Page 1 of Dead By Dusk

1

Prologue

There isn’t much to talk about, though I wonder if that’s when there is most to be said. In the midst of confusion and questions, wouldn’t that be when you desire your voice to be heard? To demand answers, to speak unknown truths, to beg someone to tell you who or when or what you are? I know that I wish to speak, though silence is where one must dwell to truly understand the way life slips through our fingers and secrets escape our minds, crawling into the deepest crevices of our souls until we’re completely made of them.

And right now, that’s what we all are.

Secrets, waiting to escape completely until not even time remembers they had ever existed.

2

Our Little Secret: Silene

Cold, hard floor against warm skin. That’s the first thing I feel as my eyes flutter open. I inhale deeply, and the smell of bleach instantly invades my senses. My body is awkwardly propped against something hard. I blink rapidly through bleary confusion and bolt upright. The swift movement sends a deep, dull ache through my neck. I massage the tender muscles and hope it’ll stop feeling like I slept on it wrong for five years, eight months and twenty days.

No such luck.

Instead, the pain worsens, sharp needles shooting into my skull, quickly followed by a pulsing, throbbing ache. Wincing, I glance around the unfamiliar room, trying to get a feel for where I am and what condition I’m in. My eyes dart to the floor. Dark hardwood.A kitchen?I turn my head to scan behind me, and my aching neck screams in protest. Annoyance flares within me when I realize the pain is probably because my head had beenprecariously balanced against the oven door instead of on the ground like the rest of my body.

Where am I? How did I get here?

I continue my scan, and my hair follows, cascading down the length of my side to the curve of my waist in a mess of dark ebony curls. My eyes catch sight of bruises that wrap around my wrist like shadowed fingerprints. A few more marks are scattered across both arms in hues of dark purples and blues. They look very fresh.

For now, I brush away the questions around how I may have gotten them. I have more pressing concerns. Bracing my hands on the ground, I slowly try to stand up, fighting down the sudden nausea that threatens to overwhelm me. I only make it into a crouch before I’m forced to stop, breathing in deeply over and over again to ease the sudden sickness. Releasing one final deep exhale, I grip my knees tightly and force my legs to straighten.

It’s only then—when I’m standing—that I see I’m not alone.

Not alone at all, actually.

There are two people sprawled out in different positions near me. The first one is laying on the couch.Lucky asshole probably won’t wake up in any pain. The thought gets on my nerves more than it probably should. He seems to be decently tall, skinny and pale with red hair curling on his forehead. His chest rises and falls with the steady breaths of sleep. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt, as if he had been ready to go on a run but decided to take a nap instead.

Next, my eyes find a woman propped on her side against the wall next to the couch, her long legs curled underneath her. She’s tall—definitely taller than me. Her light brown hair lays flat against the wall, framing her tan face and falling well past her shoulders, almost to her waist.

Something tugs at me as I look at her; she almost has this aura of innocence surrounding her like a cloud that conceals herfrom everything bad and ugly in this world. Her oversized jacket swallows her in a mass of brown, red and green knitted fabric, paired with black leggings and ankle boots. Comfortable and practical for a season of change.

Who are these people?

I’m about to continue my search when the sound of shuffling feet pulls my gaze to the other side of the room. There’s a closed door. Shadows flicker underneath as if someone had walked up to the door to leave, then thought better of it. Maybe that’s the smart thing to do. Maybe I shouldn’t have stood up immediately. Maybe I should have waited for something to happen instead of investigating the unbroken silence. But deep down, I know I was right.

That this, here and now,isn’tright. Something is very wrong here.

I need to get moving.

And so, instead of exploring further, I turn back to the kitchen and start opening drawers and cabinets in a frantic search. There has to be something that might help me understand what’s going on. Something that will trigger the memory of the events that led me here.

Something I can use to protect myself.

The first drawer holds nothing but oven mitts and kitchen rags. Not helpful. But it means there may be knives as well, and I can use them to defend myself if it comes down to it.

I have a feeling it’s going to come down to it.

The next drawer holds measuring cups and spoons but nothing sharp. I keep searching, growing increasingly frantic. The sound of drawers and cabinets slamming shut fills the air, but thankfully the slumbering man and woman don’t stir. I find plates, bowls, a toaster, cutting boards, baking dishes, pots and pans, whisks, just about everything you would need in a kitchen, including cans of food and seasonings. Conveniently missing,however, is anything that could be used as a real weapon, unless you count an old lighter.Fuck.

I am about to give up my search when I notice something peeking out from the plaid mat under the kitchen sink. I quickly glance around the room one more time to ensure that no one had moved and that the stranger in the other room hadn’t quietly entered in search of answers.

No one out of place. I loose a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and slowly bend down to see if my mind was playing tricks on me.

Once on my knees in front of the rug, I notice what looks like a carving of an “x” in the hardwood floor beneath me. Moving the rug away, my eyes look over the two short sentences roughly carved into the ground next to it.

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