Page 19 of Under His Protection

Stay strong, Ava.

My voice is cold. Still, it trembles. “Yes, Alexander. You’ve lost me, and you know what? I’m starting to think that’s a good thing.”

My words hit him hard; I can feel it through the phone. But inside, I feel something else, a longing that wants to unravel my carefully constructed wall of anger. I want to run to him, to tell him to come over, to hold me in the cold night, to whisper words into my ear, to be wrapped in his arms, to shelter me and protect me.

Instead, I hang up.

Chapter 8

The Shadow of Truth

Alexander’s text messages explode in my mind, a grenade of guilt and anger that keeps me wide awake.

‘I’m a monster, Ava’

‘I was involved in so much more, things I don’t want to talk about.’

I’m not sure what’s worse, the knowledge that the man I loved was driving the car that night my parents died or the fact that he’s never told me. It’s time to dig, to uncover the truth. I need closure. I need answers. I need to understand what happened that night to move on finally.

The city outside my window is a blurry, restless night, fitting me perfectly. For weeks, I’ve been trying to push it all down, to bury the knowledge of the accident, the memory of my parents’ deaths. But Alexander’s words and the way he’s been acting have all made me realize I can’t run from this anymore. It’s time to dig. It’s time to confront the truth.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, opening a new tab and searching for the accident report. Alexander’s version—a tragic accident, a freak of fate—doesn’t add up. The conflicting reports and one eyewitness account that don’t match his story make me wonder if someone’s trying to hide something. It feels like the pieces of a puzzle, all pointing to a truth hidden in plain sight.

My fingers fly across the keyboard, digging into the details of the accident report. I can’t seem to escape the feeling that someone is trying to pull the wool over my eyes.

I open a new tab, searching for “car accident reconstruction software.” My design skills are more about color and texture than physics, but I have a knack for visual problem-solving. Maybe that will help me see what others missed.

Within minutes, I’m staring at a virtual world, a bleak digital landscape based on the accident report. I study the road’s layout, the car’s position, and the impact’s trajectory. It’s all there: the mangled metal, the shattered glass, a grim reminder of that fateful night.

I zoom in on the details, analyzing the tire tracks, the debris, and the skid marks. My hands shake as I move the car, changing its speed, angle, and path. Then I add another car. And that’s when I see it.

There’s a detail, a small detail, that keeps pulling at me. The impact point of the car. It’s slightly off. It’s not aligned with how Alexander described the accident, saying he lost control of the vehicle. It’s almost as if the car was swerving as if someone was trying to avoid something, to get away from something.

I move the digital model, trying to get it to match the eyewitness account. The feeling of unease settles in my stomach, a suspicion that this wasn’t just an accident.

I tell myself it’s a mistake. I tell myself I’m overthinking things. But the doubt and suspicion are growing stronger with each passing minute. The image of the car crash—it all comes back to me, a painful phantom sensation.

I close my eyes, trying to shut out the images, but the truth feels like it’s right there, just beyond the edge of my vision. I can’t ignore it anymore. There’s more to this story.

The sharp rap on my door makes me flinch. The clock flashes red—almost midnight. Who the hell is knocking at this hour?

The city outside is a bland mix of sirens and honking horns, but this is a different kind of noise, one that makes my pulse jump.

I open my kitchen drawer and take out a knife. The sleek, silver blade gleams in the dim hallway light. It's not a weapon I'm comfortable using, but it feels good in my hand, cold and solid. I'm not a fighter, but I'm not entirely helpless either.

The knock comes again, softer this time, more insistent. I take a deep breath, trying to ignore the tightness in my shoulders.

I look through the peephole, and the familiar view of my hallway feels distorted, like a scene from a dream. Can it be? I let out a breath as I unlock the door and crack it open. My body tenses, and I gasp in shock as I stumble back.

“You’re—” I start to say, but the words die in my throat.

Standing in the doorway is a pale, fragile woman with dark long hair drawn back in a high ponytail. Her eyes are blue, glacial blue. The woman before me is Alexander’s sister, a perfect match for the photos I’ve seen. Her features are familiar, and she looks like a copy of her brother. My breath catches in my throat, and my heart hammers against my ribs. The world feels unreal for a moment as if I’ve stepped into a scene from a forgotten dream.

“I’m Michelle, yeah,” she says in a raspy voice. “Now let me in—please.”

Chapter 9

The Return

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