life drained from his shell.

Gabriel didn't answer right away. He seemed to be legitimately trying to understand what I was saying. "I honestly don't feel anything. It feels like a house, a quiet, rather lonely house in need of some life, but still just a house." Gabriel walked in a few steps further, holding his arms out as if to say, see it's okay.

My nerves tightened with each step he took. I wanted to close my eyes or turn away from what I was seeing. Energy crackled in the air. Gabriel took another step towards the kitchen.

"I can't do this," I said, finding it hard to breathe. I went back onto the porch letting the lovely morning sunshine sooth my frayed nerves. Gabriel followed, concerned.

"I can't do this," I repeated.

"Sure you can. You've done this every day. Today is no different."

"Trust me, it's different. I can't explain how, but it is."

"Okay, how do we fix it?"

"I don't know."

"We could go for a walk, clear the anxiety, then try again?"

I nodded. That was safe and took us away from here. As we walked down the steps back into a world not shrouded in darkness, something like a frustrated scream came from inside of the house. I looked at Gabriel to see if he'd heard it. He was looking back at the house with hawk-like focus. He pushed me towards the driveway with one arm and proceeded back up the steps.

"Gabriel, no. Don't go in again, please. Let's go. Please."

He ignored me, reached for the handle. He tried to turn it, but it wouldn't budge. He pushed the door with his shoulder, but nothing moved.

He looked back, flabbergasted. "It's locked."

"Please, can we just go for a walk?" I asked again, near tears as I stood helplessly at the bottom of the steps.

"Fine. We'll have to wait for a locksmith anyway."

Gabriel insisted on calling the locksmith before we left. I didn't care who he called so long as we didn't have to stay there. I didn't bother to tell him that a locksmith wouldn't do any good. We didn't lock ourselves out. A priest seemed like a more reasonable course of action given what we were dealing with.

We walked slowly in the quiet morning. Dew glistened on the blades of grass in the lawns we passed. The leaves on the trees gently rustled, while the sunlight made them glow from within. The symphony of birds chirping, bugs humming, wind chimes ringing and children playing blended in a lovely white noise that drowned out the darkness. We were safe, that was all that mattered.

I continued walking, but sped up, nearly trotting. I could just keep going and never stop. I could walk away from everything, be done and forget about it all. The thought was so intoxicating I started smiling. I never would have to see those windows staring down at me, never have to hear the moaning floor boards on the stairs, never have to feel the cold indifference in the air again. I would be able to sleep, not have panic attacks at the slightest provocation, and have friends I could laugh and hang out with. I would never have to push the memory of Danny's limp, lifeless body from my mind again. I could forget it all—

But there was the catch. There always is. In order to move on without some sort of resolution, I would have to forget Danny, otherwise the whole awful thing would hold onto to me wherever I went. I would have to forget the way his smile lit up his face and made his eyes gleam. I would have to forget the sound of his laughter filling the room, the smell of his skin, the feel of his hand in mine—"Christ, I thought you were going to start running for a minute," Gabriel said beside me. "What's up? Why'd you stop?"

I hadn't realized that I had stopped. My legs were heavy, as if they could walk no further. The smile that briefly graced me with its presence vanished with my lovely day dream. I couldn't leave. My legs knew that, my heart knew that—just my mind was slow to catch up.

I swallowed back the frustration and inclined my chin towards the sky, hoping God would strike me down rather than make me go back.

"We should return." I said defeated.

"The locksmith won't be here for a while."

"Like that really matters."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you honestly believe we are locked out?"

"Well, the door wouldn't open...."

"It was punishing me, that's all. Trust me, we'll get back in just fine."

"Houses don't punish people," he replied just a bit stubbornly. The frustration of his arguing with me about something I knew about and he didn't was almost too much.

"Fine, you stay. I'm going back." I charged back in the other direction this time.

Gabriel caught up with me. "Are you always like this?"

I gave him my best annoyed bordering on bored expression. "Like what?"

"Ridiculously moody."

A slightly hysterical, barking laugh erupted from my mouth. He was absolutely right. I was being rather bipolar at the moment. Maybe I _was_ overreacting. Gabriel looked at me as if this was it, I was finally having a mental break down right in the middle of the street.

"I'd say no, but that would be a lie. It's just worse with stress."

"But you're okay?"

"Define okay."

"You aren't going to start talking to the voices in your head, screaming and pulling out your hair, or sacrificing small animals, right?"

I looked at him for a moment wondering if that is how he saw me. The only person who supported me at all recognized me as a ticking bomb waiting to go off. "Not today. My head won't spin either." I made a joke because I couldn't afford to lose him.

"I didn't even think of that one."

"It's best to be prepared."

"Absolutely." He smiled. "So, we're going back because?"

The last traces of laughter faded from me. "I can't leave."

"You can't go for a walk?"

"No, well, yes, I can ... but then I started pretending I could just keep going, never go back there again—"

"Why is that so bad?"

I shook my head furiously. Didn't he understand anything? "There has to be an ending."

"Says who?"

I had to think about that. Who made that rule? Why did there have to be an ending? Life was messy—why should mine come wrapped in a perfect bow?

"Me," I answered at last. "I say it."

"Why?"

"Because if there isn't an ending then this is it, the rest of my life. I really will go mad if I have to live like this forever. I can't let go without an ending. It will haunt me no matter where I go. His story feels unfinished."

"Then we'll find your ending."

I wished I felt as sure as he sounded. The house was once again before us. For a split second I saw what looked like a face in the window. It reminded me of Grant in its shape and expression, but it was gone an instant later. "Did you see that?" I asked, just to be sure.

"What?"

"A face in the living room window."

"No." Gabriel narrowed his eyes and studied the windows with intensity. "You saw a face?"

"It was probably a combination of shadows and an over active imagination."

"Maybe. Wait here," he said, the police type authority back in his voice. He jogged ahead onto the porch. He looked in each window, careful to stay out of sight. Then he went to the door and turned the handle easily. He went into the house without hesitation as I stood in the street a hundred feet away watching. It felt like he was gone for ages before he finally appeared in the door again. He began inspecting the handle for a reason why it wouldn't have opened before.

"I won't say I told you so," I called out as a thumped up the steps toward him.

"It doesn't make sense," he muttered.

"Welcome to Reynolds' Raving Roost. Where sense is for sissies and down is up and black is white."

Gabriel chuckled while twisting the handle on both sides of the door. "I didn't see anyone inside."

"You cannot imagine my complete and utter surprise," I said deadpan enough to give Ben Stine a run for his money.

Gabriel shrugged and straightened back up to full height. "It's always worth checking." I appreciated that he thought so. "Where do you want to start?"

"Doesn't matter to me."

Gabriel considered for a moment, before deciding on the basement. We trudged down the dark, narrow stairs, plowing our way through cobwebs and dust. I flipped the switch at the bottom; the light sputtered to life and cast a dim glow over most of the room, but left the corners untouched. It looked just as it had when we moved in. We had contributed a few things to the mess against the wall immediately facing the staircase when we moved in, some paint, some tools, but nothing of particular interest at first sight.

"Does anything look wrong to you?"

"Not really, I wouldn't know. I never come down here."

"How about you go right and I'll go left, we can meet in the middle."

"I think we should stay together."

"It'll take a lot longer."

"I'd prefer it."

"Okay," he said with a worried smile. We headed over to the left side of the stairs. The basement was a large open space, with the exception of one small and exceptionally dank restroom built in underneath the stairs. The feeble lighting helped very little with seeing anything that was not immediately under it. There wasn't much down, some miscellaneous tools and cans, a shelf filled with unmarked jars that contained unidentifiable liquids, and a lot of dust. One of the jars, slightly cleaner looking than the other ones, caught my eye. Its contents were darker than those of the other ones surrounding it. I walked closer to have a better look.

"What in the hell is this?" I said more to myself than to Gabriel, but he came over and picked the jar up, tilting it left, then right. A frown creased his face. He took the jar to the light and tilted it again, studying something in the bottom of it. He tapped his finger against the glass bottom, then cleared his throat uncomfortably and placed the jar at the base of the stairs, all the while conveniently avoiding eye contact with me. "What is it?"

"I'm not positive."

"But you have a guess?"

He nodded. "Blood, I think.'

"Blood? Why would there be a jar of blood on the shelf in my basement?" The calmness of my voice sounded foreign to me because inside my mind was chaotic.

"I don't know."

" _Whose_ blood?"

"I don't know."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I'm going to take it to the lab and have it analyzed."

"What's in it?"

"I told you, blood."

"No, the thing you were looking at in the bottom."

"I don't know. It looked like a metal of some sort."

I studied his countenance. "You don't think I put it there, do you?"

He stared at me, as if he could extract the answers from my eyes. "Why would I think that?"

"Because I found it."

"Did you put it there?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

"Then why aren't you talking to me. I could get information out of a goldfish faster than I am getting anything from you."

He sighed. "I don't want to upset you."

I accepted this, because what other choice did I have? He was absolutely right to worry. I'd been acting crazy less than an hour ago.... What would make him think I could handle this? Right now, he was my only friend, the only person I could trust though he felt a million miles away. I turned back to the shelf I'd been inspecting, but couldn't focus. His hand on my shoulder made me jump.

"Are you okay?"

"No." I looked back at him, knowing exactly what he thought would upset me. "You think it's Danny's blood, don't you?"

"It's too early to know," he said, avoiding my eyes again. I waited for him to go on, still looking directly into his face—this time it was me searching for the truth. "It could be his or someone else's. There's no reason to jump to conclusions."

I nodded trying to wrap my mind around the perverseness of this.

"Do you want to take a break?" I stood there for a moment not fully comprehending that he was talking to me.

"Honestly, I would rather just finish."

"Okay." He squeezed my shoulder gently then went back to the pile of boxes he was sifting through. I walked past the shelf not wanting to look at it ever again. Beyond the shelf was a cluttered tool bench. It was covered with old rusty tools and boxes and an inch or two of dust. Nothing seemed especially out of the ordinary and I'd almost moved past it when something caught my eye. I can't say what exactly. It could have been nothing more than a cobweb fluttering in a draft, but I noticed a faint line on the old dusty wall. I reached out and traced it. "Hey, look at this."

Gabriel came over to peer at the wall with me. "It looks like a door.... but where's the handle?"

We moved the boxes that partially obscured the door, but found no handle or latch of any kind. Gabriel ran his fingers softly over the outline of the door, still finding no way to open it. He knocked, pushed, pulled, and cussed—all to no avail. His thumps in the center of the outline sounded no different than those to either side of it.

"Maybe it's not a door. It sounds solid. I don't know."

The rest of the basement search went without surprise, only dust and bugs. The main floor search was faster and more frustrating. However, it was like looking at the house through a new pair of eyes. The kitchen was our reintroduction to the land of windows. My eyes had grown adjusted to the windowless basement, so I was surprised to find just how bright the kitchen really was. There were no fewer than six windows in the large eat-in kitchen. The cabinets were beautifully carved custom made wonders that moved me in no way whatsoever. Gabriel commented on their craftsmanship, but all I saw when I looked at them were the doors that opened by themselves and ejected their contents at will. The smooth, butcher block top of the center island, while practical, held the knives that had rammed into my husband with such force several of his bones splintered. The wonderfully preserved 19th century kitchen table was no more than a reminder of happier times that I would never again have. The pantry was a large room and probably, at one time, stored the dishes as well as all the food, but now it was sparse and unused. Directly opposite of the door to the basement was the door to the wine cellar, true to the odd symmetry found throughout the house. The wine cellar contained just that. Wine. No mysteries or evidence to find.

There was nothing to see in the formal dining room if you didn't count the mahogany table that could comfortably hold twenty people, the fading silk wall paper above the glossy white wainscoting, or the elaborate moldings. The study had book shelves from floor to ceiling jammed with a variety of books. A large desk sat in front of the picture window with stained glass across the top and small groupings of wingback chairs filled the corners. However, there was absolutely nothing of use to be found.

Across the foyer in the formal living room, old paintings of Victorian landscapes hung from cords attached underneath the molding. The furniture was frail and brittle seeming, slightly lower than what would be comfortable and beginning to show its age. We had intended to redecorate this room too, but ran out of time. There wasn't enough time for a lot of things. The thought made me sigh, but I continued inspecting the room for something I had been overlooking all this time. There was a fireplace on either end of the room, an out of tune grand piano in one corner and a dusty harp in the other. A sitting area was arranged in the center of the room around an intricate oriental rug. The grandfather clock in the foyer chimed the time that was passing and reminded us of our lack of progress.

We moved in to what Danny and I had set up as our family room. It was my favorite room, because it was the only one that felt even a little like home. It had the furniture from our apartment and the television and my computer. It also had a bar which sounded more and more tempting as the investigation rolled ahead. I watched Gabriel rifle through my desk and tried to bristle. I felt no attachment to anything in the rest of the house, but this was mine. He's just doing his job, I reminded myself _._

Gabriel picked up our wedding photograph that was on an end table.

"I don't think that's a clue," I said icily.

"Oh, sorry," he said, immediately setting it back down. "There's just a crack in the glass."

"There's what?" I asked, coming over to him and snatching up the frame. Sure enough, a vertical crack marred the glass, nearly splitting us perfectly apart.

"Have you noticed it before?"

"No."

"Could it have been like this for a while? Could you have knocked it over and never noticed?"

I wanted to be able to tell him that it was new, but I couldn't say with certainty. This was the room where I did most of my drinking. I could have bumped into the table any number of nights. I didn't stare at the picture every day; most days I avoided looking at it at all. I knew perfectly well what I'd lost. I didn't need photographic evidence of it.

"I don't know. It could've been like this. I don't really think we need to do this room. I'm always in here. I would notice if anything was out of place."

"That's fine. You want to head up?"

I nodded, relieved.

Upstairs we searched my current bedroom and the two guest bedrooms and the nursery suite with no real leads. The nursery was creepy, but more due to the fact that it was filled with used toys from Danny's childhood. It looked as though his seven-year-old self had just been called out of the room and was still coming back. It was a frozen moment, untouched by the movement of time. The master bedroom was all that was left. I hadn't been in there since the last time I went with Gabriel. My shaky hand lingered on the door not really wanting to push it open. It was a gateway into my past and opening it would stir too many unwanted emotions.

"Are we going in? Ella?"

"Yeah," I said and slowly turned the handle just as Gabriel reached over me and pushed the door open. On the surface, the room looked just as it had the night I heard the noise. I found it hard to breathe. The air seemed thick, heavy, and bitter.

"Did you open this again?"

I looked up at window he was pointing towards. "When would I have opened it? I've been with you."

Gabriel relaxed demeanor melted away as he prowled around the room on high alert. My focus was a complete loss. Once again I became fixated on the unmade bed. Its allure pulled me in like an alcoholic to a bar leaving me feeling alone and empty. I tried to break away, but it was so hard. The loss and self-pity were intoxicating. Eventually, I managed to move to the closet. I walked past his clothes brushing my fingertips across the soft fabric of the familiar shirts until I came to something unfamiliar. I pulled the sleeve out pinched between my index finger and thumb looking at it closer. Was it possible I could have forgotten this shirt? I pulled the hanger from the rack to look at the whole thing. It certainly wasn't a new shirt, but it was one I had never seen.

"Your favorite?"

"I've never seen it before."

"It isn't Danny's?"

"I don't think so."

He stared at me. Neither of us moved. "May I have it?" he eventually asked.

I raised an eyebrow at him. What could he possibly want with it?

"Evidence." he answered my unspoken question.

Of course. I gave the shirt to him, but couldn't get something out of my mind. Something was wrong with this shirt. Something didn't fit. There was something I was missing.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, still not moving away.

"There is something not quite right about that shirt. I can't put my finger on it."

"I'll take it to the lab, have it processed.... I'll put it downstairs with the jar. You good?"

"I'm fine." I tried to shrug it off. "Take it away."

I continued to mill about the room, but I couldn't see anything that may have been different. My senses were overloaded with memories, smells, and items that I have been avoiding. I sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Danny's pillow up to my face, inhaling deeply.

I was packing my suitcase, meticulously folding and organizing the clothes just the way I liked them. Danny was lying across the bed in the midst of all of my things, more of a hindrance than a help.

" _Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" I asked evenly._

" _No. I should stay work on the house," he said, his eyes narrowing slightly sensing a trap._

" _Hmph."_

" _What?" he snapped, already annoyed with me._

" _Right, well that makes sense. It'll give you more time with your girlfriend."_

" _For Christ's sake, Ella. Why are you doing this now?"_

" _What time would better suit you?"_

" _For the last God damn time, I'm not having an affair. When would I have time? We're always together. Your paranoia is driving me crazy." His frustration in my growing distrust was peaking, but I couldn't help it that I felt something was wrong. Either Danny had changed or I had changed. He was so distant._

" _Why won't you come with me?"I asked stubbornly._

" _I can get so much more done on the house if you aren't here. The last thing we need to do is take a three-week break from remodeling. It'll go by faster than you think. I promise."_

It may have just been in my imagination, but it seemed like his eyes never quite met mine. "Right, so you don't want me here?"

" _Don't put words in my mouth," he said defensively before he shut his eyes and mentally collected himself. "I'm trying to make a life for us. You have to be reasonable." His voice was much softer now. He sat up on the bed and took my hand, pulling me away from the suitcase. "I want to get this finished. Be able to have a normal life again. The stress of it all is wearing us both down."_

I nodded, tears starting to stream down my cheeks. Why was I being so difficult? I hated this place and what it was doing to our marriage. There was too much stress on us and I wasn't being fair to Danny.

" _I know. I'm sorry," I said. He lay his head against my body, hugging me. "I'm sorry," I said over and over again._

"Are you all right?"

"What?" I asked, snapping back from my memories.

"I've said your name four times; you just keep saying you're sorry."

"Oh. Sorry...."

"I think that part's covered," he said wryly. "What are you sorry for?" He seemed genuinely concerned... or maybe just curious. Sometimes it was hard to tell.

"I was remembering."

"Remembering what?"

"The last time I was here with Danny. I was hell bent on picking a fight. He wouldn't come with me on the book tour, so I accused him of terrible things."

"Why wouldn't he go?'

"He wanted to work on the house."

Gabriel lifted his eyebrows and shrugged. "To each his own, I guess. Why did you go? You could have waited until the house was done, then gone together."

"I had to go. It was planned."

"Do you want to get out this room?" Gabriel smiled. "Don't worry, that's planned too."

I rolled my eyes, but let Gabriel usher me out. I wished walking out of the room washed away all of the thoughts now swimming through my head, but it made no difference. The floodgate was open. I was just glad to be done. Today had been stressful bordering on horrible. I headed for the stairs.

"Wait, one more place, Ella."

"What?"

"The attic."

I rubbed my hands over my face and eyes, searching for the resolve to do one more room, but sadly came up empty. "I can't do it."

Gabriel sized me up for a moment. "Sure you can."

I scowled at him, but did not move.

"Ella, you are perfectly capable of doing this. I know it sucks, but you have to."

"I don't _have_ to do anything." I said, crossing my arms over my chest feeling rather bratty.

"Get upstairs!" he said, laughing. "One room, then we're done. Let's go."

"Fine," I grumbled as I started back towards the door.

"Get a move on," he said behind me. "We still have to go by the police station. The quicker we do this, the quicker we can get out of here."

"You mean _you_ can get out of here."

"You can too. You can stay at my place again," he said it nonchalantly, though the words hung heavily between us.

I tried to open the attic door, but as I had suspected, it was locked. Before I could verbalize as much, the sound of loud voices came from downstairs.

"Stay here."

"You've got to be kidding me," I said following him. "Have you never seen a scary movie? We're much more likely to die separated than together."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't argue. "Stay behind me and stay quiet."

We crept downstairs. The closer we came, the louder the noise was. Finally, I recognized what we were hearing: my stereo. At the bottom of the stairs, I indicated to Gabriel to go to the family room. Once we were in the family room, he motioned for me to stay put while he went through the rest of the floor. I stayed in the room with the music blaring, not wanting to give away that we'd come down. Soon Gabriel came back, shaking his head and frowning. I turned off the stereo and looked back at him.

"This stuff happens all the time," I said with a shrug.

Bang, bang, bang.

Jumping, we both turned toward the front door that was rocking in its hinges. I went to the door and cracked it open, my foot braced against it out of habit. A furious Mr. Sexton greeted me.

"Turn down the music!" he screamed, the smell of whiskey thick on his breath.

"It's off. It was off before you even got over here." I tried to close the door, but he stuck out a hand, stopping me.

"Don't sass me, you little bitch."

"Go to hell."

Gabriel stepped up behind me and opened the door wide. "Do we have problem here?"

Mr. Sexton scuttled backward, muttering, as soon as he saw Gabriel.

"Would you mind if I had a little chat with Mr. Sexton, Ella?" He didn't look back at me or wait for an answer before he walked out onto the porch.

"Knock yourself out," I said needlessly.

Gabriel pulled the front door shut behind him, letting the screen snap shut. I couldn't hear even tidbits of their conversation. I peeked out the window. Gabriel looked angry and was pointing at Mr. Sexton, stepping closer and closer to him as he did. I couldn't read their lips, but it definitely appeared that Gabriel was threatening him. It was hard to imagine Gabriel being threatening, but he seemed to be doing a good job of it.

Good, I hoped the bastard was scared enough to leave me alone. Sexton started to walk away and I made a quick dash to the living room, so Gabriel wouldn't catch me spying. I tried to appear nonchalant when he came back into the house, but have feeling I failed miserably.

"Nice chat?"

"It was fine. He should leave you alone now."

"Were you mean and threatening?"

"No ... firm."

"Ah, cop charm," I smirked.

"Something like that. Let's get the hell out of this mausoleum."

"Aren't we doing the attic?"

"Nah, forget it. We'll deal with it another day. We need to run the jar and shirt to the station then we'll grab food. Sound good?"

"Practically perfect."

"I'll grab the stuff."

As I watched him walk away, I wondered what exactly I was doing—but I quickly dismissed any uncomfortable notions, deciding to check my messages rather than entertain hopeful ideas that would only lead to future disappointment. My machine told me I had 32 new messages just as Gabriel re-entered the room with a puzzled look on his face.

"I guess I haven't checked them in a while."

"Do you know where the jar is, Ella?"

"With the shirt?"

"No, I have the shirt." He held it up as evidence. "I brought it down and sat it with the jar while we were upstairs. Now the jar is gone and just the shirt is here."

"It's missing?"

"Apparently. Help me look." We looked all over the foyer but found nothing. We widened the scope of our search and discovered something that made neither of us very happy: a jar sitting on the drainer next to my sink. It was empty it looked as if it had been washed and dried.

"This. Isn't. Possible," Gabriel said. "We've been here the entire time."

"Maybe someone else was down here," I offered lamely.

"We looked everywhere."

Gabriel held the jar with a napkin searching it for evidence that any blood had ever been in it. He found nothing, which only frustrated him more. He put the lid back on the jar and took it with us as he ushered me out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

I stopped at my answering machine. I needed to listen to the messages because I wasn't sure how many more could fit on it. Gabriel agreed to give me a couple minutes to check. I had several hang up calls, two messages from my editor about when they could expect another book from me, and about twenty messages from Gabriel the morning he couldn't find me. He seemed embarrassed by the panic in his own voice. I took pity on him and deleted them rather than making him listen. "Ready?"

"Yeah."

Gabriel watched me lock the house behind us. He put the shirt and the empty jar in the back seat of his car, then opened the door for me.

"Did you see or hear anything while I was talking to your neighbor?"

"I tried, but you were speaking too quietly. Why? Do you have something to hide?"

"No, I meant in the house, someone taking the jar. Why are you so paranoid?"

"You live in that house and let me know how paranoid you become."

We drove to the police station and I waited while Gabriel ran in the shirt. My mind wandered to the first time Gabriel and I met and how much things had changed.

I opened my eyes hoping it was all a dream, but I knew it wasn't. The room was spinning around me with strangers walking back and forth, some shooting suspicious looks in my direction while others appeared sympathetic. I sat alone on the couch. A man sat in front of me, on a kitchen chair that had been brought into the living room, watching me with curious, penetrating eyes.

The man, detective someone or another, was trying to question me, but I kept hyperventilating. My hand was still stained from the blood. Nothing seemed real. Everything around me was in fast forward while I was paused. My mind couldn't wrap around what had happened. He couldn't be dead. I just spoke with him last night. He couldn't be dead.

" _Mrs. Reynolds," the detective said patiently again, "I know this is difficult, but I do need you to answer some questions. It may help us catch the killer. Please tell me everything that happened from the time your plane landed this morning." Between my mind shutting down completely, hyperventilating, and general hysteria it had been slow going up to this point. The only part of my story I'd been able to tell him thus far was that I was on a book tour and took a red eye._

" _Mrs. Reynolds," he said again when he saw my eyes glaze over. I blinked and looked at him until another person walked past me catching my attention._

" _Okay," he said. "Let's walk outside." He caught the attention of a young police officer. "Mach, what's it look like out front?"_

" _A circus, sir. Media swarming all over the place, a crowd starting to form."_

" _How do they know already?" he growled._

She gave him a dubious look. "It's a small town, she's famous and most of them have scanners. Frankly, I'm surprised it took them this long, sir."

He looked back at me and my blank stare. His jaw tightened as he offered me a hand to help me up. I ignored his hand and stood up on my own. The detective was not deterred; he took hold of my arm and led me back towards the kitchen. I tried to pull my arm free, but his grip was like iron. Under no circumstances would I willingly go back in that room. I stopped moving my feet.

" _We're going out back. It'll be quieter there, easier for you to focus." He left no room for argument as he pulled me towards the kitchen, where he acted as a wall between me and the crime scene, keeping me from seeing it again, propelling me forward with a firm grip on the back of my neck. Once outside he took me to the small bistro table and chairs that were set up in the formal garden behind the house. He didn't say anything, giving me a moment to collect myself._

He was right, out of the house was already less distracting. I could hear the commotion in the front, but if I blocked that out, it was tranquil back here, almost normal.

" _After I got off the plane," I started unprompted, my voice raspy, "I got my luggage then a cab."_

" _Why didn't your husband pick you up?" he interrupted._

" _It was too early. I didn't want him to have to come and get me when I could just as easily take a cab."_

The detective nodded. "How long do you think it took? About what time did you get home?"

" _Uh, I'm not sure. It took me about 30 minutes to an hour in the airport then the cab ride home took me about an hour. I got here around 10 a.m.... I think."_

" _Then what happened?"_

" _I called for Danny when I was inside. He didn't answer, so I checked upstairs. I thought he might still be asleep or in the shower or something. I couldn't find him, I came downstairs and..." I took a few deep breaths, trying to control my breathing. "I came into the kitchen. First I noticed the smell. Then I saw him," my voice choked up and I had trouble continuing, "like that."_

" _Like what?" The detective prompted._

" _Pinned to the wall."_

" _Did you take his pulse?"_

" _No. No one could survive that ... could they. Oh my God, could I have helped him?" I started hyperventilating again._

" _No," the detective said quickly. "You couldn't have helped him. I'm sorry. I just needed to know if you touched the body." His answer didn't help. I put my head between my knees and tried not to pass out._

" _Please continue when you're ready," the detective said with patience so practiced it almost sounded bored._

When I had once again composed myself, I sat back up. "Then the room started spinning and I couldn't breathe. I think I passed out."

" _How long?"_

" _I don't know. I didn't exactly look at my watch. I woke up and the blood had reached me. My hand was in it—I'm going to be sick—" I ran towards the trees, just making it before I threw up. This couldn't be real. I had to wake up. I went back to the table staggering a little._

" _Then what happened?" the detective asked after I took my seat, as if nothing had happened at all._

" _I called 911."_

" _Nothing happened between you waking up and calling 911."_

" _No."_

" _Did you see anything in the house? Anything that would indicate that the killer was still there? Anything at all?"His eyes flickered back to the house._

I tried to think back. I couldn't picture anything besides Danny hanging lifelessly on the wall. I shook my head no, wishing I could be more helpful.

" _Was the front door locked or unlocked when you arrived home?"_

" _Locked, I think."_

" _The back door?"_

" _I don't know. I didn't check."_

" _Does your husband have any enemies?"_

" _No."I shook my head emphatically._

" _Do you?"_

" _Not that I know of."_

" _How was your relationship with your husband?"_

" _Good. I mean we have arguments, but only small ones. It was a lot of stress remodeling and moving."_

" _Did you argue recently?"_

" _We argued before I left on this trip. I wanted him to come with me and he wanted to stay and work on the house."_

" _Can you think of any reason someone would want your husband dead?"_

" _No. He's a likable man—was, was likeable, I mean." I shuddered and felt sick to my stomach again. "I don't know anyone that didn't like him. He wasn't working on anything besides for the house. I don't know why this happened to us."_

I couldn't breathe. Tears streamed down my face. Sobs choked me. I covered my face with my hands. Detective Troy's impartial, cop exterior cracked briefly as he put his hand on my shoulder.

" _It'll be okay," he said gently. "Is there someone you can call?"_

I nodded. He handed me his cell phone. I dialed Susan; she answered on the third ring.

" _Hello," she said, slightly out of breath._

" _Susan..."I didn't know how to say it. How could I?_

" _Ella? What's wrong?"_

" _It's Danny." I swallowed hard. I couldn't force the words past my lips. It made it all too real._

" _What happened?"_

" _He's dead," I squeaked._

" _What? What did you do, Ella?" her voice suddenly hard and accusing._

I couldn't believe she thought that of me. My mind couldn't wrap around what she was saying. I hung up the phone and looked back at the detective. I had no one to call.

The blare of a horn startled me back to attention. I looked over my shoulder as the traffic started moving through the stop light. Even then Gabriel was considerate. He was truly a nice man. A nice man with an immaculately clean car. Curiosity got the better of me. He'd been looking through my things all day, so I felt somewhat entitled. I looked in the center console but found absolutely nothing. The glove compartment was locked—

A sharp knock on my window interrupted my snooping. I snapped up with what must have been a look of extreme guilt to match the butterflies that sprung into action in my stomach.

Relief spread over me when I saw Susan. I tried to roll down the window, but they were automatic, so I got out of the car. "Hey, what are you doing here?" she asked, suspiciously eyeing the car. "Are the cops bothering you again?"

"Would I be in the front seat if they were?"

"I guess not."

"What are you doing at the police station?" It occurred me that it was strange for Susan to be lingering around the police station.

"I'm not at the police station."

"Your proximity suggests otherwise."

"I meant I was across the street." She pointed towards a nail salon. "I thought I saw you in the car as it drove by. I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine. Gabriel had to drop something off."

" _Gabriel_?" Her voice was equal parts surprise and suspicion. "You're on a first name basis now? Why are you with _him_?"

"He's been helping me." Her questions made me uncomfortable. How was any of this her concern?

"Helping you with what?"

" _Detective Troy_ is helping me find Danny's killer."

Susan nodded slowly. "How's that going?"

"It's progressing, day by day," a voice said from behind me.

"Detective Troy, it's nice to see you again."

"Mrs. Daniels."

"So, you've been around Ella a lot recently, haven't you?" Susan asked.

Gabriel nodded, and I noticed his brow furrowed just a bit.

"What's your angle?"

"My _angle_?"Frown lines creased his mouth.

"Yeah. What are you doing there? Why can't you just leave her alone?"

"Excuse me?" he said, obviously offended, at the same time I said "Susan!"

"What? I'm just making sure he isn't just trying to get closer to you, his main suspect."

"Susan, don't do this," I said not wanting them to fight.

"You're right, Mrs. Daniels. Ella was my main suspect and I have gotten closer to her, which has made me see that out of everyone, she's the least likely person to have done this."

"Ella, I think you need to stay away from this man. Don't you remember him dragging you down here for questioning every other day?"

"No, I don't—I remember him bringing me here to get away from the media that was parked in my yard all the time. I remember him asking very thorough questions, as one would expect after a murder took place in their house. Most importantly, I remember that that he's been here for me, which is more than I could say about my best friend."

"That's so unfair," Susan fumed, almost yelling. "You won't let me anywhere near you. What am I supposed to do?"

"Nothing. It's too late now. Keep up with the precedence you started after Danny died—complete avoidance, you do it well."

Her eyes filled with angry tears and she opened her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. "I don't want to fight with you. We have things to do. We should go."

Gabriel nodded good-bye to Susan, but I couldn't read his expression. I turned and climbed back into the car.

"Ella," Susan said, but I closed the door like I hadn't heard.

"Let's go," I said.

"Where are we going?"

"It doesn't matter ... you choose."

What Susan said outside of the police station made sense. Why did I trust Gabriel so implicitly? He'd performed no great feat to earn my loyalty; he was just always in the right place at the right time. Was that all life was? An unpredictable series of being in the right place at the right time, or the wrong place at the wrong time? If so, what the hell was I doing all of this for? Was Danny's death just a case of bad luck? I looked across the front seat. Gabriel seemed miles away sifting through his own thoughts. Did he have no life? Why would he drop everything to pursue my quest solely? There were so many things I didn't understand. It was impossible to put together the puzzle when I was missing most of the pieces.

The more we investigated the less I seemed to understand my husband. The fact that he had clothes I had never seen, dealt with lawsuits I never heard about, and who knows what else didn't exactly leave me on solid ground. Maybe Danny himself was the key. If I knew so little about him, who's to say he didn't have enemies? I needed to know more. There was a time I would have said we knew everything about each other, but now it was painfully clear that I was missing a lot.

We pulled up to a rough looking bar that had the best burgers in the state—or so its sign said. The front was painted black and bars crossed the lower half of the window. The inside was every bit as grim as the outside. We took a seat in a worn booth. The sticky walls were covered with pictures and beer memorabilia. I gave Gabriel a look that clearly said, "You expect me to eat here?"

"Trust me," he said. The waiter/bartender showed up without menus.

"Do you have a menu?" I asked

He pointed to a chalkboard behind me. A bare menu was scribbled on it in nearly illegible writing. Obviously, people came here knowing what they wanted.

"We'll each have two cheese burgers and I'll have a coke," Gabriel said while I gawked at the menu. It irked me that he'd ordered for me, but I turned back to the waiter.

"Vodka rocks."

"Christ, Ella."

I smiled tightly. "Make that a double, please. Thanks." The waiter shrugged and went back to his post at the bar.

"Do you really think it helps to drink so much?"

"I don't need you to judge me."

"I'm not judging you. I'm asking you a question. You're drinking to escape from actually having to discover anything about Danny's death. If you drink enough you never have to look at this with a clear head. You don't really want this to be over, do you? You'd rather wallow in your own pity—so why am I here? Why are we doing this?"

Not knowing what to say to him, I pretended to consider what he said. The waiter was back with our drinks and was gone again before I responded. "Well, thank you, Dr. Phil—I really appreciate your free evaluation of me—"

Gabriel frowned and opened his mouth to speak, then changed his mind and clamped his jaw shut. I matched his expression, narrowing my eyes. "I don't need to explain myself to you or anyone else. I've done what I've had to do to get through this and I make no apologies for who I am. If you don't like it, leave. What's keeping you here anyway?"

"I want you to you be happy..." He bit his lip. "And I want you to be able to move on with your life. This," he said, tapping my glass, "is not letting that happen."

I forced myself to not roll my eyes.

He drummed the table and stared at me. His earnestness was irritating. "Look, Ella, I'm here and willing to help you along the way, but you have to be sober. You have a choice. I don't expect you to explain anything about who you are to me. You're one of the toughest, most stubborn people I have ever known, and I mean that in a good way, but if you want my help I do expect you to try."

"What's in it for you? Why do you care what happens to me?"

"Don't do that. Don't turn this on me. I've been here every second since this happened, even when you haven't asked. Even when you were rude and didn't want me anywhere near you because it was my job. But now I have a vested interest in you." I shook my head at him. He needed to stop. "My motives may have changed, but I still think they're pretty transparent. If you can't figure them out, you're not as smart as you think you are."

That was too much. My head cleared of all anger—the anger that had nearly led me to make him say something I didn't want to hear. I fingered the rim of my glass. "I..." There were no words to continue. I couldn't stop shaking my head.

"I know you aren't ready for this. We'll get you there though." Optimism shone in his warm brown eyes.

I silently thanked God when the waiter showed up with our burgers. Finally, I had somewhere else to focus.

"So on a scale of one to ten, how panicked are you about this?" he asked, still trying to make me acknowledge what was almost said.

I took a big bite out of my burger. It was surprisingly good. "This. Is. Amazing," I said, changing the subject before he could continue further down this road.

"I know." A slight smile crept to his lips.

"I've never had anything like it in my life," I said with a grin matching his.

"The cheeseburgers are good."

I laughed at the absurdness of our conversation and Gabriel eventually joined in.

"Lame! We're lame."

The laughter was a necessary relief. All of the tension melted away. Before Gabriel really came into my life, I hadn't laughed in such a long time—but that was a sobering thought. Being here with him and staying at his house were easy, but they weren't going to help with this puzzle. Perhaps he was a bigger distraction than the alcohol. Gabriel made everything easier to handle, but my goals became fuzzy. Did I want justice for Danny or permission to move on with life? Gabriel also had the annoying habit of being right, so it made it hard not to listen to his opinion. "So what do you think our next step is?" Gabriel asked.

"I think I need to take a closer look at Danny."

"Do you think his death had something to do with him? We've been operating under the assumption that it had to do with the house. Why the change of heart?"

"I don't know. I have a feeling. Call it intuition. After finding that shirt this morning, I think it's worth taking a closer look at him."

"Well considering that freak show story, I would say this more has to do with you than him."

"If it has to do with me why did he kill Danny? Why didn't he just kill me?"

"It could be a power issue. There could be someone who wants to control you, own you—a stalker perhaps. Maybe that's what we should try to find out."

"I think I need to take a better look through Danny's things. There's something that I'm missing." I didn't want to consider Gabriel's theory. For now this was the best I could do. "Maybe I'll pack away some of his stuff too—give the killer fewer places to hide."

"Whatever you think is best." His face remained perfectly neutral as if I had said I prefer coffee to tea.

After lunch, Gabriel drove us back to the house. I walked in, contemplating where to start. My first instinct was to get a drink, but I didn't think Gabriel would be too appreciative of that after our stand down.

"I need boxes."

"Okay."

"You'll get some for me?"

He nodded.

"Then I think I'm going to stay. I'll start in the study."

"Are you sure you want to stay by yourself?"

"With all due respect, nothing has changed that much and I've been here by myself more often than not."

"Okay, but if you need me..."

"Will do, Officer," I assured him with a small smile.

"Are you mocking me?"

"Aw, I would never do that." I waved at him. "Hurry back."

He smiled and returned my wave as he walked out. I went to Danny's desk in the study. It was exactly as he left it and looked like he'd just popped away for a minute—except for a layer of fine dust giving evidence that he never came back.

The desk stood in the room almost as a memorial to him. I ran my fingers along the surface and rubbed the dust between my fingertips. I scanned the piles of receipts from home repairs and do-it-yourself books. I tried not to cry over the lists in Danny's handwriting—tasks that still needed to be completed. I sat in his chair and leaned back, still not moving a thing. I looked for a long time, as if I was drawing a picture of it all in my mind so I would never forget.

Finally, determination got the better of me and I plucked one of his lists from the desk. Nothing on it jumped out at me. I grabbed the notebook that was under the list. Again nothing appeared important. I tore off the pages with his writing on them and threw the rest of the pad away. I stacked all of the receipts on one corner of the desk and the books on the other.

I organized the random pens, pencils, and paper clips. In the middle drawer his planner lay alone, as if asking me to notice it. I pulled it out, my fingers trailing down its spine. I set the planner on the desk and opened the next drawer. In that drawer were various files with tax information, receipts, our wills, bank account information, and all other important documents. For the time being, I left the files where they were and moved to the next drawer, but it was locked. The key was nowhere to be found so I pulled out a sharp letter opener, determined to pick the lock—after all, it looked so easy in the movies.

It was not, however, quite as easy as I had hoped. All I managed to do was scar and gouge the desk. Eventually I gave up, promising myself I would tackle the job again when I had better tools. I directed my attention back to the drawer of files, pulling each file out and stacking them on the desk. Once I'd taken all of the folders out, I found something wedged in the bottom. It was an old paper, too old to be Danny's. It appeared to be some sort of drawing, a blueprint of the house. While interesting, it wasn't the clue I had hoped it would be. I started going over the contents of the files, looking for anything at all out of the ordinary.

Everything in the legal file seemed in order. I had both of our passports and birth certificates, the deed to the house, and both of our copies of the wills. The tax folder also was in order. We had copies of all of our filings and everything we were supposed to keep. I briefly glanced through the receipts, but nothing struck me as unusual. I heard the front door open and close.

"Hello?" I called.

"Your wish is my command," Gabriel said as he walked into the study loaded down with boxes.

"Well, thank you, Sir."

He set them aside and came over to the desk, moving the receipts so he could sit on the corner. "So what do we have here?" he asked.

"Well, I have receipts for home repairs," I said holding up the folder he had relocated. "Personal finances stuff and generic legal documents, home repair books, a blueprint, and our bank stuff." I held up the folder on my lap. "I'm about to go through it now."

"Blueprint? Can I see that?'

"Sure." I handed it to him as I flipped through the bank folder. It was mostly normal statements for our joint account, and then I noticed something a little funny. There was another account—one with only Danny's name on it. Air caught in my lungs. The urge to put the folder away and pretend I'd never seen it was almost too much, but I had to look no matter how my heart pleaded. The balance wasn't huge, but it was significant enough to make me concerned.

"Hey, look at this," I said, trying to sound nonchalant as I handed Gabriel the top part of the statement.

"What am I looking at?"

"Apparently, Danny had his own account." I struggled to keep my voice even and neutral.

"Oh?"

"We always had joint accounts—or so I thought." Anger slowly began to fill me.

I looked at the second page that showed transactions from the account. There were a few withdrawals totaling about seven thousand for the month.

"Could this have been a home repair fund?"

"I don't really know. If it was, why am I not on it?"

Gabriel shook his head. "How much did he withdraw?'

"Seven thousand dollars for the month on this statement."

Gabriel lifted his eyebrows. "That's a healthy amount."

"Hmph."

"Don't jump to conclusions just yet. There could be a reasonable explanation. You're his wife, you inherited everything that was his—go to the bank and ask about the activity on the account, and if possible where the money came from."

"Yeah." The angry part of me wanted to refocus on this, but the more insistent part wanted to forget I had seen it. I could only climb one mountain at a time. "That won't be a quick process."

I wanted to yell at Danny. What the hell was he doing that was so secret? Why'd he keep it from me? But I couldn't let anger consume me or I'd get nothing else done, so I changed the subject. "I forgot to tell you this drawer is locked. I couldn't find a key. You wouldn't happen to have any police tricks for opening it?"

"I don't know about police tricks, but I can probably pick a lock."

"More of that misguided youth?"

Gabriel smiled devilishly at me and asked for a bobby pin. When I came back, he had taken the chair and was studying something on the desk.

"Here you go," I said.

"You didn't mention his appointment book."

"Oh yeah—I buried it under stuff and it slipped my mind. I don't think he used it much since the move."

"If he did, it could give us an idea of what he was doing while you were gone."

"Didn't you have in the original investigation?"

"No, you said he didn't use one," he said offhandedly, but I suspected the mental note he made was more damaging to me.

"He didn't really. He was always here working on the house, so what could he have possibly put in it?"

Gabriel flipped to the week Danny died. There were a few things scribbled on the lines, but it was written in his shorthand, which was nearly impossible to translate. He had _P – 1:00, E- 8:30, S- 11:30, Pt- 4:00._ These types of notes were scribbled throughout the week at various times. The date I found him held the only legible note: _Ella comes home_ with a circle around it.

"Do you have any idea what this means?" He asked pointing to the _P – 1:00._

I shook my head, my eyebrows pulling together as I looked at the book.

Gabriel stared hard at the pages as if the answer would magically come to him.

Discomfort overshadowed my previous anger. There seemed to be the unspoken notion that I was keeping things from Gabriel in the air, but I honestly wasn't. I really hadn't thought the appointment book was used.

"I'm going to work on the closet upstairs," I said, needing space.

"Okay. Remember to check his pockets."

"What?"

"Check the pockets for match books, receipts, anything that could be a clue."

I sauntered up the stairs not in a big hurry to remove Danny from my life. Why was I so impulsive? My mind quickly followed my heart's question with what was Danny hiding from me? I went into our room.

"Christ, I need a drink," I muttered as I opened the closet door again.

I slumped down inside the closet and stared into my past. How was I supposed to be objective about this? How was I supposed to find clues in what used to be my life? My muscles felt heavy, too heavy to move. I could hear the birds chirping outside, the entire world moving on without me, while I waited in purgatory. But this was not the time to be idle, I had to push forward. Unfortunately, willpower was hard to come by. I'd grown too comfortable in my present state of agony to push the envelope very much further especially when it looked like things could actually get worse.

I woke up in the morning to sounds of hammering. I hated the hammering constantly drumming through my mind. I tried to cover my head with Danny's pillow, but the noise was only muffled.

" _Aurghhh." I complained loudly. What happened to the days when he would wake me up with breakfast or kisses? I stood up, stretching, and slipped into my robe and slippers. In the kitchen the hammering seemed more muted and farther away. I poured myself a bowl of cereal and took it outside to the porch to escape the persistent noise. After a few moments, Danny came out to find me._

" _What are you doing out here, sweetie?"_

" _It was nice of you to wait until I woke up to start the godforsaken hammering," I said irritation and tiredness taking over me._

" _I wasn't hammering."_

" _It was thundering throughout the house."_

" _What are you talking about? I was watching television, there was no hammering."_

" _I'm not making this up."_

Danny looked concerned and cradled my face in his hands. "Do you still hear it?"

I pushed him away from me. "No, I don't still hear it. Why are you messing with me?"

" _I swear I'm not. There was no hammering."_

I clicked my teeth together a couple times, a nervous habit from childhood I could never kick. Some people bite their nails, I click my teeth.

He looked at me, but didn't say anything. He left it to me to arrive where he already was.

" _I'll go see the doctor Susan recommended," I said quietly, "but I'm not crazy."_

" _I know you're not, El—but you have a lot of stress. Maybe he can help."_

" _Yeah, and maybe fireworks will start shooting out of my butt."_

Danny smiled. "Well, that would be something, wouldn't it?" He leaned in and kissed my forehead. "I love you."

" _I'll never understand why."_

" _That's one of the many reasons why I do." He took my hand and hauled me up from the step. We walked back into the house. I took my bowl back into the kitchen, Danny following me until the phone rang. He answered it in the hall. I finished my cereal at the counter and he still hadn't come to the kitchen. He was talking quietly when I found him. He glanced at me for a moment then promptly ended the call._

" _Who was that?"_

" _Susan. She had a question about my last order."_

I nodded. "Did you get that straightened out? You were talking for quite a while."

" _Yeah, I also got the number for Dr. Livingston."_

" _Wasting no time I see." I couldn't help feeling betrayed that he was talking to my best friend about me in a whispering sort of way._

" _Did I miss something? Didn't we just agree you would make an appointment with him?"_

" _No, you didn't miss anything. You are absolutely right. I did say that. I just think it's funny you rushed right in to call her."_

" _She called me!"_

" _I don't want to talk about it." I stormed upstairs and stomping around our room. But slamming things while I was getting ready didn't help me feel better. Something about all of this was bothering me and not adding up. Why was I so angry I_ had _agreed to everything he said, and I knew that she called him—it only made sense for him to get the number while she was on the phone. But I was still pissed off. Deep inside, it felt like he was lying to me though I had no evidence. When I was dressed and more collected, I went back downstairs to apologize and call Dr. Livingston. Obviously, I did need help, if not for my own peace of mind, then for my marriage._

I looked around for Danny, finding him in the family room. We hadn't gotten around to setting it up yet, but we planned to decorate with the things from our old apartment. It was a cozy space, with a fireplace that would be nice in the winter and big windows that looked out on the large ancient trees to the side of the house. It would be perfect for writing.

Danny was stripping the floors. He turned off the sander when I walked in. I wasn't sure if it was so I could talk to him or because I wasn't wearing protective glasses, but it didn't really matter.

" _I'm sorry. I overreacted to, well, I guess nothing. I had no reason to jump down your throat."_

Danny didn't say anything or even look at me, but he nodded.

" _Where's the number? I'll call today."_

Now he did look up, his eyes still seething. "I threw it away."

" _Why?_

He sighed. I could tell he no longer had patience for me this morning, and I honestly didn't want my husband to feel like he had to deal with his wife constantly.

" _Never mind." I held my hands up in a passive gesture. "I'll get it."_

I walked to the hall and picked up the trashcan, but there was nothing in it. I looked on the table with the phone and message pad, but it wasn't there either, or in the kitchen trash. I thought about going back and asking exactly where he threw it away, but it was better to let this one go. I called Susan at the store and Doug answered. He said she hadn't come into the store yet, which was strange. Why would she call Danny about an order if she wasn't even at the store? I called Susan at home.

" _Hello." Her voice was lower and raspier than normal._

" _Hey, it's Ella."_

There was a pause, then she greeted me in an overly cheerful voice that sounded forced. "Hi! What's going on?""I misplaced that number you gave to Danny this morning. Could I get it from you again?"

" _Oh okay. Which number did you need?"_

" _Dr. Livingston's. Did you give him more than one number?"_

" _Right, sorry. I swear if my head wasn't screwed on I'd lose it. No, I just gave him Dr. Livingston's number. You'll like him. He's great."_

I gave a friendly chuckle, but my mind was streaming with questions. Why didn't she know that? How many numbers could she have possibly given him that morning? Why did she pause when I said who it was? Were they talking about me? What did Danny say? I tried to repress the paranoid thoughts swimming in my mind by reminding myself that this is why I needed to go see Dr Livingston. I had to stop. I had to stop.

The sound of the bedroom door opening snapped me back to attention. I peeked out from the closet and saw Gabriel standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.

"What are you doing?"

"You've been so quiet up here, I thought maybe you left."

"Sorry, just thinking," I muttered, starting to sit up when something caught my eye underneath the bed. I went to over to the bed, knelt down, and pulled a sock out from under the bed. It lay across my hand like a pink nightmare. I couldn't wrench my eyes from it. Gabriel sat down next to me.

"It's a sock," he said after a long silence.

"Yes," I said almost inaudibly.

"Yours?"

"No."

"It's not Danny's—is it?'

"No, pink argyle was never his style." My words were joking, but I was far from finding humor in any of this.

Gabriel was quiet again. He too stared at the sock. We sat like that for what seemed an eternity. Finally he took the sock from my hand, then stood up, pulling me with him. "Let's go."

He led me out of the bedroom and back downstairs. I noticed the sun had set at some point while I was in the closet.

"How long was I up there?"

"A long time. I called up and told you I was going to the police station. I just got back." I nodded only half listening, my mind drifting back to the sock. "They found something on the shirt."

"What?"

"A hair?"

"Whose hair?'

"I don't know," he said slowly, watching me as if preparing for me to fall apart at any moment. "It was a long blonde hair."

I nodded, my eyes welling up. Gabriel reached up and brushed a piece of my dark almost black hair from my face.

"Let me check the doors and windows, then we can go." He sat the sock down on the table next to me.

"Where are we going?"

"You don't want to stay here?" I shook my head "Then you're coming with me, no need to argue." He left before I could say anything, and that was fine, I had nothing to say.

I waited in the hall. It suddenly seemed as if everything I thought I knew and had faith in was a lie. Nothing was real anymore. I heard Gabriel upstairs checking the windows. Was he real? I could trust him, couldn't I? But I thought I could trust Danny... Through the self-pity and sadness, it occurred to me that if I was not staying here tonight, I should at least take my own clothes. I went back upstairs to my room to grab a few things before we left.

"You don't have to check these. I'll get them," Gabriel's voice came from behind me on the stairs.

I froze with my hand on the banister. "I thought you were already up here."

"No, I was in the kitchen and ran down to the basement."

"I heard footsteps."

He took the stairs by twos, frowning, then walked me to my room and quickly looked around to make sure no one was in it.

"Stay in here. I'm going to look around."

I thought about arguing, but I'd dealt with enough surprises for the day. I let him lock me away in the room while he looked around the house. I packed a few things. I sat on the edge of the bed waiting for him to come back.

It seemed to take him a long time, though it was probably only a few minutes before he knocked on the door, saying my name. I opened it, raising my eyebrows though I almost didn't care what was discovered and what wasn't anymore.

He shrugged and shook his head. "Do you have the sock?"

"What?"

He closed his eyes "You left it downstairs?"

"I'm sorry I didn't even think. Maybe it's still there. "

He shook his head, disappointment evident.

"How's that possible?'

"I don't know."

I picked up the picture of Danny and me off of my nightstand and chucked it against the wall on the opposite side of the room. I wanted to break everything, scream, shout, pull my hair—and I would have if Gabriel wasn't there to witness it. Instead I grabbed my bag and stalked out to his car. We pulled out of the driveway, then I exploded. "I don't understand. We've been here all day and looked all over that stupid house. Where's he hiding?"

"I wish I knew. We still haven't checked the attic, but don't get your hopes up. What happened while I was gone?"

"Nothing. I was remembering."

When he saw I had no intentions on elaborating he asked, "What does that mean?"

"Ummm..." How could I explain this so it made sense? "Since his death I've had a tendency to... lose myself in memories. The rest of the world sort of disappears. The memory takes over."

"Are they like dreams?"

"Sort of, except I'm not sleeping and the events actually happened. It's more like when I'm writing. When I really get into a story, I lose myself in it for a while. What feels like twenty minutes can be three hours. Danny used to describe it as getting lost inside my own mind." As soon as I said his name I regretted it. My eyes welled up again. Damn it. Damn him.

Gabriel didn't seem to notice or he was polite enough to pretend he didn't see it. "Basically, you didn't see or hear anything while I was gone?"

"I didn't even know you were gone." I sighed, closing my eyes.

"Did you know he was cheating on you?"

The bluntness of his voice caught me off guard. I wasn't sure how to respond. My mind skimmed through all the times I had halfheartedly accused Danny of cheating on me. Did I know? Did I ignore what was right in front of me? "Did you know?" he pushed not letting me ignore his question.

"It's not that easy."

"Sure it is. You knew or you didn't know. That's all there is to it." We pulled into the driveway of his house.

"I don't know what I knew," I said in barely a whisper before I got out of the car.

When we were inside, Gabriel's tone softened a little. "Do you want anything? Something to drink... eat?"

I shook my head. "I'm tired. I just want to lie down."

"Okay."

I went upstairs and dressed for bed. Laying in the dark I fought the emotions from the day threatening to overwhelm me. I tried to pace my breathing and control my thoughts. How could he have done this to me? I asked the question so many times, I forgot what it was I was blaming Danny for—cheating? Dying? Dragging me from my home in Chicago to a haunted house in the sticks?

A gentle knock on the door drew me out of my game of seeing how many things I could resent Danny for.

"Come in," I said, wiping a tear from my cheek with a sniffle.

Gabriel was there with a steaming mug in his hand. "Hi," he said softly. This picture elicited the smallest of smiles from me—quite an accomplishment given my state of mind.

"Hi," I replied, matching his tone.

"Are you mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at _you_?" Another tear escaped, leaving a hot trail down my face.

"Sometimes I interrogate people. It's a force of habit, comes with the job I'm afraid."

"I'm not mad. You were right to ask. I wish I had an easy answer."

"I brought you tea," he said holding it out as an offering of peace.

"Thanks."

I sat the tea on the nightstand and took his hand, not looking at his face. I need to feel something real, something strong.

"Tell me something," I said quietly.

"What do you want to know?"

"Something terrible about you?"

"Why?"

"I need to know that you're real. You're a little too good to be true."

"Scoot over." He nudged me with the hand I wasn't holding. I moved to the center of the bed and he lay down beside me. I turned to my side, facing away from him, but pulling his arm around me. I couldn't look at him now; my heart was already in pieces.

"I tried to steal a car when I was a kid."

"That's it? That's the best you can do?'

"Hey, you put me on the spot. That was an actual crime. I haven't always been a good person or a cop. Stealing that car changed my life. "

"Where were your parents?"

"My dad left before I was born. My mom did the best she could being a single parent, but I wasn't an easy child."

"What happened to her?"

"Nothing, she's still living in Chicago. Happily remarried."

"Why are you here if your family's there?"

"I'm happy here. And I think I can make a difference here in a way I never could there—besides, all of my family isn't in Chicago. My grandparents live here."

"I don't know if I knew Danny was having an affair," I blurted out.

"We don't have to talk about this."

"I want to," I assured him. "I accused him several times in the last few months, but he said I was crazy... paranoid."

"That's a pretty classic cheater's response."

"I know... but he was right. That was the problem. I'm a little crazy and paranoid at the best of times, but especially since we moved here. At that point I was having trouble distinguishing what was real from what lives in my mind. I heard noises he couldn't hear. I lost things I just had in my hands. Things I thought I had bought were constantly missing. How was I supposed to know what was real? That's when I started seeing Dr. Livingston."

"Did he help?"

"No. I visited him every week, but things only got worse. He wanted me to take psychiatric medications, but I refused. Until Danny died—then I started taking all of them."

"Did they help?"

"No."

"Ella, maybe you don't need them. Maybe none of it was in your head. I've been in the house. I've heard the noises. Things have disappeared. So far if you're crazy, I am too."

"Do you think he was lying about not hearing the noises? About the missing things?"

"I don't know," Gabriel said carefully.

"Why would he do that?"

Gabriel's armed tightened around me. "I just know that I've experienced everything you have. Did you have any problems before you came here?"

"Not really, but to be fair, I've always had an overactive imagination. It just never caused this many problems before."

"I believe you," he said softly into the back of my hair and my eyes welled with a fresh round of tears.

We stayed like that, talking, until I drifted to sleep. I felt safe with Gabriel in the same way I used to feel safe with Danny. It scared me.

#  Chapter Eleven

When I woke the next morning Gabriel and I were still holding hands which made me worry that I was getting too close to him and not protecting myself from further injury. I didn't take my hand from his though—the security he offered was more addictive than any drug I could have taken. I stole a glance at the clock. It was nearly 6:30.

Contemplating what I would do with my day after Gabriel left for work—the prospect of going back to the house and uncovering more heartbreaking knowledge about my husband—filled my mind like a black cloud.

I'd lived in that house for over a year completely alone and oblivious to what was around me. The emotional minefields I navigated every day without knowing they existed now seemed as threatening as the ghost that haunted me. With an end in sight and a reason to get better, so much more was at stake. I had to push through to freedom—I had to.

It was after seven when I finally couldn't stay still any longer. Climbing quietly out of bed was impossible. The quieter I tried to be, the louder I got. Gabriel looked at me through one eye, then stretched.

"What time is it?"

"Seven."

"I have to go to work."

Instead of getting up, however, he pulled me back towards himself, capturing me in a bear hug. I squirmed out of his arms and to his credit he didn't try to stop me. Once I was safely on my feet, he sluggishly followed. I grabbed my overnight bag and dashed to the bathroom to avoid any awkward moments. What was I doing here? Heat rose to my cheeks while I dressed. I wasn't ready for a relationship. I was still very married to my husband's ghost.

Despite my trepidation, the morning went smoothly. Gabriel showered and I made breakfast. If we ate quickly, he'd have time to drop me off at the house on his way to work. He came down the stairs humming a cheerful melody with a little skip in his step.

"So what are your plans for today? Are you going to hang around here?" he asked brightly, identifying himself as a dreaded morning person.

"No, I need to keep moving forward. I want to go back to the house and continue searching."

"Alone?"

"I stayed there alone for a year. If whatever it is wanted to kill me, it's had ample opportunity."

"I think you should wait."

"I need to keep at it or I'll give up. There are things I need to work through on my own. Right now I'm motivated and that's a huge step for me—I can't stop." It would be a lie to say Gabriel didn't look disappointed, but he rallied fairly well. "You understand, right? I have your number. I'll call if I have any problems or anything strange happens." I promised.

He looked at me and nodded slowly. "I'm not sure this is the best course of action, but I understand what you're saying. Promise, if anything scares you even remotely you'll leave, not try to find out what it is. If something is in the house, the closer we come to solving the case, the more dangerous it is to be there."

"Aye, aye, Captain," I replied with a wink and a smile, but only received a long stare and a shake of his head in response.

"I guess we should leave if I need to drop you off."

We chatted very little on the way to my house. Before I could get out of the car, Gabriel extracted another promise that I would call him if anything out of the ordinary happened. As I walked up the creaky porch steps, I considered whether he meant "anything out of the ordinary" for this house or for _any_ house.

That will have to be determined on a case-by-case basis, I thought as I unlocked the door. I walked inside with confidence, putting on a show for Gabriel who was still watching me from the car.

I took a deep breath as I closed the door behind me. Now that I was standing in the house alone, I was less certain that this is what I wanted to do today. I looked around. The foyer was dark and spacious, leading directly into the large hallway that would take me to the kitchen once I was past the ornate staircase. The hallway was always dark, no matter how many lamps I put in it. The old polished wood floors and molding loomed in front of me, welcoming me back into the darkness.

Wanting to delay my investigation as long as possible, I collected the mail and sorted it on the entrance table while I listened to my messages: one from my agent and a couple from Susan wanting to get together again. I knew she was feeling guilty about the scene in front of the police station and shirking her self-imposed "Ella duty." Since Gabriel had been around more, I hadn't needed her help. I hadn't even had any recent evenings at the bar that allowed her to be disapproving of my life choices. How was I supposed to explain to her that I wanted to move away from the past and seeing her was just a bitter reminder of all that I had lost? I couldn't wait to be out of this house and out of this town, to be somewhere I could legitimately start over.

I hadn't thought about if or how Gabriel fit into the picture of my new life that had begun to develop over the last couple of days. Strictly speaking, if I wanted to make a clean start, he didn't fit, period. I had a nagging feeling, however, that life would never be that easy for me.

I made a conscious effort not to lose myself in memories or thoughts again and to stay focused. I wanted to begin in the attic and didn't let not knowing how to open the door stop me. I decided to try Gabriel's method and grabbed a hairpin on my way up so I could pick the lock. I knelt in front of the door to get down to work, but the handle turned freely in my hand.

A shiver ran up my spine when, with just a little push, the door opened wide, displaying a dark, crowded room. I craned my neck to see further into the attic.

The entire room was covered with enough dust that I was nearly positive that even Danny's grandparents hadn't gone up here much. I walked slowly into the gloom, choking on the heavy stale air that surrounded me. Antique furniture and trunks—all swathed in undisturbed blankets of dust—filled the large room like a tomb that had been locked for centuries. I looked around slowly and meticulously, but saw absolutely no sign that anyone had been up here.

There also was no place where anyone could readily hide. I fumbled along the wall looking for the light switch. The bulb flickered to life and then with a pop immediately went out.

Great.

Rather than waste time replacing the bulb that was older than me, I worked by the tiny stream of light seeping through the window covered with decades of grime. I spent most of the morning searching through everything, discovering what had been so precious to keep tucked away up here for all of those years.

A lot of old pictures, letters, and documents were mixed in among the odds and end pieces of furniture and stuffed in drawers, hat boxes, and between the pages in books. Nothing could be taken at face value. I put all I found to one side, intending to go through it later as useful research for my book—preferably downstairs where I could breathe. An armoire that could have been from the Civil War begged for attention. I dusted it best I could, but even shrouded and gray, it was a beautiful piece of furniture, craved and crafted with an amazing attention to detail. It should have never been stored away in an attic. Despite the years of neglect, the door opened smoothly and easily. Agitated dust billowed with the force of the door opening. As the grit cleared from my eyes and lungs, I saw in front of me—as if it was waiting to be discovered—the pink argyle sock, dead center on the middle shelf.

How had it gotten through a locked door, a dust covered room, and a closed armoire with absolutely no trace of disturbance? In the short time I was up here, I'd stirred so much dust and left so many footprints, my every step could be traced

I heard a faint knock. At first I thought it was coming from the armoire, but moving closer to the door I realized it sounded like it was coming from downstairs. Once at the base of the stairs, I could tell it came from the front door. I ran down the stairs, calling that I was coming, because I assumed it was Gabriel and I didn't want him to worry.

Grant stood before me on my doorstep, looking clean and well pressed. He smiled broadly as he waited for me to say something.

"Surprised to see me?"

"You could say that," I said. "How do you know where I live?"

"You're rather famous, and it's a small community."

"Infamous is more like it." I sighed, then added. "Would you like to come in?"

"I'd love to." He flashed another grin at me, then eyed my dusty clothing. "Have I interrupted you?"

"Don't worry about it. I was ready to take a break," I mumbled, absently brushing at my clothes, not making much of a difference in their present state of filth. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Sure."

I waited, but he didn't continue. "Anything in particular?"

"Whatever you're having would be fine."

"Right. Okay. Well, you can have a seat in the living room if you like. I'm sorry about the mess...."

"Spring cleaning?"

"Something like that."

"These old houses are lovely, aren't they?"

"Many believe so. I'll be right back."

I walked into the kitchen, dazed by both the discovery of the sock and Grant's surprise appearance. My refrigerator was almost completely bare. Other than orange juice and water, I didn't have much to offer besides alcohol. I glanced at the clock. It was nearly one.

_Not too early for wine_ , I thought to myself. I opened a bottle and grabbed a couple glasses on my way back to the living room. Grant was not where I had left him. He was in the study, stewing over the blueprint Gabriel and I had uncovered the day before.

"I thought we could have wine," I said sternly, feeling very possessive of what he was snooping through. I didn't like him poking around on Danny's desk—or being in my house for that matter. "You know, it's a lovely day.... Why don't we sit on the porch?"

"That would be nice," he replied, looking back at me. "I hope you don't mind that I wanted to see more of the house. How old is it?"

"I'm not sure exactly. It was built by my husband's great, great, great, great grandfather in Montgomery's early days and remained in the family since then."

"Until now," he said as he followed me back to the porch.

"Excuse me?"

"Now it's your house. The bloodline has changed."

We took our seats on the big southern porch. "Yeah, I guess." I could imagine no house in the world could have felt less like it was mine. I poured two modest glasses of wine and moved one towards Grant.

"So, what brings you here?"

"Well, it's been a while since I've spoken with you. As my new friend I felt I should stop by for a social call. Is that all right?"

"Oh ... I guess so."

"I came by last night, but you weren't here."

"No, I was out."

"I'm sorry I missed you. There's something different about you now."

"Really?"

"You seem more relaxed, and maybe even a little more polite than you have in the past."

A smile curled my lips. I guessed I had been rather short with Grant on many occasions. "Maybe it's just the change of setting."

"Perhaps—or maybe you're getting used to me. You seem like the type that has to warm up to things. I'm the same way."

"That I am... but I don't see that trait in you at all."

Grant gave me a charming smile. "Did they ever catch your husband's killer?"

I was slightly taken aback by the question. "No, they didn't."

"That must be difficult." He studied me for a moment. "You try very hard to not give away too much about yourself, but your eyes betray you. I can see pain with the mention of your husband, for that I'm sorry. You loved him very much?"

"Of course."

He gave a slight smirk. "Is that always given?"

"It should be." I couldn't explain why, but suddenly I felt like telling him about my recent discoveries. I felt that he of all people could understand. "Lately, I've not been so certain that Danny was the man I thought he was."

Grant considered this statement carefully. "It's hard to make judgments about someone who isn't here to defend himself."

"I have my reasons and a growing pile of evidence."

"I'm sure you do," he said gently, but didn't inquire about them which I found irritating.

"I think he was having an affair."

Grant nodded. "Does that mean he loved you any less?"

"That's given, isn't it?"

"No. He could still have loved you and just made a mistake. Without being able to talk to him, I wouldn't read too much into it. Maybe he just needed to something you weren't able to give. Of course never having met him I'm just hypothesizing."

I shook my head. "It changes everything. My life was dedicated to that man. I moved here because of him. I've mourned him for over a year, hardly able to breathe for my grief—" My hand clenched around the stem of my glass so hard that my knuckles whitened. "And you sit here telling me that if the man I devoted myself to had an affair and broke that trust, it doesn't change anything—and not only that, but that it's my fault. His behavior should be excused because I couldn't give him what he _needed_." Anger was bubbling inside like lava. I slammed my glass down on the table before I broke it in my fist.

"You were completely devoted to him? What about your writing?"

"What?—of all the chauvinistic, asshole things to say!"

"How many books did you write while you were married?"

"I don't know. A few. It's my job." I said defensively

Grant ignored my tone and continued gently, "Writing takes a lot of your time, does it not?"

"Sometimes."

"How can you be a good wife while you're caught up in your gruesome, grisly stories? Now if someone came along that could look at him adoringly as I imagine you once did..."

"That doesn't excuse anything." I said, but I stumbled over the words, consumed by fury at his antiquated attitude. "If he was unhappy, he should have said so. He should have communicated, not slept with the first tramp he could find."

"Did you speak to him about how unhappy you were?"

"He knew."

"Really? Did he know the depths of your unhappiness?"

"I can't believe you're blaming me for the fact he had an affair with some floozy."

"I'm not excusing anything, just presenting you with another point of view. I'm sure if he were still alive he would regret what transpired greatly."

"If he were still alive, I'd probably still have no idea and he'd still be having an affair—or he would have left me by now."

"Perhaps. I believe, however, that these things have a way of coming to the forefront. They're hard to keep secret for very long. I think your husband loved you very much despite his actions."

"You didn't even know him." I snapped.

"You did. What do you think? Do you believe he loved you or did he lie every time he uttered those words?"

I clicked my teeth. Who the hell did he think he was? And to think I'd called Gabriel Dr. Phil. My mind flashed back to Danny's planner and the circle drawn around the date I got home. All the happy memories I had of us together ... could they all have been fake? Maybe, maybe not—but there was no way I was going to let this man, this stranger, manipulate my feelings any further.

"You sound experienced. Cheated on a lot of girls, have you?"

"No."

"Not that you would tell me if you had."

"Why would I hide it from you?"

"Why would you share it with me?" I countered.

The tension was thick in the air. I could almost feel static building. Then what I least expected to happen did; Grant's laughter spilled out cracking the air. Whether he was laughing at me or the conversation was unclear, as was how I should react.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so hard on you. I have the very bad habit of playing devil's advocate with people. Do you forgive me?"

"I'm not sure. What have you said that requires my forgiveness?"

"You were confiding in me and I made you doubt yourself. Truly deplorable of me." A suppressed grin twinkled in his eyes, and for a minute he reminded me very much of Danny.

"I imagine I'll survive. Besides, I didn't doubt myself so much as I was frustrated with you."

"I'm glad to hear that...." He seemed to want to say more, but my phone rang and I moved to answer it in case it was Gabriel. I started to excuse myself, but before I could get in the door Grant stood up. "I should go. It was lovely seeing you. We should do it again soon."

"Oh, you're leaving?"

"Yes, I feel I must. I've stayed longer than I intended. You'd better be quick or you'll miss that call," he said with a wink and started down the steps. I watched him turn the corner round the house, then raced inside to grab the phone.

"Hello," I said a bit breathlessly.

"Ella?"

"Yes?"

"You're out of breath." It was Susan.

"Yeah, I had to run in from outside."

"Oh." There was an uncomfortable pause.

"Do you need something, Susan?"

"Just wanted to check on you."

"I'm fine. Really—you don't have to take care of me. I'm making discoveries about myself and about Danny, sorting through stuff right now, trying to move on with life."

"What kind of discoveries?"

"All kinds."

"Oh, I see. You don't need me now that you have that cop following you around at beck and call."

"Excuse me?"

"That's what you are doing, Ella. You're trying to get rid of me since you've made a new "friend," the good detective."

"What are you talking about?" I asked, but I might as well have saved my breath. Susan battled on.

"As much as you don't like to hear it, this isn't all about you. You refuse to acknowledge other people have lost something too."

"I'm not refusing to acknowledge anything—I'm moving on. Like you insisted I should, actually. And as for Gabriel—yeah, he helps me a lot. He's trying to solve the case. Our goals are the same. He doesn't constantly tell me to let it go—he's helping me find closure."

"Oh, I'm sure he _is_."

"What does that mean?" You could feel the bristling we were both doing through the phone.

Again, there was silence on the other end. "I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me. I just I miss hanging out with you, I guess."

"Honestly, I don't see why. I haven't been pleasant the last year and we haven't spent much time together."

"I know, but I'd gotten used to what little we had. It was part of my routine. It sort of feels like we lost you again."

Guilt about neglecting Susan gnawed at me. Even if she was a fair weather friend, she was still a friend.... "We could have dinner the day after tomorrow. Why don't you and Doug come over to the house? You guys can meet Gabriel as a person and not a cop. We can talk about all the things our investigation has dug up."

She hesitated.

"Look, Susan. If you want to be in my life I need you guys to all get along. The last thing I'll put up with is squabbling."

"Is he really going to be around that long?"

"I don't know, but right now his belief in me is a big part of what keeps me going, so I'd appreciate if you would at least try."

"Doesn't it bother you?"

"What?"

"That he investigated you. That he pulled your name through the mud and caused all of this animosity the town has for you."

"Susan, we have talked about this. I don't blame him. He was doing his job. I don't care if they camp outside of my house with pitchforks and torches. If he catches the killer, it's worth it to me. This town's opinion doesn't mean all that much in the grand scheme of things."

Susan sighed, hopefully understanding she would never win this argument. "Okay, we'll be there. What time?"

"How about eight?"

"Fine."

"I'll see you then. I should get back to work, bye."

"Bye," she echoed as I hung up. All that had transpired in the last hour wove through my mind like the beginning of a new tapestry. I wondered if this is what starting over felt like. I took a deep breath before picking the receiver back up to call Gabriel.

"Yeah?" He answered the phone very gruffly, very cop like which made me smile.

"Hey, it's me."

"Just a moment," he said much softer. I could hear him moving around. Then a few seconds later, he asked, "Is everything all right? Has anything happened?"

"Everything's fine. Did you switch rooms?"

"Yeah, I went into my office; I was in the bullpen with the guys."

The mental image I had threatened to make me laugh, but I pushed through and got to my reason for calling. "I searched the attic this morning."

"Did you find anything?"

"I found the sock."

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah. It was in a wardrobe. It was very strange. Judging from all the dust no one appears to have been up there in years. I don't know how it got there."

"Was it dusty?"

I had to think back to when I found it. "No." I answered with some certainty.

"Where is it now?"

"I left it on the shelf. I figured I'd be less likely to lose it that way and I probably shouldn't touch it."

"I'll be there in a few minutes."

"You don't have to come now; you can get it tonight."

"It's not a problem. With our track record of losing things, sooner is definitely better."

"Okay. I'll be here."

"See you in a bit."

I considered going back to the attic to get the sock, but decided it was best to leave it where it was. I cleaned some of the mess I had left in the study. As I was clearing random crap from the floor and top of the desk I realized something was missing. The blueprints. I knew Grant had just been looking at them, but where did they go? He hadn't carried them away and they were too large to fold into a pocket.

I put everything that was out away, except for a few of the files we hadn't looked through yet. Those I left stacked as neatly as possible on the desk. Going into the kitchen, not sure what else to do to waste time, I stood by the sink looking at the wall where I found Danny. There was no longer a trace of the horrific murder, but if I closed my eyes I could still see the brutal scene I stumbled upon that tragic morning.

So much had changed in the last couple of weeks, however, it was like it had been years since I floundered aimlessly in my guilt, pain, and self-pity. It was hard to look back at myself without cringing from embarrassment. And it seemed even longer since I'd been with Danny. The beginning of our marriage was but a dream—and the end a nightmare I was still trying to wake up from. I walked slowly over to the wall and reached out with a trembling hand to touch the smooth repaired and repainted surface. As my fingers met the wall, I heard a loud thump.

I pulled my hand back startled, with a feeling of fear and shame like I'd been caught doing something wrong. The noise could have come from anywhere. I stood very still listening, my heart beating thickly in my ears. The thump came again, this time from behind me. I turned, able to see all the windows from where I was standing. I couldn't spot a thing. I went to the nearest window and peered outside. Nothing was out of place. I stuck my head out of the backdoor to see if anything had been thrown against the house from the cover of the trees. Still no obvious sign of anything awry. I shut the door, locking it against the ghosts in my mind.

"Keep it together, El," I said to myself just as a hand touched my shoulder, sending chills through my body and my heart into my throat blocking my scream. I flung around prepared to fight. Gabriel was behind me already braced for my normal reaction.

"You said nothing strange was happening." His eyes narrowed as he studied the panic written all over my face.

"And nothing was until you snuck up behind me. I just heard a thump and was looking to see what it was. Christ!" I had a hand on my heart and one still on Gabriel's chest in what would've been a vain effort to block an intruder.

Gabriel couldn't hold back his smile. "I'm sorry I frightened you. Are you okay?"

"I think you enjoy doing that. I'm fine, just a little spooked. I was thinking about when I found Danny and I worked myself up. I didn't expect you here so fast. The sock is upstairs," I said, letting my arms fall to my sides.

"I'm not worried about it. I'm more concerned with how you're doing. Has anything else strange happened today?"

"No, not really." I started up the stairs and then I remembered. "Well, the blue prints have gone missing."

Gabriel flinched. "When did you last see them?"

"Today. Grant came over to visit and he was looking at them before we went out on the porch, but when I came back in they were gone."

"That explains the wine glasses. Do you know his last name yet?" I could hear mistrust in his voice.

"No, I forgot to ask. I offered him a drink before I realized my selection of beverages is a little limited."

"What kind of car does he drive?"

"Um, I'm not sure. I don't think I saw one, but then again, I wasn't really paying attention."

"How did he know where you live?"

"He said something about it being a small town. What's with all the questions? Why don't you trust him? That's rather cynical, isn't it? You don't even know him."

"It's not that small," he mumbled then added in a normal voice, "Just curious why this complete stranger keeps popping up in your life. Aren't you the least bit suspicious about that? Besides no one seems to know him and as he said it's a small town. He shouldn't be that hard to find."

"You've been asking about him? I'm a little curious, especially when you put it like that. He just seems so familiar. And he doesn't give me a creepy feeling. Maybe he's a bit unsettling, and he does seem to be wherever I am a lot—no, not even. Just the hospital, and it makes sense for him to be there."

"I've asked around the station. No one knows him. Promise me next time you see this man, you'll get a last name, license plate, whatever. Something I can use to run a background check."

"Would it help if I stole his license?"

"That would be perfect. How do you plan on doing it?"

"My seduction skills, of course." I hoped teasing Gabriel would get him to ease off the questions I couldn't answer.

"You have those?" he asked dryly.

"I've never heard any complaints." I tried to be pouty, but couldn't maintain the farce. I began snickering at the ridiculousness. "How about I get him good and drunk— then he will be like putty in my hands."

"Women and their sneaky tricks."

"It works on all the boys." I smiled at Gabriel and he smiled back. "You ready to see the attic?"

"Sure." He seemed more relaxed as we headed up. I opened the attic door and led him to the wardrobe, while his eyes fluttered over the room, assessing the dangers and hiding places. I opened the door and there was the sock. Gabriel pulled out rubber gloves and evidence bags and collected the item with care, before briefly walking around the room.

"I think you're right," he said when we were back in the study. "From what I could see, it doesn't look like anyone's been up there in quite some time. The only disturbances are most likely what you left up there."

"How does that make sense?"

"It doesn't, but what's new." He raked his fingers through his hair frustrated at our inability to suss this out. "We'll talk about it more later. I need to get this to evidence before it disappears again."

"Right, good thinking."

He waved as he walked out the door which I locked behind him. I knew I should start going through the paperwork I found in Danny's desk, not to mention the old letters and photographs I found in the attic, but I had little desire to do so. I made myself a cup of tea and went into the study, grabbing the stack from the desk. I sat it next to me on the couch and picked up the first piece of paper. I couldn't even look at it. Everything that happened over the last couple of days started flooding over me. I leaned my head back against the couch and closed my eyes, telling myself it would only be for a minute or two.

" _Ella. Ellllla wake up."_

A hand lightly brushed my cheek and jawbone. I opened my eyes to look into Danny's calm blue eyes—they always reminded me of a peaceful lake, deep and liquid, hardly ever a ripple.

" _What time is it?"_

" _Almost ten."_

I became aware that I was in a strange place. Looking around I saw a lot of white and many cords. Nothing that was familiar to me.

" _Where am I?"_

" _The hospital."_

" _What am I doing here?"_

" _You fell."_

" _I fell?"_

" _Down the stairs. Don't you remember?"_

I tried to remember, but it was like watching for water to boil. "I don't—what happened?" Danny looked up at someone. That was when I noticed I wasn't alone with him. A man in a white coat stood next to my bed. He looked familiar. Where did I know him from?

" _You remember Dr. Livingston, Ella?"_

Dr. Livingston, Dr. Livingston. How did I know that name? "He's familiar."

" _That's normal with head trauma. Ella, who is the President?" Dr Livingston asked._

" _George Bush."_

" _What do you do for a living?"_

" _I'm a writer."_

" _What is your husband's name?"_

" _Daniel Thomas Reynolds."_

" _You can tell her a bit of what happened—see if anything comes back to her," Dr Livingston said to Danny._

" _Did I hit my head? That would explain this massive headache." I was starting to feel woozy from the pain._

Danny squeezed my hand "We think so—when you fell...." I nodded for him to go on. "I left yesterday to go to the Daniel's hardware store, then I called you because they didn't have my part. I needed to drive to Springfield to get it. I said I wouldn't be home until later. You said that was fine, that you were writing."

Yes, I remembered writing yesterday. I didn't remember the phone call, but that was normal. Often times I lost myself in a story and forget about everything else. It was actually surprising I'd even answered the phone.

" _I got home pretty late—found you at the bottom of the stairs."_

No wonder it felt like I'd been hit by a truck. My entire body ached. "How did I get there?"

" _I don't know. I wasn't home. We were hoping you could tell us."_

I thought about it. I was writing. My character had reached his breaking point—lots of blood and gore. Then the phone rang. I answered it, worried Danny had run into some problem, because it was so late and he should have been home before now—but it wasn't Danny. It was a hang up call. Another one.

My skin tingled like someone was watching me. I checked that the doors were locked and shut down my computer. I went upstairs to change for bed—and then I heard voices from the kitchen. I went to the stairs, but my memory came up blank after that.

At some point, I must have started speaking aloud because Danny was nodding encouragingly and Dr Livingston looked smug.

" _Did you take any pills or medications? Cold pills, sleeping pills, narcotics?"_

" _No—and why are you in here?" I asked indignantly._

" _Ella, Dr Livingston is the psychiatrist you were supposed to see today. You didn't go to your appointment."_

" _Well, if I didn't go, why is he here?"_

" _To help you, Mrs. Reynolds."_

" _I don't need help."_

" _Ella, your computer was on and the last page—well, it read like a suicide note." Danny shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting back and forth between me and Dr. Livingston._

" _My character's in a bad place. And I specifically remember shutting down my computer—why was it on? More importantly it's fiction._ Fiction _. You know that."_

" _I understand, but you have to have an evaluation. Since Dr. Livingston is going to be your doctor, I thought he would be best suited for that."_

" _And why do I have to have an evaluation?"_

" _Everyone is worried about your well-being, Mrs. Reynolds. We need to know this wasn't a suicide attempt."_

" _If I wanted to kill myself I think I could come up with a much better way than throwing myself down some stairs. This is ludicrous."_

" _Regardless, it is hospital policy."_

" _Hospital policy can kiss my ass."_

" _Well, it's either this or the psychiatric ward. Your choice."_

I glared at him, then looked to Danny for help.

" _There's nothing else I can do. You're going to have to cooperate, El."_

" _I hate shrinks." I looked back at Dr. Livingston and gave him the bitchiest smile I could muster through the pain. "Did I break anything?"_

" _No, you're pretty beat up though," Danny said._

" _You should rest for now Mrs. Reynolds. We will meet tomorrow to work on your evaluation."_

" _Is there absolutely no way I can get out of this?" I asked once he was out of the room._

" _I'm afraid not."_

" _Who called the cops?"_

" _I did. I was worried you were attacked."_

" _How do you know I wasn't?"_

" _They didn't find any signs of forced entry."_

" _I heard voices."_

" _The TV was on when I got home."_

I sighed. "Why does it feel like you're fighting against me?"

" _Because you're grumpy. Don't worry, I still love you."_

" _I'm tired."_

" _It's okay. Rest. I'll be here when you wake up," he said softly and took my hand. As he did, his eyes filled with tears. "Ella ... Did you know? You lost the baby."_

" _The_ what _? I was ... No, that's not possible, no—Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick."_

I woke up, shivering and huddled into a ball. It was dark outside. I sat for a moment remembering my dream, only it wasn't a dream—it had all happened. I did fall down the stairs; that was when I started seeing Dr. Livingston. I didn't like him any more now than I did then.

I sat in the dark on my couch, letting tears slide down my cheeks. I'd never thought of myself as the type of person who couldn't be alone. I'd always been very secure by myself, but now that I literally had no one, it was different. I had no emergency contact person. I didn't have someone that I wanted to call with all news, good or bad. There were no permanent fixtures in my life. I thought of Susan, but for a year's worth of reasons, she didn't fit the bill. Gabriel was too new. I wasn't sure if he would stay around.

I was miles on in my pity parade when Gabriel arrived. I don't know how long he stood in the doorway before I noticed him.

"When did you get here?" I asked wiping the evidence of my tears from my cheeks.

"A couple minutes ago."

"You didn't say anything?"

"You looked like you were deep into something. I didn't want to interrupt." He turned on the light.

"No," I said, shaking my head though it didn't make sense to disagree; he was absolutely right. "How did you get in?"

"The door was unlocked."

"No, it wasn't. I locked it right after you left."

"I just turned the handle and it opened. I assumed you forgot."

"No, I specifically remember locking it." I felt defensive.

"It's okay, I believe you. It's the house."

"I'm sorry. I'm not used to..." I trailed off, realizing how pathetic it would sound.

"Not used to what?"

"To people believing me." I laughed bitterly. "God, how lame is that?"

"Are you okay?"

"No, I'm feeling sorry for myself. Misery loves company."

"It'll pass." I couldn't tell if he was asking me or telling me this.

"It usually does." I took a moment or two more, then I stood up having mostly collected myself. "How was your day?"

"Not too bad." Gabriel had a look like he was up to something. "I have a gift for you."

"Really?" I wasn't sure how to take this. Dread crept in as visions of all the terrible things he could have brought me—things that would only cause awkwardness—flooded into my mind. I had the desire to make him leave at once and never mention this present giving business again.

"Do you want to know what it is?"

"Yeah. Of course." I didn't even convince myself. He had me trapped. There was no polite way out of this, and I had too few people who believed in me to ruin this with rudeness. Gabriel looked at me curiously, as if he were trying to decipher my emotions.

"I'll go get it," he said carefully.

I smiled and nodded, trying my best to look enthused. While he was gone, I paced about, mentally preparing myself to act thrilled about whatever the present was. I'd deal with the consequences of my reaction later. I desperately wanted a drink and I looked longingly over at the bar. I could see Gabriel through the window carrying something large and awkward. I had no idea what it could be; it was too dark to tell. I was glad it wasn't flowers, jewelry, or anything else potentially embarrassing. Sincere curiosity finally started to sink in, so I met him at the door.

"Ta da," he said as I opened the door.

"My computer! Yay!" I smiled, genuinely thrilled to have my computer back from the police. "How did you get it back so soon?"

"I figured you were probably missing it, so I pulled a few strings."

"That's amazing. Thank you so much."

"What did you think I had gotten you?"

"I honestly had no idea."

"You looked nervous," he said as he sat the computer back in its spot, amused by my discomfort.

"Only a little. Is the monitor in the car? I'll go get it."

"No, I'll get it, you better set this up. It really isn't my strength."

I started to work on reconnecting all the cords and plugging everything in. Gabriel returned shortly with my monitor and dinner.

"Well, aren't you full of surprises?"

"A man whose mysteriousness is only surpassed by his handsomeness," he agreed.

I laughed. "Did they find any clues on my hard drive?"

"No, nothing of use."

I finished with the computer while Gabriel put our dinner—Chicken Tikka Masala—on plates and brought them back into the room. After we ate, my mind dove into more pressing matters.

"Have you heard anything about the shirt or sock yet?"

"Nothing back from the sock. All they found on the shirt was the hair—and yeah, it's a woman's."

"Blonde?" I just wanted to confirm one more time.

"Yes."

I tried not to dwell on this. I replayed the day we found the items in my head. How could I have forgotten there was something else in the jar besides blood? "What else was in the jar? You said there was something metal, but never told me what it was."

"I don't know for sure, but it looked like a ring."

"Danny still had his ring on when he died. Why would anyone leave a ring behind? This just gets more confusing each day."

Gabriel grunted in agreement. "We'll figure this out and hopefully make sense of all it. Look at it this way, even our questions are all things we didn't know last year at this time. Maybe if we press on, there'll be one less cold case on the books— and you can start living again."

"You're right. I know you're right. It doesn't make it any less frustrating though."

"You're doing fine. You'll make it through. You are proving to be stronger than I would have given you credit for just six months ago."

"This may seem odd, but can you get me a copy of the police report from when I fell down the stairs?"

"Sure."

"Don't you want to know when it happened?"

"It's in the case file. We reviewed it as a possible sign of abuse which would have been motive for you."

"Danny never abused me."

"Yeah, your psychiatrist agrees."

"Really," I said more coldly than I intended. I hadn't realized Gabriel had spoken with Dr. Livingston, though I should have. "What did he have to say about the incident?"

"It's in the file."

"You've read it. Tell me."

Gabriel look uncomfortable, but he didn't try to soften the blow. "He thinks it was a suicide attempt."

"And why exactly would I want to kill myself?"

"You tell me."

"I don't! I never have. There have been times I wouldn't have minded dying, but I'd never have taken my own life."

Gabriel looked like he wanted to believe, but still needed to be convinced. "And like I told him, if I intended to kill myself, I would have come up with something much better than throwing myself down a few stupid stairs—I mean give me some credit. Besides if I was really suicidal don't you think all of this would have pushed over the edge by now?"

He shook his head, "Why do you still go to this doctor?"

"No one has ever asked me that. I've always been told I had to see him. First, I had to see him to be evaluated, then Danny encouraged me to keep going. Now, I guess, I go out of habit—my meds habit."

"Which, by all of your accounts, don't help."

I shrugged. "Can't tell. All the same noises and voices and incidents happen. But if these things were never in my head, then why would the medication make them stop? I already told Dr. Livingston I wanted to quit taking them, but he wasn't receptive to the idea."

"Hmmm, well, let's just take one thing at a time. We'll deal with that after this."

I smiled at the way Gabriel spoke like he was a piece of my life that wasn't going to disappear, then stifled a yawn.

"Tired?"

I nodded

"Do you want to go back to my house?"

I sighed. I really did want to. "No ... I think I should stay here. The better connected I am with the house, the easier it'll be to figure things out."

"Okay. I'll sleep on the couch down here. If you hear or see anything weird, shout. I'll be right there."

I doubted the wisdom of this. The last thing I needed was to come downstairs to another massacre.

"What if something happens to you while I'm asleep?"

"I'll be fine. I'm here to protect you, remember."

"Yeah, I don't know."

"Ella, I will be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Completely. Go upstairs."

"All right." I headed up, not liking the situation at all, but he left me little choice in the matter. I couldn't sleep a wink. I kept worrying about what I would find the next morning. Every couple of minutes I got up and crept downstairs to check that Gabriel wasn't dead, waking him up in the process.

"You're killing me, Ella. Go to sleep."

"I can't," I whispered loudly. Even though we were the only people in the house, it seemed inappropriate to talk normally when we should be sleeping.

"Why are you whispering? I'm tired. I want to sleep. You have to stop coming down here."

"I don't know—I'll try."

"Not another time."

"What if I come down here tomorrow and you're dead. How am I going to live with that?"

Gabriel looked at me, visibly trying to muster up patience. "You want to sleep with me?"

"No," I said too quickly.

"Then go to bed. I won't die. I promise."

"There's no way you can keep that promise, but fine." I went back to bed and didn't check on him again.

I slept a little, but was up bright and early the next morning. Gabriel was not on the couch. A bad feeling crept into my stomach. I looked in the study and the hallway, calling his name timidly, not wanting to seem panicked if there was a practical explanation. I waited for a reply, anything. The looming stillness and silence made my heart quicken.

I walked slowly towards the kitchen, fighting a serious case of déjà vu. My hands shook, my breathing shallow. Not again, I prayed to anything that would listen as I peeked around the corner into a blissfully empty kitchen. He wasn't there. I breathed a sigh of relief. No dead bodies in the kitchen felt like Christmas morning.

"Holy shit!" I nearly shouted as I swung around to find a person in doorway.

"You're up early," Gabriel said lazily.

"Damn it. You have to stop scaring me. Why didn't you answer?"

"How did I scare you? You knew I was here. My car's in the driveway." He seemed genuinely perplexed.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to explain the emotional roller coaster I had just been on. "I'm not used to having anyone else around. I was trying to find you, but couldn't. I came into the kitchen and..." I trailed off glancing at the wall.

"Oh," he nodded, finally understanding. "I was on the porch. I had a call from the station and I didn't want to wake you," he said apologetically.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, but I need to go in."

Remembering about the dinner I had planned with Susan, I asked "Hey, do you have plans tomorrow night?"

"No."

"Would you like to come over for dinner? Susan and Doug are coming and..." My stomach twisted; why was this so hard? "I'd like you to come too. You can get to know them, in a non-police environment."

"Are you asking me out?" he teased.

"Well. Umm..." My cheeks burned. "I'm not really sure. It's just dinner—you and I have had dinner every night this week. I'm just making sure you were going to be here tomorrow."

Gabriel seemed even more amused by my discomfort, but the chiming of the clock in the hallway brought him back. "I'd love to get to know your friends, and now I need to go." He kissed my cheek before I could pull away or object.

"Okay... Have a good day," I called after him.

"I'll talk to you later," he responded.

"Don't miss me too much."

"Do you always have to have the last word?"

"Don't you need to get to work?"

"Yeah." He waved as he walked out.

"Bye," I said just before the door shut and laughed.

#  Chapter Twelve

I cleaned the house feeling more energized and hopeful than I had in a long while. Susan was right; Gabriel had made a difference. Not in the way she was implying, but in that he listened and didn't mock me. He admitted he couldn't and doesn't know everything. The day was quiet, with nothing strange happening except a few hang up calls—making for the lightest days of paranormal activity since Danny died. I didn't know what caused the change, but I hoped it had something to do with us being on the right track.

Gabriel arrived back after work that evening, carrying dinner and a Scrabble box. I raised an eyebrow, but he only grinned.

"What's all this?" I asked following him into the kitchen.

"Dinner and entertainment. You said you like games, right?"

"Yeah, I used to—I haven't played anything in a while." Playing games was so _normal,_ I'd feel like a traitor. I didn't deserve to be free of the oppressive grief and guilt before the case was solved: it was like I was being disloyal to Danny.

"It'll be fun. I'm a pretty mean scrabble player so you might have your hands full," he said puffing out his chest a little. My laughter pushed all thoughts of disloyalty from my mind.

"You know I'm a writer, right? So I'll probably kick your ass."

"Bring it on lady."

Gabriel had a gift for not letting me dwell in my own thoughts. There was a way about him that didn't allow me to linger too much if I wanted to keep up. I could have been obsessing about abandoning Danny but I wasn't. I was laughing and enjoying my evening with Gabriel.

And he was nothing like Danny. Gabriel had a more serious nature. His playful side rarely surfaced. Danny was always playful with very few serious moments. Gabriel didn't push or manipulate, he listened, then gave me his opinion, trusting I would make the right decision. Danny constantly pushed and manipulated me—not in a bad way, but in a way always testing my boundaries making me try things out of my comfort zone.

Gabriel set up the game as I got plates for the warm sub sandwiches he'd brought. Briefly the notion that I was getting too comfortable having him around flitted into my thoughts again. What would I do when this was over and he was gone? I would be alone.

"Are you coming or are you going to stand in there biting your lip at the plates?" he asked, watching me from the kitchen table.

"Sorry, I was thinking." I said, snapping myself out of it and joining him at the table. I handed him a plate and a beer.

"Do I want to know?" he asked seriously, his eyes trying to connect with mine though I managed to avoid contact.

"Probably not."

"Ok," he said and held out the bag for me to draw my tiles. I placed my tiles in order of point value, then studied them picking out several words I could use.

"Would you like to go first?" I asked.

"No, ladies first."

I shook my head at his chivalry and laid down my word: J-A-U-N-T-Y. "Jaunty, sixteen points double word score for the grand total of thirty two points."

Gabriel grimaced and stewed over his tiles. He played, getting only twelve points, but effectively blocking my next move. I kept a nice lead, but Gabriel was doing well. He was a very strategic Scrabble player, planning and anticipating moves—definitely a worthy opponent. As the game continued he asked me "So what do we have?"

His question drew me out of my tile pondering. "What do you mean?"

"With the case, what do we know?" he asked rearranging his tiles.

"I'm not sure," I said thoughtfully. "We've found clues, but clues to what? A sock, a shirt, a hair, and a jar—how does any of that bring us closer to figuring out who did it? And really, everything besides the jar points to an affair—not necessarily a killer."

Gabriel considered what I said as he laid down G-H-O-S-T and gave me his points.

"They may not be connected," he said fairly, "but it would give us motive which is more than we have now. Normally killers have a motive, and since he's still hanging around, I think the killer is definitely focused on you."

"Let's say it's some elusive, incredibly smart and sneaky killer who's coming and going from my house without being noticed as he chooses."

"Okay ... disturbing, but okay," Gabriel said, his eyes instinctively scanning the room.

"Also let's say he's completely obsessed with me, which seems pretty obvious. Then why did he kill Danny? Why him and not me—especially if he's not even making himself known to me? Why is he still playing this game? If everything's all about me, how does Danny's affair give us motive?"

Gabriel took a swig of his beer and leaned back. "Your turn," he said.

I'd forgotten about the game. I looked at my tiles, then the board, searching for a spot to go. As I put down my word Gabriel said, "If the person is obsessed with you and has been watching you from the start, maybe they learned about the affair. Maybe they killed Danny to punish him for hurting you."

"That's messed up."

"Yeah," he narrowed his eyes and frowned a little, "but it makes the most sense of any of the theories I've had. The manner of the murder, the rat, the ongoing psychological torture, etc.... They all point to you being the center of everything here. I just don't know how he is doing it."

"That isn't disturbing at all." My skin crawled with an involuntary shiver. "Or it could just be a ghost who hates me ... and Danny."

"Why would a ghost keep you alive? Not to mention this ghost is making phones calls and writing on your computer."

"Maybe the ghost is keeping me alive because I pay attention to it. Things have happened in here that cannot be fully explained by a person. There's no way anyone could have done a lot of this."

"Perhaps, but I'm more worried about a human being here than a ghost. The person is more likely and until we figure it out and make an arrest, you're in danger. Any moment he or she could suffer another psychotic break and attack you."

I thought about what he said. It was uncomfortable. As much as I hated the ghost it was more disturbing to think some stranger was in my house, watching and planning how or what he would do to me next. My breath became shallow and fast—but I'd be damned if I'd allow myself to pass out in front of Gabriel. I willed my breathing to slow back to a normal pace.

Gabriel twirled a tile between his fingers and watched me. His eyes were curious, but he didn't say anything. He let me work it out on my own. Finally I was able to ask, "So who are our suspects then?"

"Well, the person he had an affair with."

"Why? If this is about me, why her?"

"The person who seduced him could be your fan. She could be obsessed with you which is why she would go after your husband, but once he had the affair she would know he wasn't good enough for you."

"Well, that's not really fair if she set out to seduce him."

Gabriel shook his head. "It doesn't matter, Ella. That could be her reasoning and I can't say I disagree with it."

I raised an eyebrow.

"No—obviously I disagree with murder, but if he was willing to cheat on you he wasn't good enough for you."

I pursed my lips.

Gabriel shrugged. "Just my opinion."

"Who else?"

"An obsessed fan, a stalker perhaps."

"Not that I know of...."

"The person more than likely lives here in Montgomery. If some stranger was lurking around, people would definitely notice. Probably has a good amount of knowledge about mechanics."

"Why do you say that?"

"He's making the window and doors close and the lights flicker. I can't see how you would do that without a mechanical set up."

"But we haven't found anything that looks like a mechanical setup."

"No, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. Maybe we just don't know what to look for."

"Mr. Sexton is always working on his lawnmower."

Gabriel thought about that for a moment. "But he's not the subtle, patient type, and this intruder definitely is. Make no mistake, he has a plan and is waiting for something; the question is what?"

"You know who really fits?"

"Who?" he asked, looking hopeful.

"Me." I watched Gabriel's face drop. "Really, as you pointed out, I have motive. I had means—all the knives were in this house. And I obviously have access to the house. No one would note my coming and going, because I live here. I'm the one who suffered the wrong doing, I'm the one who is unstable."

"Fine, let's consider you. How would you over power him?"

"I'd poison him or launch some sneak attack."

"No poison on the autopsy, and you lack the physical strength to put him in that position. Not to mention, you have an airtight alibi and no background in mechanics. You couldn't have possibly done it." Gabriel looked smug. "Did I pass the test?"

"What test?"

"Well, obviously you know you didn't do it, so you must've been testing whether or not I know you didn't do it."

"Not entirely. I was pointing out how well I fit the bill, like he wanted me to take the blame. Maybe I was supposed to be the scapegoat."

"Now that's an interesting idea. What if he wanted you to be a suspect and be just guilty seeming enough to have the town ostracize you?"

"Which they did."

"Which they did," he agreed "And what did that do to you?"

"Pissed me off."

"No, it isolated you. He killed Danny and made the town believe you did it, but why? To what end? Why does he want you to be alone?"

"But _why_?"

"So you are his."

The entire conversation left me feeling violated. I'd lived with fear for a long time, but this struck me on another level—it was complete and total mind fuckery. Not only was he in my house, he was in my head too. He wanted me to break with stress and terror—but I was sick of being afraid.

"Are you okay?" Gabriel asked our game abandoned.

"Would you be?"

"No."

"I don't want to play anymore." I got up and walked out of the room, then stood in the hallway with my arms held wide in self-righteous anger. I turned in a slow, deliberate circle. "I don't want to play anymore, do you hear me?" I shouted to who or whatever was in my house. Gabriel watched me from the kitchen. An upstairs door slammed shut. He was at my side in a second.

Gabriel went to check the noise and I followed closely behind him. After searching the house for the umpteenth time and finding nothing he opened one of the bedroom doors then slammed it shut. He checked the door and the hinges looking for something that could cause them to open and shut on their own, but still found nothing. Gabriel rubbed his hand over his eyes.

"There has to be a way," he grumbled.

This was such bullshit. "Why are we doing this? No matter what we do, no matter what we find, nothing changes. I'm still in the same spot that I started. I'm done. I can't take anymore. I quit."

There was a crash on the other side of the door. Gabriel yanked it open. A picture frame lay on the floor face down, the glass shattered out of it.

I picked it up.

"Be careful." Gabriel moved some of the glass with his shoes.

It was a picture of Danny and me. My face was horribly scratched, presumably from the fall. Danny's, however, was perfect.

"Why am I doing this?" I looked at Gabriel and showed him the picture. "I guess we have an answer."

Gabriel took my hands. "I'll figure this out." His eyes were so sincere, I wanted to believe him.

"I'm tired."

"You should go to sleep, get some rest. I'll be right downstairs."

I nodded and walked down to my room. "Thank you for staying. Thank you for believing in me." I smiled, but knew it didn't reach my eyes. I was so tired. When—and how—would this all end?

#  Chapter Thirteen

I awoke the next morning disappointed that I had time to get to my appointment with Dr. Livingston. Having to see him just when I was starting to do better was as threatening to my happiness as a drill being held against my temple would be to my life. Gabriel and I had a quiet morning, I wasn't in the mood to talk and he let me shuffle around silently. He offered to drive me to my appointment, but I refused. I didn't want to go at all, let alone go early. I called a cab and still arrived at Dr. Livingston's office slightly before my appointment. The receptionist was her normal bubbly self, smacking gum and filing her fingernails while taking a personal call, rather than announcing that I was waiting. My last leg of patience had nearly run out. I was prepared to walk out unable to justify the ridiculous amount of time I spent waiting every week, when he opened his door and ushered me in. I had the immediate impulse to take his couch or do something equally bratty. However, I resisted.

"So Ella, how are you doing?"

"I'm fine, Dr. Livingston. How are you?"

"Well. Thank you for asking."

"You're welcome. That was a quick session. Are we done here?"

"Ella, you're not a captive. You can go whenever you want."

"You know I was thinking about the first time I met you the other day."

"Are you recollecting that better?"

"What do you mean?"

"In all the time you've been seeing me, this is the first time you have mentioned it. When I brought it up, you deflected with stories of ghosts."

Why did he always make me feel so small and defensive? I tried to remember what he was talking about, but couldn't distinguish those first few sessions from the hundreds that followed. "Anyway, why I brought it up, I am curious about your take on my falling down the stairs."

"What do you think?"

"I think you're avoiding my question. Do you believe I fell or that I tried to kill myself?"

"I do not make judgments here...."

"Bullshit. You make them in police reports. Everyone makes judgments. Tell me the truth."

"Do you feel like people often judge you?"

"Don't try to turn this on me."

"If you read the police report then you know what my professional opinion was."

"I want to stop taking the medication now."

Dr. Livingston appeared puzzled at first, then his face switched to curious. "Why?"

"I want to try without it."

"I'm not sure if that's the right decision to make at this point in your therapy."

"We've been through this before. If I have to, I'll just stop taking them on my own."

"Okay. We'll lessen them gradually until you are off, but if you start feeling any adverse symptoms you need to let me know at once."

"I'm still unclear as to why I was put on them in the first place. I was sad after Danny died, but isn't that normal? Shouldn't I have been sad? It's not normal to try to block all emotion."

"Do you feel like you are blocking your feelings?"

"I feel like the medication is. I feel like I am not accepted when I have emotions or exhibit them."

"Why is that?"

"You tell me. Why did you immediately push medication on me?"

"I am sensing a lot of hostility in you today."

"I'm questioning your judgment. Is that necessarily hostile?"

"You were there for every decision made. I haven't forced anything on you. Why are you questioning this now?"

"You guys bullied me. I didn't even want to see you. I most certainly haven't agreed to any of this willingly."

"Do you feel like you're a victim?"

"No, at least not anymore." I stood up. "Good bye, Dr. Livingston. I won't be back." I walked out the door—something I'd wanted to do since I started coming here. It felt absolutely amazing to finally to do something proactive, to not let my life continue to be dictated by a ghost.

I found myself looking forward to the small dinner party I was planning, excited about another small piece of normalcy being reintroduced into my life. I focused on cleaning and preparing dinner while mindlessly humming. It had been a long time since I'd truly been this happy. It was turning into a wonderful day. Nothing weird or strange, just blissfully normal.

Susan and Doug arrived thirty minutes early to "help me prepare." They were both all smiles, seeming as happy to be back to something that resembled normal as I was. I suspected, however, their early arrival had more to do with wanting time to question me about Gabriel before he arrived than actually being helpful.

"Everything looks amazing, El," Susan said inspecting the meal I was preparing. Brueschetta and a cheese platter waited on the counter for hungry guests on the counter. Lasagna and Greek salad would follow, with cherries jubilee to finish.

"I'll have to work out for a month to work this off," Susan joked. Doug hung back not saying much or joining in on our conversation. It briefly went through my mind that he still blamed me for Danny's death, but I did my best to dismiss it. He was probably just missing Danny. This was normally the time they would wander off to talk about man stuff while Susan and I carried on with our woman chatter. I put Susan to work chopping cucumber and sent Doug to the wine cellar.

After he stepped out of the room, Susan said, "Doug hasn't been the same since Danny died. I don't know if it was the brush with his own mortality or what. I pretend I don't notice though, because when I try to talk to him he gets angry."

"So I've been warned. I thought he seemed quiet. I figured he was just missing a male counterpart."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You were in this deep dark hole of guilt and self-pity. Now, well, you seem like a different person." Susan paused and I could tell she was trying to choose her words carefully. "Detective Troy has made quite the difference in you. How does it feel to be dating again? Especially someone who knows all skeletons your closet?"

"Who's dating?" Doug asked coming up the stairs.

"Ella." Susan said the same time I said "No one."

A range of different emotions flashed across Doug's face. "Which is it then?"

"I'm not dating anyone. Detective Troy and I are friends. He's helping me."

"With what?" Doug asked.

"Finding Danny's killer."

His blank expression was broken by a smile that almost looked like relief. "How's that coming along?" He asked with mild interest, but I sensed him slipping away from the conversation, as if he'd found out what he wanted to know from me.

"Slow."

"You don't think it's a ghost anymore?" Susan smiled at her little dig at me.

"Don't judge until you've been in this house for at least a week, then tell me you don't believe in ghosts."

"Susan doesn't believe in anything." Doug smirked and busied himself with opening the wine bottle.

Susan frowned. "I believe in people. Ghosts are ridiculous. Someone killed Danny and it wasn't supernatural. It was a flesh and blood killer."

"Perhaps." I shrugged. "Perhaps not."

"What have you found?" Susan asked.

"Odds and ends really—nothing I want to get into. Even if a ghost didn't kill Danny, that doesn't mean the house isn't haunted. Weird things happen here all the time, and it's not just in my head like Danny used to say. Gabriel's seen and heard things too."

"Who's Gabriel?" Doug asked obviously not keeping up.

"Detective Troy," Susan said sharply. "He must be here an awful lot if he's witnessed your ghost, El."

It was my turn to choose my words carefully. "He is here a lot. It's nice to have the company sometimes." Susan pursed her lips and Doug's back stiffened.

"What do you guys want from me? Am I never able to have friends, to move on? Danny died over a year ago. I don't have the energy to mourn anymore. Am I supposed to be a perpetual widow?"

"No one's saying that. It's just hard to get used to another man being in Danny's house," Susan said quietly.

"It's _my_ house."

At this most opportune time, my phone rang. It was Gabriel canceling on the evening. Something had come up with work and he couldn't make it to dinner. I was surprised at the disappointment I felt. Chalking it up to wanting Susan and Doug to get to know him so they would accept him, I didn't explore the other possible reasons for my dismay.

"That was Gabriel. He can't make it tonight. Something came up at work." At this news, Doug seemed to perk up a bit and Susan relaxed visibly. "If you guys would give him a chance, you'd like him."

"I'm sure you're right, Ella, but I spoke with him enough during his investigation," Susan said tartly.

Despite our differing opinions on Gabriel dinner went fairly well. We reminisced about better days. I never realized the impact Danny's death had on them. The tension between the two of them was noticeable and often uncomfortable. I felt guilty for being so difficult after the funeral, for not allowing room for their pain. Before desert, Doug excused himself saying he had an early delivery coming to the store in the morning and he needed to make room for it. Susan volunteered to get a cab home and he left after kissing Susan goodbye and giving me a friendly hug.

"He was quiet tonight," I said conversationally.

"Yeah. He has a lot to do with the inventory. I wasn't feeling well, so he was at the store all day instead of doing the paper work like normal. Now he has to catch up on everything."

"Are you feeling better?"

"I just had a headache." Susan was quiet for a while, then blurted out, "I don't know if Doug and I are going to make it."

"What?"

"It hasn't been good between us for a long time, even before Danny died. Doug's just so removed and distant. It's only getting worse. It started with both of us being so busy with the store that we never really had time together. We've grown so far apart, I hardly recognize him. I have no idea what he's thinking anymore."

"I'm sorry, Susan."

"I just don't know what to do to fix this, you know? I don't know how to reach him, to reintroduce myself, so to speak.... I can hardly get him to say two words to me at home. Tonight is the most I've heard him speak to a non-customer in a month."

"You have to try. If Danny were here now, I would try."

"Danny wouldn't be giving you the silent treatment."

"No, perhaps not. But we would have plenty to talk about."

Susan tilted her head to the side. "Like what?"

"He was having an affair."

"Ella..."

"Don't be condescending. I know I'm right. I have evidence."

"What kind of evidence could you possibly have after this long?'

"I have a sock, a shirt, and ... a hair." I noticed Susan's long blonde hair was pulled back into a practical ponytail for the evening. My mind was running in glue, stuck and unable to process any further information. It was shutting down as a form of self-preservation. The world seemed frozen around me as the thought my mind had been avoiding for however long finally surfaced and it all clicked. The words escaped from my lips. "It was you." I said feeling sick.

"That is ridic—"

"No, not ridiculous—I know it's you. That shirt is one that I've seen on both you and Doug. I can't believe I didn't remember before now. The hair, how he managed to find the time, it all makes sense." Anger surged up, replacing the initial shock. "How could you? How could you pretend to be my friend? How could you stand by me like you were some sort of saint when really you're a backstabbing, whore? How?" I ended in a yell. Tears didn't come to my eyes though; only white-hot fury burned there. Susan was crying. Proof enough of her guilt.

"I'm so sorry. You were never supposed to find out. I'm so sorry," she kept saying almost like a chant. This did nothing for my anger.

"Stop saying you're sorry and give me some answers!"

"We never meant for it to happen. It just did. Danny broke it off before you came back from you book tour. We were both lonely. Doug had pulled away and you..."

"I what?"

"You tried to kill yourself."

"I did not!"

"We thought so at the time. You'd been so out of sorts. Then with losing the baby—he'd convinced himself you never wanted the baby, since you were so unhappy here and that's why you did it."

"I didn't even know about the baby." For some reason talking about the baby that I never knew existed drained all my rage away and left me feeling empty. "Go."

"Ella, we still need to talk about this. You can't tell Doug. It will be the final straw in our marriage."

"You disgust me. Call yourself a cab and leave my house." I walked away from her, leaving her in the kitchen alone. I went to the family room and curled into a ball on my couch, waiting for her to leave. I couldn't even stand the sight of her. I felt sick and betrayed. About ten minutes later, I heard a car pull up, Susan sniffling, and then the front door close behind her. I couldn't find the tears in myself. I felt hollow. Unable to feel anything. I'd been so close to getting out of the hole I'd dug for myself, but I could feel it pulling me back. I was slipping, sliding, falling back into the nothingness.

I picked up the phone and called Gabriel. He was my last ally, my only line of defense.

"Troy."

"You missed quite an evening." My voice was raspy from unshed tears.

"I'm getting ready to leave now. What happened?"

"If you're on your way, I'll just tell you when you get here."

"Okay. Are you all right?"

"Do you ever get tired of asking me that?"

"No. Are you?"

"Not really. I think I plunged backwards tonight."

"I'll be there soon."

I didn't say anything further, just hung up. I poured myself an impossibly large glass of vodka and eased back into the couch, trying to become one with it. My mind drifted.

I sat in the overstuffed chair in the living room, thinking of the fight Danny and I had. He stormed out of the house, angry with me again. We'd been fighting so much recently. I wish I knew how to stop it, but I didn't. We were spiraling downwards fast, but I couldn't reach the brakes.

I knew I was moody and defensive, but he left me little choice. He didn't want to see that the house was evil. My dreams were getting worse and I'd been keeping Danny up too. Now we were both exhausted and irritable. Some days were like World War Three, others we barely spoke. Less and less we had those moments of feeling truly connected.

I knew I was partly to blame. I was closing myself off from him as well. I couldn't stand him making fun of me anymore, so I stopped telling him about the things I saw and heard. He all but accused me of lying about everything. Said that I'd never really wanted to move here, so I was trying to make him miserable so he would sell his family's home. Pointed out that everything conveniently happened while he was gone or in another room, that nothing ever happened to both of us.

I told him that was bullshit. He just wasn't watching. If he'd stop worrying so damn much about renovating the damn house and pay just a little bit of attention to what was happening right in front of his face, maybe he'd see it too. Then he accused me of shutting him out, shutting everyone out. He wasn't wrong. I completely stopped really talking to him, afraid of what he thought of me.

I also stopped going to game night, because Susan and Doug began expecting a weekly crazy Ella story. The last game night I went to, I completely lost it during Danny's latest Ella story.

" _I don't appreciate being mocked," I yelled and stormed out, beginning to walk home. Danny caught up in the car and demanded I get in, but I refused. I was far too angry to listen to him or be in such an enclosed space. I wanted to shake him, make him understand. The frustration that I couldn't, made me resentful. Eventually he drove off, leaving me._

Tonight's fight, however, was different. I didn't instigate it. I was collecting clothes to do laundry and checking pockets to make sure they were all empty when Danny walked in the room. He stared at me in horror.

" _What are you doing?" he snapped._

" _Laundry," I said, my eyes widening at his reaction._

He crossed the room with such force I flinched and pulled his pants from my hands. "Are you snooping through my pockets? What do you think you'll find?"

" _I'm not snooping. I'm just checking that they're empty—wait. What are you so afraid I'll find, Daniel?" I asked, my surprise giving way to anger._

" _Damn it, Ella, don't lie to me. What happened to when you used to trust me?"_

" _I'm not lying; I'm doing the wash. What are you hiding?" I snapped._

" _Nothing, you're paranoid."_

" _Ha, I am—good one. You're the one acting paranoid."_

" _Ella, you've been nothing but a ball of nerves and baseless worries since we moved here. I'm not going to feed it. You're here looking for something you can use against me." He shoved his hands into the pockets of pants he was holding and turned them inside out. "See? Nothing." He tossed the pants on the floor in a huff and stormed out._

I sat of the edge of the bed at a complete loss for words. Eventually I finished collecting clothes and put on a load, then I sat in the living room and waited for Danny to come back. We had a problem, a big problem.

When he finally returned, I didn't say anything. Just watched him silently. Eventually he turned to me. A frown on his normally happy face made him look older. He knelt on the floor in front of my chair and took my hands in his.

" _I'm sorry I flew off the handle."_

I nodded, but still said nothing. I waited for him to explain.

" _It's just there's so much going on. You're unhappy. You've stopped talking to me—and you were my best friend. I thought we were in this together. We don't even feel like a couple anymore." I turned my head away from him not wanting to see his liquid eyes as he made excuses._

" _The restorations seem endless. I'm exhausted all the time. I know you are too. All of these things keep happening to you and I don't have the answers," He turned my head back towards him "I don't know how to fix it," he said squeezing my fingers. I could see the intensity in his eyes as he willed me to understand his point of view._

I pushed the thought that he was having an affair to the back of my mind, but couldn't make it leave all together. "You don't have to fix anything, just believe me." I could feel myself softening.

" _But it's impossible. These things can't be happening. My family's lived here for hundreds of years—no one else ever had problems with ghosts. Hell, Ella, I don't even believe in ghosts."_

I pulled my hands from his.

" _Fine. But never yell accusations at me again, unless you want me to leave." I stood and left the room, leaving him on the kneeling on the floor._

I made myself stop remembering. I didn't move a muscle, I didn't think, I just sat. I couldn't tell if I waited hours or seconds before Gabriel knocked on my door and I answered. The very sight of him made me burst into tears. All the emotions I hadn't been able to feel hit me and there was no holding them back. Sobs ripped through my body and I collapsed into his arms. At first, he was confused. He kept asked me if something happened, what was wrong? I couldn't answer. He ushered me back to the couch, holding me until I calmed down enough to talk.

"What happened?"

"Susan. Danny had the affair with Susan. And he blamed me for losing the baby. I didn't remember, but I do now," I said through sobbing gasps for air.

"Wait. What?"

I shook my head. I couldn't say it again.

"It was Susan? How do you know?"

"She mentioned how her marriage to Doug was on the rocks. I told her she should fight for her relationship—that I would if Danny were here. Then she asked why I'd even need to fight." I sniffed, took another deep breath and pushed on. "I told her he'd been having an affair and she asked how I knew for sure and I listed the things we found. When I got to the hair, I looked at her and everything hit me. She denied it at first then she admitted it."

"Wow." he seemed stunned. "What did you do?"

I recapped the rest of the evening, including her accusation that I'd tried to kill myself—and the baby. _The baby_. The baby stung.

"How could you forget about that?" he asked.

"I don't know. I remembered it in a dream I had earlier, but for some reason my mind overshadowed it with indignation over people thinking I'd tried to kill myself. It didn't sink in—I didn't know I was pregnant. I was hurt, had hit my head hard, was heavily medicated by the good Dr. Livingston—I've been in a haze for nearly two years. I've lost two years of my life."

"I'm so sorry all of this has happened to you," he said, wiping the tears from my cheeks. I closed my eyes and lay pressed against him until morning.

Morning was slow going. Little sleep partnered with suffocating thoughts of the night before made finding motivation to move quickly impossible. Retreating to my warm, safe bed where I could pull the covers over my head and let the world disappear seemed ideal, but I had to wait for Gabriel to leave. He lingered though, as if looking for an excuse to not abandon me.

"I'll be fine," I told him quietly.

"Of course you will be," he said with too much confidence, "but if you need someone, you know ... I can take the day off."

"You should go to work."

"I can stay."

I couldn't help but laugh at his persistence. "What about tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that? I appreciate that you are trying to be here for me, I do. But I have to be able to do things on my own without slipping into a deep dark depression. I have to be able to handle setbacks without shattering into a million pieces. I'll try some writing today."

"If you start—if anything..." His concern for my wellbeing warmed my sad heart a little.

"I know."

He kissed my forehead, pulling me in tight. His tenderness brought fresh tears to my eyes. I crawled into bed immediately after he left, not even bothering to change out of my clothes from the night before. As my head sank into the soft, silken pillow stillness surrounded me and I drifted to sleep.

My sleep was deep and filled with dreams of violence, blood, and terror. I awoke several times, cold sweat beading on my forehead as my mind fought the lingering images. However, I was too tired to not continue to try to sleep.

Eventually though, the distant sound of the phone ringing was the encouragement I needed to give up the ghost and just get out of bed. Unfortunately, I was more exhausted than I'd been originally. My eyelids drooped and my legs were stiff as I stumbled to the phone I had unplugged in my bedroom. I managed reconnect it, but I had missed the call. I stretched the muscles in my back and neck as I went to check the answering machine.

"Ella. Ella, are you there? Pick up." Gabriel's voice was hushed, yet had a sense of urgency in it. He gave an impatient sigh. "If you don't call me in the next five minutes I'm coming over."

His anxiety put me on edge. Something had happened. I quickly dialed his number and by the fourth ring I had half talked myself into going down to the police station.

"Troy," he answered briskly just before his voicemail picked up, startling me.

"Hey. Sorry I missed your call."

"Are you home? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I was sleeping."

"Ella, something's happened." His voice was very quiet and a little hard to hear.

"Okay..."

I waited for news, bracing myself for the worst. The receiver hummed an uncomfortable silence in my ear, before he said, "I can't tell you. I shouldn't have called—I'm interfering in an investigation."

"What?! What investigation? You can't set me up like this and not tell me. What's going on?" My questions were followed by more silence. "I'm coming to the station if you don't tell me."

"Turn on your television to a local channel."

"Why? What's going on?"

"Jesus! Just do it—for once do something without questioning it."

I did as he said, flipping on the TV. At first, all I found were commercials, then the local news interrupted my regularly scheduled programming with a breaking story. A reporter stood in front of a blurred out house, officers and paramedics swarming the yard behind her. She didn't have many details, but that didn't stop her from repeating what she knew over and over again as if it were new information.

She knew there had been an incident, but was unclear on whether the person had died or was badly injured. She was also unclear about the circumstances of the crime. Watching the events unfold reminded me a lot of Danny's death, the silent ambulance lingering outside squashing all hopes of survival. Why did Gabriel want me to see this?

"Okay, so someone was killed. Why is this important to me? I don't mean to sound cold—it's terrible and all, but—"

"Look at the house."

I took a closer look. It seemed familiar, but without a clearer picture, it was hard to distinguish from any other house in a number of the neighborhoods in this town. My eyes narrowed and I leaned closer to the TV, trying to see what I was missing. Something small caught my eye—something that would have been easily overlooked had I not been studying the screen so intently: a pair of garden gnomes. I had helped pick them out. I had helped paint them. I knew the house....

"Oh God." My hand instinctively covered my mouth.

"Do you understand now?"

"Susan or Doug? Why didn't you just tell me?" Again my question was met with silence. My stomach churned.

"It's reminiscent of your husband's homicide. I can't give you any more information. I shouldn't have called."

"Are you saying I'm a suspect?"

"I don't know for sure—if it was my investigation you would be."

"Why isn't it yours?"

"I'm too close. I knew the victim and you... I couldn't remain impartial." Gabriel's voice suddenly became even more muffled. "They know nothing about the affair. If anyone questions, tell them nothing and call your attorney."

"I have nothing to hide."

"It doesn't matter. Almost anything, no matter how innocent it seems, can be used to strengthen a case."

"Was it Doug or Susan?"

"Susan," he said in barely a whisper. I had to sit down; my legs would no longer support me. I'd been so angry with her the night before. Now, yesterday seemed like years ago. I would have never wished this on her, no matter how angry I was. I understood why Gabriel was advising me to do nothing and say even less. My position was getting worse by the second. Of course I should be a suspect. I had motive and opportunity. I was the last one to see her last night. Two horrific homicides in the last twenty years in this town and I was at the center of both of them. I would be surprised if the people didn't come after me with the pitchforks and torches I had joked about earlier.

"How did it happen?" My voice softening to match his.

"I'll talk to you later. Now's no good."

"You don't think I did this ... do you?"

"No. I was with you last night. You didn't have time to do anything like this—it would've taken hours."

"That's the only reason?" Gabriel sighed, but I continued, "Why can't I tell the truth? I don't feel right about hiding anything."

"It isn't going to look good. This... this doesn't happen in this town. Now it's happened twice, to two people who were close to you. You write novels about killing people, extremely well thought out novels. Does any of this sound good to you?" I could almost hear him mentally counting to ten. "You don't have anything to hide, just get a lawyer to make sure your rights are protected."

"Have you seen Doug? He must be ... It's so hard..."

"No, I'm not sure about their progress on that. I know he wasn't in the house, and he didn't call in the murder. Someone was sent to the store to find him."

"I don't envy that person."

"I really need to go. I'll talk with you later."

"Okay." I hung up the phone and headed for the kitchen, needing to be busy doing something, anything. I'd just put on a kettle to make tea when the phone rang again. I rushed to answer in case it was Gabriel maybe he'd found out something new. Or forgotten something. I heard nothing on the other end except breathing. Heavy breathing. I placed the phone back in it cradle, goose bumps climbing up my arms and down my spine. The phone rang again. I slowly picked up the receiver, this time not saying hello. There was a voice.

"Get out of the house. He's in your house." Static hissed at me.

I slammed the receiver down and backed against the wall. Should I believe the voice? My mind spun as I stood unable to convince my legs to move. Who was in my house? Who was calling me? Was this trick to lure me out? I was stuck in a wave of helpless panic. I could feel myself succumbing to the emotional undercurrent of the events. Susan's death had impacted me deeply despite my anger. It drummed up so many emotions. New and old. Memories only recently suppressed, a new string of regrets and doubts began to wind around my heart and mind. I wasn't sure how much longer I could continue to stand, but I fought to keep the grasp I'd recently gotten on my world. Letting myself slip, as I so easily and often did, was not a choice this time. I was close to the truth, closer now than I'd ever been, I could feel it. I had to be strong, if not for myself, then for everyone else. I took a few deep breaths.

A chiming noise echoed through the house. My mind leapt to the idea that it could be a ghostly echo of some sort because I didn't have any clocks that chimed—then a loud official sounding knock came from the front door and I realized what the chime was. Walking slowly towards the door, knowing it would be the police coming to break the news to me so they could see my reaction, I tried to collect myself and make my face blank of emotion. The knocking impatiently persisted.

I opened the door to two men dressed in suits and cheap sunglasses. The thought struck me that they were dressed as someone who watched too much TV would dress if they were pretending to be a cop, almost like children on Halloween. Something about the way they wore their clothes that didn't fit. I didn't say anything to them and I didn't open the screen door that they'd let close after knocking. Instead, I lifted an eyebrow, knowing full well I didn't have a reputation for being friendly—why disappoint them? I waited for them to speak.

"Mrs. Reynolds?"

"Yes."

" _Ella_ Reynolds."

"Yes."

"I am Officer Jones and this is Officer Winn. May we come in ma'am?"

"Why not?" I motioned them in. Given that last phone call, I was glad they were there, even if it meant I was a likely suspect. I led them into the living room inviting them to take a seat on the uncomfortable furniture and again waited for someone to take the lead.

"Mrs. Reynolds, can you tell us your whereabouts last night?"

"Of course I can." The officers looked at me expectantly, but I just looked back at them.

"And where were you?"

"Let's not play games. You're here about the Daniels, yes?" The officers exchanged a glance as if I had given away some important detail.

"You know of the situation with Mrs. Daniels?"

"It was Susan?" I asked quietly pretending this was the first I had heard of it. "I was watching television this morning." My voice cracked as I choked back real emotion.

"The names were not released."

"I recognized the house, more specifically the lawn gnomes." They both nodded and I could see the wheels turning behind their eyes, processing everything I said to use against me later. They dealt with the disappointment of not getting to break the news to me admirably well. The detective in the ugly yellow tie was the first to move on with the questioning.

"And your whereabouts last night?"

"As I'm sure you are aware, I was here. I had dinner with Susan and Doug, which is probably why you're questioning me now."

"What time did they leave your house?"

"Doug left around nine or nine thirty—he had inventory to do. Susan left around ten, she took a cab."

"What did you do after that?"

If the situation hadn't been so tragic I would have smiled at how they could believe anyone would tripped up by this painfully obvious line of questions. The detectives in my books would never be this stupid, with their weak obvious questions.

"I cleared the dishes, then spoke with Detective Troy on the phone before he stopped by around ten thirty."

"And what is your relationship with Detective Troy?"

Immediately I regretted bringing him up. His words, "They don't know about the affair," came back to me. Did he mean Susan and Danny's affair or was he somehow referring to me and him? I sighed as if the cop's question annoyed me. "He investigated my husband's death. Does that qualify as a relationship? We keep in touch. No one was ever caught and I'd like to see it resolved."

"Why did he come to your house?"

"Strange things happen here, I trust him."

"Your relationship is purely professional?"

"We've recently become friends. What does this have to do with Susan? If you have any more questions about the nature of my relationship with Detective Troy, please feel free to ask him."

The idiot in the yellow tie held up his hands as if he didn't mean to pry though that was exactly what he meant to do.

"What time did Detective Troy leave your house?"

"This morning," I said unable to think of a way to dodge this question.

"He stayed all night?"

"Obviously."

"Why is that?"

"As I said weird things happen here."

"Could you elaborate?"

"I could give you a hundred examples. Phone calls, hang ups, objects moving, disappearing, reappearing, banging, thumping, crashing, appliances turning off and on, strange files on my computer, do I really need to go on?"

"What happened last night?"

"While I can't speak for Detective Troy, I don't think he believes I'm safe here. Now, I'll answer no more questions in regards to Detective Troy. If you need any more questions answered ask him."

"Do you own a car?" The yellow tie detective asked me.

"Yes, but I don't have a license. I never learned how drive. It was my late husband's vehicle."

"May we see it?"

"Absolutely." I led them to the garage that was separate from the house. The garage hadn't been opened since Danny had passed away, at least not by me. The only thing in it was the car, which I had no use for. The door was hard to open and the air inside was stale. Everything looked just as it had and it occurred to me I should sell the car, rather than letting it slowly die unattended in my garage.

"Have you ever driven this car?"

"No."

"Would you mind if we fingerprint it?"

"Why would you want to do that? Did someone see this car at the house?"

"We're eliminating suspects. Other than that I cannot disclose any information about an ongoing investigation."

"How does this eliminate me as a suspect? I could have taken a cab or walked."

"Did you?"

"No."

"Do we have permission to process the car for forensics or should we get a warrant?"

I didn't appreciate being strong-armed by anyone, least of all by cop in a bad suit.

"I don't think you could get a warrant for this. Please don't threaten me like I'm ignorant. At the moment, you're fishing for leads and it seems as if I'm becoming a usual suspect for you people. I don't appreciate the implications," I snapped.

Yellow Tie, who appeared to be the leader, gave me a smile that clearly said go to hell and started to leave the garage. Before he made it to the door, I had collected my temper.

"I didn't say you couldn't run forensics on the car."

He turned around and looked at me.

"I have nothing to hide from you. Just don't treat me like I'm stupid."

"You're giving us your permission then?"

"Yes, fine."

The silent one of the two reached for his cell phone as I walked by.

"Ma'am, we need you to stay with us."

"Then you're coming back to the house with me because I am not waiting around here." The two detectives followed me back into the house. I offered them a drink, which they both declined. I made myself tea as they silently watched. The forensic team arrived. The quiet one took them to the garage as I looked for the keys to the car while the other one watched.

After a couple hours, most of the police officers had departed from my house leaving me with just the detectives again. They gathered their things and started out the door. Yellow Tie turned around and asked, as if it was an afterthought, "Have you spoken with Mr. Daniels since last night?"

"No."

"If you do, please give us a call." He handed me a card. I nodded and closed the door behind him. As they drove away I called my lawyer in Chicago and left a message. I wasn't looking forward to the media circus that would ensue once the press found out I was once again suspect number one.

Caught between sleepiness and stress I felt like a time bomb ready to go off at any moment. I wanted to cut and run. It wasn't worth all the pain and regret—why did people keep dying around me? I needed to get away from everything. I needed a vacation to an island somewhere. I promised myself a trip to Hawaii, completely stress free as soon as all of this was over. Self-pity started to move in and set up residence again. I sat in the darkening living room, not bothering to turn on the lights, drink in hand.

I mentally retraced everything that had happened over the last several days. All of the events and clues that I had found or had unfolded over the week took me where? What was the missing piece that connected everything? If Danny was killed by a ghost, Susan's death made no sense at all—she wasn't even in the house. But what motive could someone have for harming her and Danny similarly? The only person with a motive was me, and I was certain I didn't do it.

I stayed in my contemplative state until I heard another knock on the door. I hoped it was Gabriel, but no such luck. When I answered the door, I was irritated to see Mr. Sexton standing in front of me.

"What do you want?"

"I saw the cops messing about all day. Did they make an arrest?"

"If they did, would I be here? Look, I don't really have time for this." I started to close the door.

"Not you, you stupid bitch—that guy."

"What guy?"

"The one I told that other cop that hangs around here about. He told me to call him if I saw the man again, but I lost his number. Anyway, I saw him just this morning before the police showed up, but they wouldn't let me anywhere near to tell 'em."

"Wait, what, pardon? You've been seeing a man outside my house and didn't bother to tell me? "

"I told the copper. What the hell would you do about it, girlie?"

I didn't have energy to fight with Mr. Sexton. "Next time you see him I'd appreciate knowing." Then something occurred to me. "Are you the one who's been calling me?"

"Your copper accused me of that same thing—said I'm not to talk to you at all." He looked around, suddenly nervous, as if Gabriel would appear at any moment, and started to back off the porch.

"Listen, Mr. Sexton—that was a misunderstanding. Call _me_ if you see anything," I said as he walked away his eyes darting back and forth.

I returned to my dark living room with something new to think about. I was cold and vulnerable, but I was in the process of developing a theory. Why didn't Gabriel tell me about the man Mr. Sexton saw? Why keep that a secret? And why did he stop by my house so frequently even when I was rude to him? What made Mr. Sexton so jumpy? Why did all the evidence and clues we found only show up when he was here? It was a theory I couldn't take lightly, one that would hurt Gabriel regardless of whether or not I was right or wrong if I exposed it. I needed confirmation, but how could I get it without cluing Gabriel in on what I was thinking—which would either hurt him or be very dangerous for me.

Movement in the doorway caught my eye. It was Gabriel looming in the entrance, the backlight making him appear huge and ominous.

"I was thinking about you," I said quietly, not making a quick movement.

"Funny how that works," he responded in a tired voice, walking in and loosening his tie. He plopped down onto the ottoman in front of my chair.

"Before I forget to tell you, I mentioned I was with you last night. I didn't think about it until after I said it. Did I get you in trouble?"

"Don't worry, I would have told them even if you hadn't. How are you holding up? "

"You know, moment by moment. I am becoming a pro at this. " I couldn't even muster up a wry smile to go with my words.

"I heard you were a handful." He said a smile touching the corners of his mouth.

"That guy in a yellow tie is an asshole."

"Detective Jones," Gabriel said knowingly. "I heard you let him have it once or twice. That's good, he can be a bully. Did you call a lawyer?"

"Yeah, after they left."

"Christ, Ella."

"I have nothing to hide. Who cares if they take Danny's car?"

"That isn't the point. If they're trying to make a case against you, you shouldn't help them. Did you tell them about the affair?"

"No. That would give them motive and they didn't ask."

"Not only for you, for Doug too."

"Doug doesn't know about it."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. Susan said he didn't—and she begged me not to tell him. If he did know about it all along, why would he wait so long?" I rubbed my eyes with my fists. "So now you think I should have told them?"

"I'm torn about this. As a cop, yes, you should have told them. They need all the facts to solve the case. As your—friend, it's better for you if they don't know"

"God, it's so surreal that just last night we were fighting in here." I could see Gabriel searching my eyes for signs that I was going to break and fall apart at any moment. "You know, I'm okay. You don't have to stay with me if it's getting you in trouble. I understand."

"Why do you keep trying to make me leave? You know you may be next on what could be a very short list. You don't have that many people in your life. Is there even someone else that could stay here with you? Think of me as protective custody."

"Well, maybe if you leave that list will stay short and I won't have to worry about you making it onto it," I said even though I knew he was right, I didn't have anyone else. However, at the moment I couldn't be sure I had him either. "Speaking of protective custody, did Mr. Sexton tell you he'd seen a man around my house?"

"Yeah. I checked it out. He was probably lying, giving me a bullshit reason to be on your property. He couldn't give me any details in his description and when I started questioning him his story began to fall apart. I told him to call me instead of investigating it himself. I also said he shouldn't speak to you being that he doesn't know how to be anything besides belligerent—"

"And you chose not to tell me?"

"Tell you what? Unsubstantiated stories from a crazy old man? If I had, would that have made you feel better? To think that there is a psychotic man wondering around in your backyard? You have enough to deal with."

"If someone is creeping around my house I want to know! I have a right to know."

"Have you seen someone?"

"No, but I see the effects of it every day."

"Exactly, this changes nothing. What's the difference in letting you think it's a ghost or making you believe there's a person? Besides, he hasn't called me even once about it."

"He said he lost your number." Saying this aloud to Gabriel made me realize how weak the excused actually seemed.

"So he lost my number and he's bothering you again. Convenient. My guess is that he's bored. This man is a piece of work."

"He said he saw the man this morning—and I received some weird phone calls after I spoke to you. One was just breathing, the other told me to get out, that 'He was in the house.'"

"Do you believe him? Was he telling the truth or trying to scare you?"

"Why would he want to do that?"

"Why did he ever want to bother you? I don't think the guy's playing with a full deck."

I knew he was right, but I wanted so much to believe that we had real proof that some evil man was behind all of this that I clung to my last shred of hope. "What if he's telling the truth? Couldn't it be worth pursuing? Sexton wasn't creepy or mean when he told me this. Maybe, just maybe, there is something here. What could hurt?" I smiled the most charming smile I could muster at the moment.

"Can we at least postpone it 'til tomorrow?" he asked defeated.

"I'm sorry. I know you've had a bad day too."

His head sagged between his shoulders as he rested his forearms across his knees, and I watched him, unable to sort out my feelings. I was a walking contradiction when it came to Gabriel. At this moment he looked so helpless, so in need of someone much stronger than me—yet I wanted to be that person. I placed my hand on his arm, making a connection. He looked back at me; the air between us grew heavier with each second the gaze lasted.

I had the feeling that neither of us had anyone else in the world. He was definitely my last connection to the world outside of this house. We were there for each other with no need of words or ties. We were bound to each other by kindred spirits, these horrible crimes, and feelings that were too complicated for definition.

I pulled him towards myself, resting my head against the top of his. I wasn't sure how much comfort I could offer, but I would try. His arms wrapped around me and mine around him. We drifted to sleep our breath in time.

#  Chapter Fourteen

I awoke with a feeling of dread for no clear reason. It took my groggy eye several moments to focus on the clock. Almost 8 a.m. I pushed Gabriel's chest to wake him up.

"You're going to be late for work," I said, shoving him again. When he still didn't respond, I pushed him harder. He rolled off me, his head lulling back lifelessly, revealing a gnarled red slash across his throat. I looked down, blood covered me and the chair—

I jumped up, shrieking. I tried to get to the phone, but my legs wouldn't do what my brain commanded. I heard footsteps behind me. I raced to the door, hoping to get outside to Gabriel's car, where I could use his radio to call for help. I struggled frantically with the locks on the door and then yanked it open.

My legs still refused to move as fast as I wanted them too, but finally I reached the car. I hit the unlock button then reached for the police radio. The cord was severed. I looked up slowly, my stomach sinking. In the rearview mirror I saw a man behind me—smiling. I tried to scream, but he reached out and curled his hands around my neck.

I frantically fought him off with flailing arms. He took me by the shoulders and started shaking me. I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing my death was eminent.

"Ella." Christ, he knew my name. Panic surged through my veins. "Ella, wake up!"

I opened my eyes. I was back in the living room and Gabriel was shaking me, alive and well.

It took me a long moment to realize I wasn't still in danger. It was only a dream. Though had I been listening to Gabriel instead of hysterically scanning the room for signs of danger, I would have heard him tell me that. He never loosened his grip on my shoulders or let it ease. Slowly I nodded that I understood and he released his hold.

"You were dreaming," he said one last time.

"Bad dream," I said lamely, as if he couldn't tell.

"Yeah—well, whoever it was, you really gave him hell. At least you gave my arm hell."

"Sorry."

"That's okay. You're the most effective alarm clock I've ever had."

"Don't you have to go to work?"

Gabriel looked away and mumbled, "Administrative leave."

"What?"

"I was too involved in all of this."

"Damn it, Gabriel, why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not your fault, what's done is done. There is nothing either of us can do or would do to change it."

While his words were kind, I hated being placated. It was my fault. I ruined everything. I couldn't fall back asleep though Gabriel seemed to have no problem.

I got up from the chair and went upstairs to shower and dress. Then I made coffee. Gabriel was still sleeping, snoring loudly which at least let me know his throat was still perfectly intact. I went onto the porch to drink my coffee.

The morning was dreary, a steady rainfall mixed with the occasional rumble of thunder. The sound and smell of the rain pulled me in soothed away the nightmare about Gabriel, leaving me only with the nightmare of my life. Danny. Susan. I wondered how she died. Had it been as gruesome as Danny's? No matter how mad I was, it was tragic. I wished I could let go of the betrayal and just remember her as my friend and him as my loving husband. But I couldn't. "Aren't you cold?"

"A little."

Gabriel stood in wrinkled clothes and a day's growth on his face studying me sitting in my chair with my knees pressed up underneath my chin. I could tell he was trying to gage my mood. "Do I want to know what you're thinking?"

"About Susan and Danny. And how much I'm going to miss both of them."

Gabriel sat in the other chair. "What was your dream about?"

"That I woke up and you were dead."

"How did I die?"

"Your throat was cut. Blood everywhere—I ran to your car to radio for help, but he was in the backseat."

"Who?"

"The killer."

"What did he look like?"

"I don't know. I don't really remember seeing his face—just that he was smiling."

"Creepy." He gave me another searching look, but I didn't know what he wanted from me. "You know I'm not going to die, right?"

I shook my head no. How could I possibly know that? Of course he would die. We all die. Why was he any more likely to live than Danny or Susan? I didn't want to argue semantics right now. "How did Susan die?"

"Ella..."

"I want to know. Was it like Danny?"

"Yes and no. Enough to make the detectives think they may be connected, but there's a possibility they're not. They could both be random crimes."

"They don't feel random. Please, I need to know."

"She was stabbed. Multiple times with one knife, not multiple knives like Danny."

"Where was she?"

"In her house."

"Where in her house?"

"Ella, why do you want to know this?"

"I don't know. I just feel like I should know."

"She was in her bed. That's enough, no more. This is macabre. What are your plans today?"

"No idea." I couldn't think about my plans for the day; I couldn't think about anything. "Where are we supposed to go from here?"

"What do you mean?"

"How do we continue to investigate? We've hit a wall. There's nowhere else to go."

"Are you giving up?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice. You don't have to keep choosing death, you can choose life."

"I don't know how."I was no longer in the mood to talk about any of this. I wanted to think about it for a while without having to justify my thoughts. "I made coffee. Would you like a cup?"

"Sure. I'll come with you."

We walked to the kitchen. I poured him a cup of coffee and topped up mine. We stood in silence, both of us thinking, sipping our coffee.

"Let's go somewhere," I said impulsively. He was on leave and I was beyond sick of being here. There was nothing to hold us back. Whoever was in this house could have it. I was done.

"Where do you want to go?"

"Away from here. Hawaii ... or the Caribbean, anywhere."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows, looking surprised. He started to say something, then stopped and shook his head as if to clear it. He reached for the counter to brace himself, but before he could reach it, he crumpled to the floor.

I started towards him, but as I moved, the room started to move with me. Something was wrong, terribly wrong. I stumbled into the wall then back into the counter. I fumbled with the drawer. My equilibrium was off, but I knew I was in danger. I reached for a knife in the drawer and braced myself against the cabinet. My body was shutting down against my will. I had very little control left. Finally, my legs gave out and I slid to the floor. I looked up and saw someone walk through the door, a sickening smile on his face—then everything went black.

I was in a giant greenhouse. Beautiful plants and flowers surrounded me I walked through the rows, enjoying the beauty and the warmth. At the end of one of the rows, a rose lay across an empty table. It seemed out of place. I reached out for it and was stuck by the thorn. I looked at my hand watching the blood begin to bubble up. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do about it, so I just stared at my finger. I felt someone walk up behind me. Danny turned me around by my shoulders and smiled at me lovingly.

" _I've missed you, baby," he said, looking charming as ever._

" _I've missed you too. Am I dead?"_

Danny shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sorry if I hurt you, Ella."

" _It seems a little late to waste time on apologies."_

" _Well, there it is anyway. Ella, you need to listen to me."_

" _My finger is bleeding. That was a really big thorn."_

" _Forget about your finger," he said as I put my hand in his face to make sure he could see the blood coming out of it. "Ella, listen."_

" _This isn't real. You're not real. This is my imagination. I think I'm dating a cop."_

" _That's good, Ella, I want you to be happy. That's all I ever wanted." He smiled at me. Grant walked up beside him and tapped him on the shoulder._

" _This isn't working."_

" _What isn't working?" I asked mildly concerned._

" _I know," Danny replied to him._

" _Let me try," Grant said. "Ella," he said calmly and took my bleeding hand, producing a bandage out of thin air. "Ella, when you wake up, you need to remember this. Can you do that?"_

" _Of course I can. What are you doing here?" Then something else occurred to me and I covered my mouth with my hand. "Are you dead too?"_

He smiled gently, and pushed on. "The killer is in the house with you. When you wake up, you need to use what you know. Fight back and don't give up—use what you know. You can save yourself, Ella. Can you remember that?"

" _Of course." Suddenly I was very tired. My head started to pound and Grant faded away._

This time when I woke up, I was still lying on the floor of my kitchen. My head was throbbing—and I'd cut my hand on the knife I picked up before I fell. I looked around the room for the person who'd done this. I didn't see anyone and the house was quiet, eerily quiet. I slid across the floor, my legs still not wanting to work, to where Gabriel had fallen. He wasn't there, only a small bloody smear. Holding on to the counter, I forced myself to my feet. Dizzy and weak I pushed forward. I crept towards the hall diligently watching for an attack. I still saw nothing. I made it to the phone in the hall and picked it up. Dead. Of course. I heard someone walking down the stairs, one slow deliberate step at a time. I moved back into the kitchen, the knife clutched in my hand. I pressed myself against the wall and waited.

The person whistled a happy tune. The sound filled the silent house with an eerie echo making it impossible to know just where he was. I heard the footsteps pause at the bottom of the stairs and the whistling stopped. I looked down at my hands, one held the knife and the other—Shit! I'd forgotten to hang the phone back up.

"Ella, are you awake already? I'm impressed. You must not have had very much." The voice was familiar, but the fear prevented me from placing it. My jaw clenched and I held my breath. Now I heard nothing. I strained to listen for any hint of movement that could offer me some advantage. Where was he?

I was tempted to go around the corner instead of waiting in agony. I took a couple deep breaths and came around wide in case he had the same plan as me, only there was nothing. I slowly peeked my head through the doorframe. Someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides, twisting my wrists until I dropped the phone and knife to the floor. I struggled but it was useless. The person who seized me was much stronger than I was and once again had all the advantages.

"That isn't a very polite greeting, Ella." I wrenched around, finally got a look at my attacker.

"Right and I must have missed the Emily Post about drugging people. Let go of me, _Doug_."

"Always so witty. Always such a bitch. Don't worry, Ella, we have all day. I can make this last as long as I want."

I tried to talk through my fear. "Why's that?'

"You have no more friends. No one will come looking for you."

"You didn't—w here's Gabriel?"

"That part will come later. Trust me, you'll love it." He pushed me forward.

I dragged my feet, not wanting to do anything willingly. He pushed harder, sending me tumbling to the floor in the hallway.

"You're always so difficult, El. No wonder Danny turned to Susan. She was.... what's the word I'm looking for? _Easy_."

I tried to scramble up and run, but he kicked my side, knocking the air out of me. "Am I going to have any more problems from you?"

I shook my head no, gasping for air. He reached down and hefted me up from the floor. I used his awkward position to my advantage. I kicked hard against his knee with both feet, buckling it into an unnatural angle. He toppled over with a shout as I climbed to get up. His hands grasping for my legs as I made my way to a standing position; I jumped back out of reach. My ribs screamed with pain, but I kept going.

As I sprinted back into the kitchen, I heard him get back on his feet. I had only seconds to decide what to do. I didn't have a clear way out of the house. I considered going to the living room—but then I'd lose sight of him and not know which way he would be coming at me. The backdoor was blocked by a large cabinet that Doug must have moved while I was passed out.

I ran to the basement door and raced down the stairs as fast as I could. Once I was down there I wasn't sure what my plan was, but I knew it had to be good and fast. I started looking for a place to hide. I hid in a mess of empty boxes that were covered in dirt and cobwebs. I could hear each thump as Doug limped down the stairs. I only had a thin sliver in which I could see through. I had picked up a couple glass jars from the shelf and had them hiding with me. They were the only weapons I could find with no time to spare. I watched, straining to see. Finally, I saw him limp towards the bathroom under the staircase, wielding a large butcher knife and a sinister smile. He scraped the knife along the wall as he walked, toying with me.

"Come out, come out where ever you are," he said in a sing-along voice. He hit his fist hard against the bathroom door. I bit my lip, willing myself not to jump or give away my position. Then he rammed his shoulder into it with such force that the old door splintered. He opened it fast, screaming as he did, but found nothing.

"Tricky, tricky. Come out, my pet. I love you ... Didn't you get my story?" Doug limped back in my direction, knife tapping against his leg. "Danny never deserved you or appreciated you. From the first moment I read your books, I knew we were kindred spirits, but you've been so damn disappointing."

My legs burned and it felt like something was crawling on my back, but I didn't move. Doug continued walking in slow circles waiting for me to slip.

"You didn't do anything right since Danny died. You gave up. Your characters would have never given up! And then you didn't turn to Susan, which was a necessary part of my plan, buying her a much longer life than the whore deserved." Doug abruptly stopped. His head tilted in my direction, I didn't dare breathe. He waited a moment then began walking his strange looping pattern again. "But far and away, the most disappointing was the cop. Why would you turn to a cop, the enemy? You were supposed to be mine after I got rid of Danny and Susan. Mine!" he screamed and knocked several things off the shelf, smashing them to bits.

He moved slower now, muttering more quietly. "You've made me wait for a very long time, and for that, you'll be punished—but in the end all will be forgiven. You are my destiny ... if you refuse ... you'll die."

My mind couldn't follow what he was saying. I wasn't his. We hardly even spoke. I didn't even know he read my books. Anger and repulsion mixed with fear making me clench my jaw against any retort my mind wanted to make. I needed to move, but I forced myself to hold still just a little while longer.

"It's really a perfect plan. Everyone knows your reputation. Did you find the blood and the ring I left for you as a token? We are forever bound by it." He went over to the tool bench and pushed it out of the way with such ease. He was so much stronger than me I shuddered.

He chuckled. "You are prolonging the fun—have you found one of my better hiding spots?" He pressed on the wall with both hand and stepped on a small lever near the floor that Gabriel and I had missed completely. The door opened, but I couldn't see what lay beyond it.

He was very close to my hiding place now. I had to do something quickly. He disappeared into the room reaching for the light switch. I quickly jumped up, boxes falling around me jars in hand. I was only a few feet behind him. He was surprised, but recovered quickly.

I threw one jar. It glanced off the side of his head. I pelted the other. It hit dead center and shattered, covering him with an unidentified liquid that smelled like kerosene.

Doug screamed and covered his eyes, trying to protect them from the gas and blood pouring down his face. I pushed the hidden room's door shut while I had a small advantage and stomped on the lever, but not before I saw the room was filled with TVs showing videos of rooms in my house. I thought I saw another room off to one side, too, but I had no time to linger.

I raced upstairs, locked the basement door behind me, and started to run for the front door—I could escape. My hand was on the doorknob when I realized I was deserting Gabriel. I looked up the staircase, not hearing anything.

A voice in my head told me he was probably dead, I should get out and save myself, but my heart said otherwise. It said I had to at least check after all he had done for me. I owed him that.

"Shit," I muttered and climbed the stairs. I looked in my room first, but he wasn't there. I then looked in the master bedroom. The room was filled with candles, and he was bound and gagged in the center of the room, slumped over and facing away from me. I ran to him, worried I'd find him as I had in my dream.

I shook with relief when I got to him; though unconscious, he wasn't visibly hurt.

"Sorry," I said as I tore the tape off his mouth. This opened his eyes. I covered his mouth to keep him from yelling, and pressed a finger to my lips to indicate for him to be quiet, then removed my hand.

"We have to be quick. I don't know how long he'll be trapped."

"Who is that, your partner?" he spat at me.

"What?"

"You drugged me."

"We don't have time to argue. He'll be here soon."

"Who?"

"Doug."

The knots Doug had tied were tight and impossible for me to untie. I had nothing to cut him free with either. I frantically searched in the nightstand and produced a small pair of fingernail clippers— not what I was hoping for, but they'd would have to do. I started with cutting and sawing at the rope around his feet. It was slow going but I was getting somewhere. After a minute or two that seemed like an eternity, I made it through.

"Ella, you can talk and do this. What's happening?" Gabriel sat up and I started working on his hands.

"It's Doug. It's been Doug the whole time. I think he knew about the affair and it pushed him over the edge—and yeah, he is obsessed with me. He has the whole placed rigged with cameras—Shit! I forgot about the cameras. He knows exactly where we are. We have to hurry." I sawed even more vigorously. My hand burned from the friction, and I made progress but not enough.

The closet door flew open. There stood Doug, filling the doorway, looking like the devil himself. Gabriel stood up to defend us but looked completely useless without the use of his arms. I placed the clippers in his hands and stepped in front of him.

"I see you have chosen to be my scapegoat, Ella—I am disappointed. We'll see if you sing a different tune while you watch me gut your boyfriend."

"Doug, why are you doing this? You don't really want to hurt us. We haven't done anything to you."

"Oh, you're wrong—so wrong. I do want to do this. It's all I ever wanted to do. Every time I see a nice happy normal looking person walking down the street, all I desire is to make them hurt. I want to see blood trickling down their head and their pretty little faces twisted in pain."

"Why?"

"Why?" he laughed. "Why? Because I can. The cops are stupid and humans are natural victims. Who's going to stop me? Not you and your pretty little boyfriend. You can die knowing that you've been my very favorite. I played with you for years and honestly only recently got bored."

"You've only killed two people," I scoffed, desperate to keep him talking. "Hardly going to put you in the serial killer hall of fame now is it?"

"Wrong again. Do you know how easy it is to go into the city and pick out a random victim? A hooker, a bum, a tourist, a college girl—they're all within my grasp. I look just like them. They don't see me. Just like you never saw me." He was slowly and steadily advancing. I didn't have a plan, but I hoped one came to me in the next couple of seconds.

"I see you now, though."

"You do, don't you? Maybe I'll take one of your pretty eyes as a souvenir." He placed the tip of his knife against my cheek; I refused to let myself flinch away.

"Not if you plan on framing me for all of this. No one will ever believe I cut out my own eye." He tapped the blade against my cheek a couple times.

"Perhaps. Unless they can't tell that it's gone. I could place a gun shot wound right in the socket." He seemed pleased with himself. "Guilt's a bitch."

"Yeah ... so was your wife."

Doug chuckled at that and lowered his knife slightly. "I'll miss you," he said just as I felt Gabriel tap my back. His hands were finally free. I didn't break eye contact with Doug.

"Of course you will." I reached up gently as if I was going to stroke his face, but instead I stomped on his instep and dropped to the floor, making no effort to slow my fall or catch myself, trying to get out of the way as soon as possible. As I dropped, Gabriel caught him with a front hook. Doug slashed out wildly as he stumbled backwards. Blood started gushed from Gabriel's forearm. Everything happened in slow motion.

Doug swayed but would soon have his bearing and come back at us. Gabriel grabbed his arm; blood spurted between his fingers. I reached up to the nightstand and grabbed the first thing I touched to use as a weapon: a candle.

Doug charged at Gabriel, his knife aimed at Gabriel's chest. I threw the candle and the hot wax as a last valiant effort. A small blue flame sprang to life across Doug's face. He screamed and dropped the knife, reaching for his face. That only made the fire spread to his hands. The fire grew quickly, orange and yellow flames licking his skin. His screams were deafening as he fell to the bed, the sheets and bedding immediately catching fire.

I crawled up from the floor and away from the fire, but stood and watched as Doug writhed and twisted on the bed, unable to rip my attention from the horrific scene. The smell made my eyes water and I started to choke on the smoke. Gabriel pulled me from the room and we hobbled from the house. Gabriel called 911 from his car radio as I watched the fire lick at the windows on the second floor.

#  Chapter Fifteen

Entranced by the flames, I stood transfixed in the moments it took the police, fire department and ambulance to arrive at my house. Gabriel and I didn't speak; we barely looked at each other. We both watched the house in shock, numb to everything that happened because it didn't seem real.

Soon the sirens were wailing behind us and people were running about, ushering us from the car back to the street. Neighbors came out of their houses to stand and watch as well. Everyone else was frantic, barking out orders; we stood still and silent. I saw a paramedic speaking to me.

"Ma'am, have you been injured?" The words were having problems registering in my mind. I repeated them in my head, but never came up with a response. He waved his hand in front of my face. "I think she's in shock," he said to someone else.

Minutes later a blanket descended around my shoulders and I was led to sit in the ambulance. I held the blanket closed with one hand. I watched the water dousing the fire. Soon the flames were no longer flashing in the window. Everything was dark and damp.

I looked for Gabriel. Somehow we were separated. I finally spotted him speaking to a police officer. A paramedic was headed in his direction. Gabriel glanced at me, then said something to the paramedic. Soon he was walking towards me.

"Ella," he said when he reached me. "Ella, can you hear me?" I made eye contact with him. "It's all over, Ella. It's over."

"It's over." I finally found my voice. People seemed to be moving at a more normal pace now. It was over—I'd never thought the day would come. I felt wetness roll down my face. "It's over," I repeated, getting used to the sound of the words.

"Doug is dead," Gabriel said quietly. He watched me, his face pale and tired, but not betraying what he was thinking.

I didn't notice the paramedic beside him until he spoke. "Sir, I need to look at your arm."

Gabriel held out the arm he'd been pressing a towel against. I had forgotten he was hurt. He never took his eyes off of me, though his jaw clenched in pain.

"I need to take you to the hospital," the paramedic told Gabriel, then directed his attention to me momentarily. "Ma'am, are you injured?"

"No," I said

"I would like you to come to the hospital to be checked out as well."

"I'm okay."

"It's procedure." He waved the first paramedic back over to me. With him came a police officer. I answered some questions and made an appointment to come to the station the following day to answer more questions. I was taken in a different ambulance than Gabriel. The ER doctor checked me out, declared two broken ribs, a minor cut on my hand, and I was in shock. Before I knew it I alone.

I got off my examination table and went looking for Gabriel. I needed to know how badly he was hurt. I eventually found him, arm bandaged, talking to some person I didn't recognize. I didn't walk into his curtained area. Instead I stood just outside, not sure what I should do. Part of me wanted to go in; part of me didn't want to intrude, afraid he would reject me, that whatever we had was gone. Eventually I decided I had enough for one night. I would talk to him later when I felt stronger.

"Ella Reynolds?" a nurse asked behind me, clipboard in hand.

I nodded. "Yes?"

"Dr. Percy said you can be released. I have some paperwork for you to fill out before you leave. Come with me."

"Ella," I heard Gabriel say behind me. I ignored him and followed the nurse. Not yet, I couldn't talk to him yet.

I finally finished all of the paperwork and gave several of the nurses' autographs. Then I walked out of the hospital and realized I had nowhere to go and no way to get there.

I laughed out loud at myself. I spent so long fighting against needing anyone—and now anyone was exactly what I needed. I went back into the hospital and called a cab. I found a hotel. I slept long and hard that night.

The next morning I couldn't believe it all wasn't a dream. It was really over. Danny, Susan, and Doug—all dead. I was the only one left. Obsession, lies, affairs, and murder—what can I say it was a modern friendship. I shook my head, not even amused by my own joke. I still couldn't believe it was over.

Because I couldn't go home and I needed some things, I went shopping. I bought myself clothes (the ones I was wearing reeked like smoke), a computer, and a few other essentials, then went back to my hotel room.

I sat at my new computer and began writing. The words flowed from me as if some mental dam had finally shattered. I wasn't sure if the writing was good, but it was from heart. Soon my alarm clock was going off, letting me know it was time to go to the police station to give my statement.

I met with Detective Harrison. He was an older portly man with a ruddy complexion and keen eyes, but seemed nice enough. He shook his head when I finished telling him what happened the night before. "It's simply amazing that someone could have done all that and pulled it off for so long."

"Well, I don't know how he did it. I'm just glad it's over."

"We found at least one camera in every room of your house. They all went to the monitors in the panic room in the basement. He streamed them from there to his computer at his house. And there are hidden passages all through the house—we found old blueprints hanging on the wall of the panic room, as well. It looks like Mr. Daniels knew the house better than anyone. I'd say a lot of people in this town probably owe you an apology."

"How did he do the other stuff? The doors and windows?"

"Well, he could've opened and shut them then escaped in the passage ways. We didn't find any that were wired in any way."

"Were there passages to every room?"

Detective Harrison shifted uneasily. "Most, not all. There wasn't one to the attic or bathrooms. We're pulling their phones records, but I imagine he was making the calls when he wasn't at your house. "

"But there were cameras?"

"Not in the attic."

I shook my head. That explained most of what happened, but not quite everything. "There were times when the windows or door would slam right in front of me, or all of them would crash shut at the same time."

The detective shrugged. "I don't know how he did it."

I was glad to finally have some answers, but they weren't as comforting as I'd hoped they'd be. "He's been doing this since I moved in?"

"Not quite. It looks like he starting recording from the surveillance cameras a few weeks after you moved in."

How could I ever be the same again? I still couldn't bring myself to terms with the knowledge that it was all over. Doug had killed Danny, his friend, Susan, his wife, all because he was obsessed with me. "And this was all because of me?" I said disgusted.

"May I give you some advice, Mrs. Reynolds?"

"I guess."

"I wouldn't think too much on what he said last night. I don't personally believe anything would've come from his obsession had his wife and your husband not had an affair. I believe this all had more to do with the betrayal than it had to do with you. If he had half the history he claimed he would have known better than to draw attention to himself by killing people directly connected to him. Don't let him win now, you stay tough."

"That's good advice, detective." I attempted to smile reassuringly, but failed.

The detective's smile was real. "Yes—and it was easier to give then it will be to follow." He shook my hand. "If you need anything, let me know. Where will you be staying?"

I told him the name of my hotel. "Did you find out anything about the other people he said he killed?"

"No. I called Chicago PD this morning and passed along the information. I haven't heard anything back yet. Who knows how much of what he said was the truth?"

"Thank you for your help."

"Take care of yourself, Mrs. Reynolds."

I nodded and started to leave. "How is Detective Troy?" I asked not turning around.

"You don't know? I figured..." He sounded genuinely shocked, then uncomfortable. "Um, he's in surgery this morning. You should visit. I'm sure he'd like to see you."

"Have a good day, Detective."

I walked out of the police station into a cloudy dreary day. I walked around, thinking about what the detective said and about the last few years of my life. Before I knew it I found myself at the hospital. I didn't let myself examine my reasons too much. I went to the front desk to find out where Gabriel was.

I took the elevator up to his floor and lingered in the hallway by his room, but I couldn't bring myself to go inside.

Walking back to my hotel room, I noticed even more people were staring at me now. Not in fear anymore, mostly sympathy. Part of me would've preferred that they were still scared. The sympathy in their eyes made it hard to keep from crying. I was still trying to hold it all in, but more and more I was losing the control I had.

Once back in my hotel room and behind my computer I was able to truly begin working through what happened. It wasn't without sadness, tears, or regret, but it was without fear.

#  Epilogue

"This is your last appointment, Ella. What would you like to talk about?"

"Nothing. I think I'm doing well."

"What are your plans?"

"I haven't made any firm decisions." I smiled at Dr. Carson and thought for a moment. "I'm taking one day at a time. I'm going to Hawaii for a couple weeks. I need to ... decompress. Then I'll come back and tie up all the loose ends here."

Dr. Carson smiled at me, pleased with my progress and her success. It actually didn't annoy me. I had come far since the battle with Doug and realized something very important... I wanted to live. At all costs, I wanted a life.

I found a new therapist who I didn't make me take medication or want to beat my head against the wall. She was just someone to talk to, someone to help me work through the trauma. I actually, sort of, liked her.

I saw Gabriel a few times, and didn't talk to him. I wasn't sure what he wanted from me or what I could give him. He had several surgeries on his arm to repair nerve damage and I faithfully went to the hospital after each one, though I didn't go into his room. I didn't want to be a painful reminder of what happened. I worried the trust we had was broken that day.

Dr. Carson and I said our final goodbyes. I smiled all the way to the lobby. Before I made it out the door, I was intercepted by Grant.

"Someone looks happy," he said.

"Weird, who?" I said feigning innocence.

He laughed. "Where are you headed?"

"I am going back to the house. I need to see it again."

"You haven't been back."

"No. Would you like to walk with me?"

"I would." We started outside. It was a beautiful fall day. The air was cool and smelled of leaves and winter quickly approaching.

"I had a dream about you," I told him

"Oh yeah, when?"

"The day I was attacked. Have you heard about that?"

"Who hasn't?"

"Yeah, yeah, the small town curse ... Anyway, in the dream, you told me to use what I know. It was good advice. I kept him talking and bought us time. Thank you."

"Glad I could help."

I looked at him. I knew it wasn't really him in my dream, but I still felt grateful to him. The little smile on Grant's face told me told me he was keeping something from me.

"Are you going somewhere?" he asked.

"Why do you ask?'

"Well, if I were you and just came through what you did, I'd definitely get away for a while. But you'll come back, right?" He sounded like he was looking for reassurance.

"Are you trying to get rid of me?" I smiled at him.

"Actually no, quite the opposite, I've grown accustomed having you around. You have, as they say, grown on me."

I frowned, not understanding. Grant always seemed used to having me around. "Yes, I am very similar to fungus that way."

Grant touched my face lightly. "I understand why he loved you."

"Who?"

"Daniel."

"Did you know Danny?"

"No, not really—but I should head back. I guess this is goodbye."

"Will we not see each other again?"

"I'll be around, but who knows what fate has in store for us. This life is unpredictable," he said with a wink, then added, "I really like Gabriel by the way."

I stood in shock and watched him go.

The rest of the way to the house, I thought about Grant.

I never felt like I was on steady ground after speaking with him. He either had incredible insight or excellent sources. How did he know the things he knew? Eventually my mind wandered to Danny. It was time to let go completely. I stopped by the cemetery to say my final goodbye. I walked to his grave and delicately brushed some leaves off the headstone.

"It's over." The words sounded strange to my ears. What was over? The investigation? My mourning? An era of my life? All of it seemed appropriate. "Despite everything... I have always loved you. Rest in peace, my love. I have to move on now, I know you understand."

I felt the sun warming my shoulders as if I had been cold for a long time. I sat next to his grave for a long while, remembering all the good times we had. I wanted those to be my last memories of him. What I had discovered didn't matter anymore, what mattered is that we loved each other in our own way. Even though it was imperfect, it was the best way we knew how.

I strolled the rest of the way home lost in a cloud of happy memories which no longer left me bitter. The house didn't look too bad considering what had happened. The fire damage was basically contained to the master bedroom. The house did, however, look dark and sad. It wasn't a house that was meant to be empty. I still hadn't decided if I would sell it or move back in. I hoped this visit would sway me one way or another. Mr. Sexton was standing in his yard working on his lawnmower and drinking beer. He looked up, as I walked towards the house.

"Hey girlie," he called out. "I thought you finally left. When are you sellin' it?"

"You couldn't afford it." I yelled back, hoping he wouldn't feel the need to come closer. Unfortunately he'd already started walking in my direction.

"The way I see it, you owe me for helping you. At least you can give me first bid on this house."

"But you didn't really help me, did you? You watched someone coming in and out of my house without ever telling me. You harassed me, terrorized me, and peeped through my windows. I don't owe you anything." I started to walk away.

Mr. Sexton shouted behind me, "You owe me!"

The house may have changed, but the neighbors were the same.

As I walked in, I could smell the smoke and moisture in the air. I hoped that when the contractor started rebuilding the room it would take care of some of that. I went through the house opening windows to help air her out. She was a tough old broad, this house, and I no longer felt uncomfortable with her. The police had removed all the cameras from the rooms and cleared out the monitors in the basement.

The house actually felt more like home now. I had so many memories here and while most of them were bad, I could now see definite potential for good ones too.

"Thought I might find you here." A familiar baritone voice came from behind me. I closed my eyes for a moment before I turned to see Gabriel in the doorway.

"How's the arm?" I asked my heart racing at the sight of him.

"Healing."

"That's good." I didn't know what to say to him. There was so much I should have said, so much I planned on saying, but everything vacated my mind as soon as my eyes fell on him. "I came by to visit you at the hospital a few times."

"That's what I hear—though it doesn't actually count as a visit if you don't come into the room, you know."

I didn't know how to explain the trepidation I had in regards to seeing him since that night. With each passing day it became harder and harder to make myself believe there was any hope for the two of us causing me to continue to put it off indefinitely. However, in all fairness he hadn't come to see me either. "I couldn't."

He nodded, his face unreadable. "So, that's it? We caught your husband's killer and now you're going to run away without saying a word to me? That's all it was to you? Were you using me?"

"That's not what happened."

He looked as uncomfortable as I felt. "You're avoiding me, Ella. I want to know where we stand."

I shook my head, amazed at his candor. "I intended to come and see you before I left. You're on my list. " I said pulling the piece of paper from my pocket and waving it at him. I had saved Gabriel and the house for last. "I was waiting until I knew what to say, but I still don't. I didn't use you.... Honestly, you weren't that useful." I joked because I didn't know what else to do. Then I studied my hands. Gabriel didn't come any closer to me. Finally I found some words. "Everything has changed. I need to learn to like and trust myself, before I can seriously like and trust someone else again. Everything I believed in was a lie, I'm still rebuilding from that."

Gabriel nodded, but didn't speak. I waved my hands nervously. "So I can't tell you where we stand because I don't know. I don't know what you expect from me or what I can give you. Right until this moment, I wasn't even sure you wanted anything to do with me. "

"I know you don't trust me, not completely—" I could see him about to protest, but I kept going, "There were times you doubted me... at the end."

"Weren't there times you doubted me?"

"Oh yes, all the time." I couldn't help but to smile, though it was with a wave of sadness. I was making a mess out of this conversation. That's why I wanted to avoid him until I had the perfect words, until I knew how to better explain myself. "What kind of relationship can we build out of death, doubt, and mistrust?"

Deep sadness registered on his face "You're leaving."

I thought about his statement for a moment, then corrected it. "No, I'm going on vacation."

"Afterwards?"

"I don't know. Anything's possible."

"Will you come back here?"

I took a long look around the room, at the house, my home.

"It would be hard to let it go," I said wistfully. I didn't make eye contact with Gabriel this time. Instead I walked past him to the staircase. He followed close behind.

"Do you think it's a good idea to go up there? The house has suffered a lot of damage."

I chuckled. "Haven't we all? And anyway, this house and I have finally come to an understanding."

"Does that mean you are staying here... at least for a while?"

"Anything is possible," I repeated with a smile over my shoulder. He didn't return it. "Why did you give me your business card that night?" I asked as I walked into the master bedroom.

"What?"

"You'd been to my house at least a three dozen times before that. Why did you stop that night to give me your card? What changed?" The room had a lot of damage. I didn't go in too far before I was stopped. Gabriel reached for my shoulder and turned me around.

"Every time I came to look at your house, you were worse not better. I expected you to turn around at some point and start pulling yourself together. I've been there before, though not to that degree—I figured you needed help. Something was keeping you from letting go, but I never believed you were crazy."

The expression on his face became determined "I want you to come back. We can start over, go out on real dates. No murder investigations, dead husbands, or ghosts overshadowing us will be a good start, right?"

"Murder, death and ghosts, you know exactly what a girl wants to hear." I laughed.

"I mean it, Ella. I'm serious. I don't know what's between us, but there's something and I'd like to give it a chance."

"Why me?"

"You're real. You wear your feelings on the outside, you say whatever is on your mind, and you make me laugh."

"And you always say exactly what I want to hear. You have no idea how much that scares the hell out of me." I paused for a moment, a million thoughts running through my head and a nervous little butterfly flapping in my stomach. "I want a normal life. Here is as good as anywhere."

He smiled at me looking relieved, which touched my heart and made the butterfly go insane. He leaned in. "I'm going to kiss you now," he warned, giving me a chance to pull away, but I met him. Our lips pressed together and the butterfly in my stomach went still, drowned by the warmth that spread throughout me. Gabriel leaned his forehead against mine for a moment before he let me go.

"What took you so long to get home? Wasn't your therapy over at one?"

"Why, yes it was, Detective. You'd think you do this for a living. I walked part way home with my friend, Grant, then I stopped by the cemetery and said some goodbyes."

"That reminds me—I forgot to tell you, I did some checking into this Grant character. There's no one at the hospital by that name, patient or doctor."

"You were checking up on Grant?"

"I still have my suspicions about him. That isn't really the point though. You know nothing about him. He isn't even who he says he is."

"Maybe Grant is his middle name."

"Maybe." A cool breeze came through the window and goose bumps appeared on my arms just before there was a crash in the closet. Gabriel and I looked at each other. Then without saying a word, we slowly made our way to the closet, staying close to the wall.

The rod across the top had fallen to the floor with all of the smoke damaged clothes. I pushed the clothes aside. Where the end had fallen, a floorboard was knocked loose and sitting at an angle. I knelt down and lifted it up. Under the floorboard was a little cubbyhole with a sack in it. I gently pulled out the sack. It was very old and very dusty. Inside the sack was a journal. Embossed on the journal was a name. The embossing had faded over the years but it looked like it said "Grant Reynolds."

I opened the journal. Its pages were filled with old hand writing that had faded over time. Pressed inside I found a tin photo of a face I knew very well. I flipped to the end of the diary. On the last page, in the same scrawled handwriting, but in fresh, bright ink it said, "Welcome to the family."

-The End-

#  Sneak Peek  
Dark Passing  
Book 2 Ella Reynolds Series

## Chapter One

"If I can make it through living in a haunted house with a deranged psychopath, I can make through a date," I muttered, staring at my computer screen.

I was out of excuses. The tan I picked up on my vacation had all but faded, the reconstruction of the house was done, and the book, thanks to being a hot news story, had been fast-tracked to release. Gabriel had the patience of Job. He accepted all of my excuses about why I couldn't go out with him, but never stopped trying. Finally, his persistence wore me down, despite my fear—not of him, exactly, but of how easy he made it for me to depend on him—and despite the fact it meant leaving the house. We'd arrived at an understanding, it and I.

A knock on the front door made my stomach drop. Yes, the ghostly noises had been on hiatus since the fire, but I still expected them—old habits and all that jazz. I took a deep breath and flipped the four heavy deadbolts, then tugged the door open to find a woman standing on the porch in jeans and a parka. Her wool hat was pulled down over her ears, and dark blonde hair peeked out from underneath.

"Can I help you?" I asked.

"Are you Ella Reynolds, the author?"

I froze for a second, scenes from _Misery_ flashing in my head. _Good God, please don't let her be my biggest fan_. I frowned and nodded, prepared to slam the door if need be. I fingered the phone in my pocket, ready to speed-dial Gabriel.

"I need your help," she said, her voice so low I thought maybe I misheard.

My head shook, but curiosity and her crestfallen face got the better of me. Obviously it wasn't a flat tire. "With what?"

Her dull eyes didn't manage to reach mine. Every word she spoke seemed like an effort. "I want you to write her story."

I bit my lip and considered how to respond. She'd clearly lost someone, but why would she think I'd want to write about it? _Damn my curiosity._ "Whose story?"

"My daughter's."

Family drama—I wanted nothing to do with it. I began to shut the door. "Sorry, I write fiction."

" _Dark Corners_ wasn't fiction." Desperation thickened the air between us and stayed my hand.

"That was different—"

"Please, just hear me out before you say no." She pleaded. "It's your kind of story, I promise."

My kind of story? Had to be murder, poor woman. I sighed and invited her in. Her sallow, sagging skin, puffy, dark-ringed eyes, and beaten down tone of voice were all too familiar. Just a short while ago I was her.

I opened the screen door and she stepped through, unzipping her coat and tugging off her gloves. "Thank you."

I ignored the voice in my head that said this was a bad idea. I already knew I shouldn't get involved, but anticipation made my heart quicken and life spark inside of me. Even the house seemed to come alive, the air crackling with energy. Maybe it fed on misery. "You want coffee?"

"Do you have anything stronger?"

I gave her a sympathetic smile. "No, not anymore. The coffee is strong and warm, though. It'll help." I beckoned her to follow me into the kitchen.

She took a seat at the table, slipping her coat over the back of the chair. I went around the island and pulled two mugs from the cabinet. While pouring the coffee, my eyes drifted to that infamous spot on the wall. Hot liquid scalded my hand and startled me back to what I was doing. I hissed out a breath, cleaned up the mess I made, and brought two steaming cups to the table.

"So what happened to your daughter?" I asked, sitting down across from her.

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "It was in the news a lot in the spring..." I waited for her to explain, but she didn't begin speaking again.

_Please don't cry. Please don't cry._ I eyed her cautiously, not wanting a hysterical person in my kitchen, but worried if I didn't prompt her we'd never get to the point. "I wasn't watching a lot television in the spring. Hell, I wasn't doing a lot of anything in the spring besides sulking and drinking."

She nodded and continued with a cracked voice. "She was killed. The police never caught who did it. She was driving home from her boyfriend Bryan's house, and I was speaking with her on the phone. We lost connection, but that wasn't unusual. There are a lot of dead zones on the way to my house—I live on a farm."

I cringed at the phrase "dead zone" and took a big mouthful of coffee, trying to ignore the bad feeling growing in my stomach

"After twenty minutes, I began to worry. She should've been home. I waited ten more minutes and tried to call her, but when the phone went directly to voicemail, I got in my car and went looking for her. I didn't see her or her car anywhere between my house and Bryan's. He confirmed the time she left, so I called the police. She was nineteen. They wouldn't let me file a missing person's report for twenty-four hours. Four days later, a farmer found her car on fire in his field ten miles away. Her body was stuffed into the trunk—mutilated so badly she had to be identified by dental records."

I stared at the kitchen wall again. All too easily, I recalled the smell of Danny's blood and the horror of finding him. I hadn't thought about this stuff in months. I shook my head, refusing to let it weigh on me. "Who did the police suspect?"

"I don't know if they ever had a suspect. They talked to me and to Bryan, but neither of us did it. We loved Mary." A tear rolled down her cheek, and she wrapped her hands around her mug, but didn't take a sip.

"I don't know what you think I can do. It's a very intriguing story, but I don't write true crime. I wouldn't even know where to start. My husband's murder was an exception—it was my life." I knew if anyone could grasp what I meant it would be her. People who had never experienced a life-altering tragedy couldn't grasp how one single event could define everything else, but it could.

"Please. She read all of your books. She was majoring in English and wanted to be a writer like you. I know you can help. If you don't, her death will be brushed under the rug and her killer will get away. Please, Ms. Reynolds."

I shook my head. "I'm sorry—"

"Don't let her be forgotten. Even if you just write about her and never investigate, it will drum up interest in the case again. They aren't even trying anymore. Please."

I couldn't say no again, not looking at her and listening to her beg a stranger to help. I nodded slowly, not knowing what else to do. "Let me think about it. What's your daughter's last name? What's your name? Is there a number where I can reach you?"

She introduced herself as Jennifer Nelson and wrote down her phone number, thanking me and crying profusely. I got her a tissue and walked her to the door. "I'm not making any promises. I'm only thinking about it, you understand?"

"Yes." She nodded, but from the hopeful tilt of her lips I had my doubts.

I locked the door behind her. Could I handle immersing myself in another murder investigation? I wasn't sure. I'd worked through most of my issues and was better now, but that didn't mean I wanted to test myself. Lost in thought, I went back to the kitchen. The coffee cups were in sink rather than on the table where I left them.

"Grant?" I asked the still, static-charged air around me.

The room hummed with promise and cooled significantly, but nothing happened. I hoped whatever had awakened in my house with Jennifer's visit was Grant and not something darker.

"Should I take the case?" I asked.

A tingling sensation like ice brushing against my arm froze me in place, but a moment later everything was gone and back to normal. I went to my office, shaking my head. One mention of murder and I was already acting like a crazy person again.

#  About the Author

Many authors claim to have known their calling from a young age. Liz Schulte, however, didn't always want to be an author. In fact, she had no clue. Liz wanted to be a veterinarian, then she wanted to be a lawyer, then she wanted to be a criminal profiler. In a valiant effort to keep from becoming Walter Mitty, Liz put pen to paper and began writing her first novel. It was at that moment she realized this is what she was meant to do. As a scribe she could be all of those things and so much more.

When Liz isn't writing or on social networks she is inflicting movie quotes and trivia on people, reading, traveling, and hanging out with friends and family. Liz is a Midwest girl through and through, though she would be perfectly happy never having to shovel her driveway again. She has a love for all things spooky, supernatural, and snarky. Her favorite authors range from Edgar Allen Poe to Joseph Heller to Jane Austen to Jim Butcher and everything in between.

#  Books by Liz Schulte:

_Secrets_ (Guardian Trilogy Book 1)

_Choices_ (Guardian Trilogy Book 2)

_Consequences_ (Guardian Trilogy Book 3)

_Dark Corners_ (Ella Reynolds Series Book 1)

_Dark Passing_ (Ella Reynolds Series Book 2)

_Dark Obsession_ (Ella Reynolds Series Book 3)

The Ninth Floor

_Easy Bake Coven_ (Easy Bake Coven Series Book 1)

_Hungry, Hungry, Hoodoo_ (Easy Bake Coven Series Book 2)

_Pickup Styx_ (Easy Bake Coven Series Book 3)

_Tiddly Jinx_ (East Bake Coven Series Book 4)

_Ollie, Ollie Hex n' Free_ (Easy Bake Coven Book 5)

_Ember_ (Jinn Trilogy Book 1)

_Inferno_ (Jinn Trilogy Book 2)

_Vestige_ (Jinn Trilogy Book 3)

Learn more about Liz and her books at www.lizshulte.com,

like her on Facebook,

or follow her on Twitter
