Page 5 of A Shadow of Betrayal

“Fucking hell, if you die before I get answers, I swear to God I will hunt you down in the afterlife,” I manage to sputter out as my hand tightens on the door handle and I mentally brace myself to go out in this storm again. The odds are that the monster… no, the Demon that had attacked me earlier will still be out there somewhere, and I really don't want to have a repeat performance of our little encounter. But before I can find the courage to open the door, a low howl breaks through the air, and I dart my panicked eyes to the window next to the door.

Suddenly the night stills, the rain no longer pounding against the cabin as another howl sounds, echoing into the living room, making the walls shake with its intensity.

“Shit! Meyer, get out of the way,” Creed yells, trying to push himself up on his elbow but crumpling to his side when his arms give out. I move to heed his warning, the desperation in his eyes enough for me not to question his command, but it’s already too late.

The front door explodes in on itself, sending me flying back across the room before hitting the wall, my head cracking back against the wood so hard that my vision goes fuzzy.

“No, don't!” Creed shouts, his voice strained with pain, making me want to go to him and make sure he’s safe, but my body refuses to listen to my commands. I fall to the ground, the hazy image of a man and a monster crossing the threshold of my house the last thing I see before everything goes black.

FOUR

Meyer

I wake to the alarm blaring on my phone, telling me it’s five in the morning and time to get up and ready for the day. Moaning, I grab my phone and dismiss the alarm before snuggling back into my bed's soft, warm blankets, enjoying the scent of winter air and citrus that plays on my senses. The thought of leaving my cocoon of warmth and getting ready to open the diner has me physically ill, and my head pounds with a migraine from hell.

Wincing, I slowly sit up, pressing my hand to my temple, and find a large bump on the side of my head that makes me pause in shock.

What the hell?

Memories from the night before rush through me, and I gasp, springing from my bed in alarm. My legs sway beneath me, and I almost pitch forward onto my face as the room spins, making my stomach turn.

What happened last night, and how did I end up in bed? I look down and frown, finding myself wearing my comfy pair of black and gray flannel pajamas.

“I didn't put these on,” I whisper, keeping one hand pressed to my aching head and steadying myself on the nightstand with the other so I don't tip over. I slowly dig through my memories, trying to find a tiny inkling of how I got into my bed, dressed in different clothes, but I’m drawing a blank.

“Creed,” I mutter, panic swelling in my chest as I stagger through my room, almost killing myself on the narrow, rickety stairs that lead from my bedroom to the lower level of the house. I remember finding him out in the storm and the monster that attacked me but eventually ran off, somehow leaving us alive. Flashes of me dragging Creed into the cabin spring to mind, and his moans of pain when I tried to stop all the bleeding.

His wounds were fatal, and I remember being sure he would die if I didn’t get him help… which I never was able to do because the front door had exploded and—dammit!

That’s all I remember!

“Please don’t let there be a dead man in my living room,” I mutter. When I finally reach the bottom, I flick on the light, casting a warm glow over the still-dark room. Unfortunately, the sun has yet to rise, and the room holds a chill that has me shivering.

My eyes instantly go to where Creed had been lying only hours ago, but the spot where he was bleeding out is completely empty. No wounded or dead man in sight. “How?” I whisper as I slowly move over to where there should be at least a bloodstain or something on the floor. The wood there is old and desperately needs a new coat of sealant, and with the amount of blood coming from Creed's wounds, it would have easily left a stain… but there is nothing there.

The room is still and almost peaceful as I look for any sign of life. I pause my perusal of the space when my gaze settles on my front door, the fragments of my memory slowly catching up with me.

The door had exploded! I know it did.

The force of it had taken me off my feet and thrown me across the room!

“What the hell?” I grind out, eyeing my undamaged door while threading my hands through my silky smooth blonde hair, which I could have sworn was tangled last night.

Am I really going crazy?

I don't know if I’m angry, frustrated, or scared at this point. Looking around the room, I let my hands fall from my hair and shake my head in shock. Had I imagined the whole thing? Maybe the beer I had before bed had gone bad or something. Or maybe I had a dream? The ones that like to haunt me and keep me up at night?

My dad always hated my overactive imagination and couldn't stand when I had my dreams, or rather, night terrors; but I haven’t had a nightmare like this since before Grandpa died. A small meow to my right has me screaming in fright and jumping in the air comically as Milo makes his way toward me from the kitchen, his unimpressed blue eyes taking me in for a brief moment before he walks over to the stairs and bounds up them. I already know he's heading for my bed so he can nap in the still warm sheets like a spoiled princess.

“Dang, my head hurts,” I moan, bringing my hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. “I need to shower, then go to work,” I muse out loud, looking around the small room and back to the front door.

My eyes find the small ticking clock on the other side of the room, and I curse. Rushing upstairs, I quickly shed my pajamas and jump into the shower, not bothering to wash my hair since it's somehow clean and smells like a damn bouquet of roses. I scrub my skin until it's almost raw, hoping I can wash away the memories of the night before, then jump out and don the ugly blue dress and white apron with ‘Max and Mag's Diner’ stitched into the pocket above my right breast.

Grabbing a brush on my way out of my room, I yank it through my hair and rush downstairs. I glare at my phone lying on the side table next to the door, wishing I had plugged it in because now it's more than likely going to die before I get off shift. Pocketing my phone, I throw my hair up into a lopsided messy bun on the top of my head and toe on my shoes before snatching the thin jacket off the coat rack.

I hesitate only a moment before rushing into the kitchen and studying the blades that I'd left there. Quickly, I rack my memory, trying to remember the number of blades that I had left out after target practice from the day before yesterday. I could have sworn there’d been five of them, but there are only four blades gleaming back at me.

I growl under my breath because no matter the number, there shouldn't be a single blade on the damn counter if what happened last night had actually taken place. I know I grabbed all the blades before I went outside to help Creed and never returned them; yet here they lie.

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