Over and over in the phone, she repeats, “Oh my God, oh my God. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.”
“Lilac.” My voice is sharp, trying to pull her from the panic so I can figure out what’s going on. “What happened?”
“Coraline, I—” she stutters. Fear has shoved its hand down her throat and strangled her vocal cords. “The news. Turn on the news.”
My confusion mingles with concern. I remind myself to breathe, focus on every inhale and exhale from my lungs. When I find the television remote, it slips from my sweaty palms, clattering to the floor.
Somehow, the power button gets pressed in the process, and the screen illuminates. The random news station that appears must have taken over every channel, the emergency broadcast spanning across all local channels.
The news anchor’s voice demands my attention as I try to take everything they say in. Their voices add to the chaos that swirls inside of me. Turmoil, bones, and teeth. The grave of my trauma being dug up with abandon.
“Coraline! Cora! Are you okay? Where are you? I’m on the way…”
Very faintly, I hear Lilac’s voice as my phone tumbles to the ground. My weight becomes too heavy for my knees to carry as my feet stumble forward. One hand shoots out, slamming onto one desk as I struggle to hold myself up, trying not to collapse onto the floor, to keep myself standing.
I knew that text message wasn’t a prank or some fluke. I should’ve trusted my instincts. Should’ve got me and Lilac out of here sooner.
A red-tinted screen appears in front of me. A singular mug shot sits to the left, depicting a face I know by memory. The smell of Old Spice wafts up my nose, dizzying nausea causing my body to sway.
“Breaking news. An inmate has escaped Rimond Penitentiary just last night. We are told the prisoner is Stephen Sinclair, arrested just a little over two years ago for his involvement in a national sex trafficking organization. Law enforcement considers this man armed and dangerous.”
A sick part of me is relieved. The waiting game is finally over. It was never an if, always a when. The moment I stepped foot from that basement, he’s been trying to find his way back to me.
I’ve been living on the edge of my seat, just waiting with bated breath for my boogeyman to return.
Stephen’s face appears on the screen again. My chest cracks open, and I feel the floodgates open.
I told them. I told all of them. Screamed it for days.
I was his Circe, and Stephen Sinclair would always come back for me.
Book made for [email protected]
SEVEN
SHADOWS FALLING
SILAS
The howlingbreeze whips across my face as I make my way across the barely there path overrun with shrubs and trees. The smell of salt clings to the air, and as I come upon the mouth of the trail, I can see the long stretch of land that fades into the sky’s horizon.
Three silhouettes outline the darkening sky.
The Peak towers over the rugged Oregon Coast, shadowing Black Sands Cove, a beach only locals know about. I can hear the crashing waves against the jagged rocks, and that sound alone brings on memories.
My feet haven’t felt this specific piece of ground since we all parted ways. The Peak is secluded, secret, ours. It’s where we grew up, went our separate ways, and now it’s where we are reunited.
From the moment we found this place, it’d become ours.
Wind howls, echoing from the seaside town we’d called home for far too long. This was our breaking point. We were done living in a place overrun with treachery and secrets lurking around every single cobblestone corner.
The sun slowly sets, disappearing behind a blanket of clouds as I walk further toward the edge of the cliff.
“Welcome home,” I greet the three of them, my voice caught by the wind.
Rook turns to look at me, his light brown hair peeking out from the backward flat bill. He has a grin on his face as he pulls me into a tight hug, as if this is the first time we’ve seen each other since they’ve gotten back. But it’s Rook, and sometimes, you’ve just got to let him do what he wants.
Smoke. He has always smelled like smoke.