Page 33 of The Lair

I rub my eyes with the heel of my palms and stay quiet, double- and triple-checking that nobody is inside my apartment. When it becomes obvious that I’m simply paranoid, I put on my running gear, desperate for some fresh air.

Twenty minutes later, I still feel that familiar anxiety clawing at my chest despite the cold breeze hitting my face.I didn’t sleep well, that’s all.Nothing’s wrong.

In an effort to calm myself down, I take in Bannport’s breathtaking lakeside as I run. With its green rolling hills looming in the distance, every corner of this small town looks like one of those paintings you see at an exhibition and wish you could live inside of.

Bannport Lake sits in all its blue-gray glory, the surface undisturbed by boats or animals. The trees around the shore are eerily still, too, without the wind to sway them. No matter how often I take in this view on my way to work, its beauty never ceases to make something in my chest come alive.

Once I’ve calmed down enough, I make my way back to my apartment building. I’m fiddling with my keys when my phone goes off inside my jacket. In the time it takes me to open the door, get inside, and lock it, it doesn’t stop ringing.

I can’t explain why, but the second I see Jada’s caller ID on the screen, I know something is wrong. Very wrong.

“Hi,” I answer quietly. “Everything okay?”

“You didn’t read my text?”

“You texted me this morning?”

“Look at it, please.”

The urgency in her voice makes my heart pound too fast. Putting her on speaker, I quickly find the text app and click on the links she sent me while I was out running.

A man tried to abduct a young girl in her own home yesterday. Fingers are pointing at the child’s mother, who shared pictures of their front porch with her 300K+ followers just hours before it happened.

Investigative journalist George Eden speaks out on child abduction case and social media: “Something similar happened years ago with Allison Buccieri. The internet never learns.”

No.

No.

This is a nightmare. Only a nightmare.

It can’t be anything else.

But I blink, and the articles are still there. Still real.

Still talking about me.

Buccieri.

I haven’t heard, seen, or spoken my last name in six years.

Changing it to Smith was a no-brainer, considering how many Allison Smiths there were in the world. But I should’ve known fleeing Los Angeles didn’t mean I’d also flee society’s memory. This George Eden guy certainly hasn’t forgotten about me.

“Are you still there?” Jada’s voice breaks through the fog in my brain.

My hands shake as I hold my phone tighter. “Y-Yes.”

I scan the article for more information about me when I come across a quote that empties out my lungs.

“I would love to interview Allison Buccieri,” declared Eden on his show. “The way she vanished off the face of the earth can’t be coincidental. I think her sharing her experience would give people a much-needed wake-up call when it comes to showcasing children’s lives on social media.”

When I spot an old picture of me with the long blonde hair I’ll never have again, I close the tab.

“Stay with me. Take a deep breath,” Jada instructs. I do as she says, but I don’t feel any better. “I scanned the internet this morning and saw nothing else about you, okay? This is all there is for now. I’m only telling you because you asked for updates if there ever were any.”

I did, and I don’t regret it. If people are talking about me, that means I could be in danger. Knowing what’s being said canhelp me take control of the situation and prepare for different outcomes.

“Jada…” I start, but I have to stop to take a deep breath. “W-What if they find me?”

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