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
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sloane
I promised myself I’d never step foot in Willows Lake for as long as I lived. Yet diesel fumes filled my nose as the coach bus roared away into the night. I squinted up at the bright lights of the gas station that served as the town bus stop. I tightened my grip on my backpack and touched my pocket, crinkling the paper hidden inside. It had become a compulsive habit ever since I received the letter several days ago, calling me back to the place that served as the setting for most of my nightmares.
The two men that I shared the final stretch of my journey with had already left. One of them got into a car seconds after we arrived and the other was on his way to the motel across the street.
My stomach growled. The last time I ate was five hours ago at the bus station. A vending-machine meal of trail mix and a soda.
My phone chirped from my back pocket.
A text lit up the screen, R U there yet?
Amber. A quick companion at my newest school in Manhattan. She was the resident cynic and had just lost her clique after stealing her new boyfriend, Paul, from her best friend. I wasn’t picky when it came to friends. I usually had at least one in the short stretches of time before Dad and I picked up and left for another location, which was good enough for me.
I typed a response. Have officially arrived in Hicksville, USA.
Keep me updated!
I checked the other text that had come in when I arrived. It was from Dad. Just landed. Have fun with Amber. Don’t stay up too late. Love you. Quick and to the point. That was Dad. He felt bad enough leaving me for days at a time, enough that for a while he’d bring me home gifts from airports around the world. But having a pilot for a dad wasn’t that bad. I rarely broke the rules, given that there weren’t many. The main rule being that I let him know where I am when I’m not home. It was a simple one.
Until I got the letter.
It had been Amber who convinced me to come to Willows Lake. I told her I had family history in the sleepy town in upstate New York. It wasn’t a complete lie, yet made me feel bad enough.
“You saved me from torture the past few months. The least I can do is lie to your dad,” she’d said.
The letter opened up old feelings for me that I’d locked away a long time ago. The real truth I’d searched for until Dad sent me to several doctors at a high cost to our family and bank accounts. After finding several past-due bills, I knew I had to figure something out. Eventually I said whatever they needed me to say to officially “get over” her death.
Something wet splashed across my cheek. I looked up at the thick clouds as more rain peppered my face. I looked both ways before crossing, not that there was another car in sight but the ritual had been burned into my brain by my mom from a very young age. I hustled across the street to the diner next to the motel. A fluorescent sign for “Willows Lake Diner” called to me.
I checked the gold watch on my wrist; it had been Mom’s. Other than in the shower, I never took it off.
A memory of the accident crept into my mind. This time I allowed it to linger. Mom was the reason I was here. The last time she came to Willows Lake, she returned in a body bag. A car accident with one casualty and one survivor.
More than once I’d wished she’d been the one to survive instead of me.
I clenched my jaw, shoving the memories down. I inhaled the cool, crisp air, allowing my lungs to fill to capacity. The burn gave me something to think about other than her. Thinking of Mom always made my mind spiral. Soon I’d know more, then the nightmares and questions would end and I might finally be at peace.
I opened the door to the diner. The scent of burnt coffee and mouth-watering bacon filled my nose. The windowed walls were lined with red booths sitting on black and white checkered tile. Although it was much cleaner than any of the dozens I’d been to at home, I imagined there weren’t too many patrons coming through. A punk couple sat in the corner booth, their black-liner eyes boring into one another’s. And one old man sat in the middle booth reading a newspaper. A rock song poured through the open window behind the counter. I held the door open for a guy throwing his hood over his head before heading out into the night.
“Are you going to just stand there and let the rain in?”
I glanced at the older woman who stood in front of me, hand on her hip and lipstick stains on her front teeth. She cracked her gum and raised one pencil-thin eyebrow. Her white, curly hair was pulled back from her face in a mess, reminding me of the fluffy bichon frise that lived next door.
I pulled off my hood and I let the door go. The bell above tinkled as it closed.
“Just one?” she asked.
I glanced behind me at the empty space and turned back to her. “Yeah.”
She pursed her lips, pulled a menu from the hostess stand, and walked to the closest booth. I tilted my head down, letting my hair move over my face like a curtain. I wanted to keep the lowest profile I could. I slid into the seat, my back facing the door.
She
