Page 99 of Indigo Sky

“And my therapist warned me that obsessively checking up on the person who hurt me would prevent me from moving forward. So, while he was in prison, I never even Googled his name. I just … pretended he didn’t exist.”

“Makes sense to me.”

“Yeah, but after he was released, IdidGoogle him. I told myself it would just be once, just to know what he was up to, where he was going—that kinda thing. But it wasn’t once. I mean, I’m not completelyobsessiveabout it. Before all of this happened, I’d look him up once or twice a month, if that, but lately, it’s been … a lot.”

I nodded. “Well, given the circumstances, I think that’s understandable.”

“But …”

She hesitated, and I turned to glance at her. She clamped her lip between her teeth, worried in thought.

“What?” I asked, looking back at the road as I followed the directions to her dad’s house.

“Iknowit’s not him,” she finally said.

“But youdon’tknow,” I argued gently.

“No,” she snapped. “I do. That’s what I’m telling you. Iknowit’s not. But I wish it were because I feel like … it wouldn’t be new. It wouldn’t beunknown. But this is, and I’m more scared now than I ever was back then.”

My knuckles blanched as my fists clenched around the steering wheel. Hearing her helpless fear, enunciated in every word, was worse than seeing her cry. The primal need to protect and defend was alive in my bones, but she was right. Not knowing who or what we were fighting against made it impossible to do anything to make it stop. It would only continue until … what?

No. I didn’t want to think about it.

“Let’s just get you home, okay?” I said after moments of thinking too much. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Buthow? How can we figure it out if we don’t—"

“This is where you live?” I asked, cutting her off as I pulled up to a gated condominium complex, my heart pounding quicker by the second.

She nodded and said, “Yeah,” and then gave me the access code to raise the same gate I’d slipped through with Nate years ago.

The memory of following him into that townhouse gripped my gut. I was nauseous, certain I would vomit just as I’d thought I would back then, as we rolled slowly through the one-lane streets. If I had to guess, there were about sixty, seventy units in this community. It wasn’t likely she lived anywherenearthe one Nate had broken into, but I couldn’t do anything to control the dryness in my mouth or the thumping in my ears.

“Okay, right over there,” she said, pointing toward one unit, identical to all the others.

I pulled up to the curb outside what I assumed was her father’s house. There was one car in the driveway lined with budding daisies.

Daisies. There were daisies.

I glanced at the unit beside it, and the next, and the next, and every single one haddaisies.

“Rev?”

Chills scattered across my skin as I glanced at Kate, her hand frozen at the seat belt buckle. She was watching me with worry burning bright in her eyes.

“Are you okay? You just got really pale.”

I swallowed and tried to wet my mouth, wishing I had some water. “Yeah, no, I’m good,” I answered when I very much wasn’t.

She wasn’t convinced—I could tell—but she relented. We unbuckled and climbed out of my mother’s car. I looked around,searching for anything to trigger another memory other than the damn daisies, but every single one of these houses looked like the last. Nothing but the occasional bird feeder or wind chime was used to make each one look less identical to the others. It was dizzying, and every warning bell in my brain told me to leave.

“We’re this one right here,” Kate said, digging her key from her purse. “That’s my dad’s nurse’s car.” She gestured toward the driveway.

“Where’s your car?” I asked, my attention focused on the house number.

Fourteen. Fourteen, fourteen, fourteen … does that sound familiar?

Why can’t I remember the house number?

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