Page 28 of Fallen Princess: Shadow Stalker

Suddenly, the mobile in her hands buzzes, and we watch her answer it while she remains guarding the door.

“They’re here,” she says, and my heart skips a beat almost sure that’s Eden at the end of the line.

“It’s not a good idea,” she tells the caller.

The corners of her lips are turned downwards, creating a faint, disapproving frown. Whatever instructions she’s getting, she disagrees with them.

After a couple more brief words, the call ends, and she hesitates as she eyes each of us momentarily. The silence around this ranch is deafening, and I feel like I’m in one of those western showdowns where Catalina is about to get some shotgun and threaten us off the property.

“Eden is on her way,” she mutters bitterly and walks back into the house, leaving the door open.

“I’m taking that as an invitation for us,” Callum says, hops up a few stairs to the front porch, and enters the house.

We follow inside and the cool a/c air hits us almost immediately. I’m the last in and shut the door behind me.

Curiosity gets the better of us as we look around Eden’s home’s interior. It’s not a massive building, but it’s much more of a home than the one she lived in back in LA, and I’m almost sure she had a hand in the design of this place.

I have to admire the interior that seamlessly blends contemporary design with inspiration drawn from the surrounding landscape. Earthy tones, terracottas, and muted grey evoke the natural hues of the desert.

Large windows allow an abundance of natural light to flood the space, providing panoramic views of the vast desert landscape. The architecture embraces open-concept living, creating a sense of fluidity and connection with the outside environment.

The furniture is minimalist and functional, with clean lines and neutral upholstery that complements the overall aesthetic. A comfortable sectional sofa faces a sleek fireplace in the living area, providing a cozy spot to unwind.

A centrally placed worn black leather armchair sits beneath a large window framing the desert landscape, which seems almost out of place until I notice the guitar, the scattered music sheets, and the leather-bound journals.

My interest is piqued, and I quietly move toward the chair and flip open one of the tattered leather journals. The pages are also worn and creased as if the user constantly uses them as a reference. I casually turn the pages, realizing these aren’t poems but music lyrics. One, in particular, catches my attention because it’s been scratched through and changed several times in different pen colors, as if this particular song is one that Eden seems dissatisfied with the most.

Your memory lingers like a ghost, bittersweet.

Guitar strings weep in the pouring rain,

Lost love echoes through the windowpane.

We danced on the edge of a fleeting dream,

But shadows crept in, tore at the seam.

Promises shattered like glass on the floor,

Now I'm drowning in the pain; can't take it no more.

Screaming out the pain, setting the sorrow free.

Guitar wails, drums beat like a broken heart,

We were a masterpiece, now we're torn apart.

Fuckin’ell, if that ain’t from Eddie’s deep heart, then I don’t know what is.

Dammit, I can’t believe I’ve just used the nickname we all use to call her. Time seems to momentarily freeze, and my heart quickens its pace. In just a split second, I find myself transportedback to a time when our connection was vibrant and filled with shared laughter and affection.

I need to be careful and remind myself there’s no going back there. This visit is purely business. But how the realistic fuck are we going to do this? We fell in love with Eden’s music before we did with her.

Or was it the other way around?

Maybe at the same time.

But reading these lyrics in this journal reminds me of the power of her ability to draw one in with her songs.

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