Page 37 of Secrets in Salem: Part One

I hear Aleric mutter an apology, confirming it was him I heard.

"There are a great deal of things I've not told you. And you'll soon learn not to question my words again. I've held many a thing from all three of you that you will discover as she grows. Until then, this is the last you'll see of me. Make sure the girl transitions without trouble. And remember, if another incident such as tonight occurs and I find another visit is in order, you won't like the outcome. Am I understood?" the voice of the familiar stranger commands sternly. The threat drips from his words, a darkness seeping from every syllable.

A shiver wracks my body, a cold chill slithering down my spine. Who is this stranger? Why is there such a strong sense of familiarity surrounding him when I know I've never met the man in my life? And who the hell are these three men I have found myself entangled with? What. The Fuck. Is going on?

"Understood, sir," Bishop replies contritely. Aleric mutters his understanding, and then there's the sound of a door opening and closing shut with a resounding click of the lock. Someone heaves out a deep breath, and there's a rustling before loud footsteps draw nearer to the door.

Like a child who's on the verge of being caught eavesdropping, I bolt away from the door and dive back into the bed, hurriedly wrapping the comforter around my body and tucking my face into the pillow.

The door opens, a slight creak of the hinges the only noise I can hear before the sound of footsteps follows. It takes great patience to keep my breathing even as I do my best to appear as though I’m still sleeping. I manage well enough, though I’m sure my acting abilities would be questioned if anyone were to look closely enough.

I keep my eyes tightly screwed shut and listen to the steps drawing closer until they stop right beside the bed. There's a small sigh before a touch on the apple of my cheek startles me. I work hard not to react, almost flinching with surprise when the soft pad of a finger trails over my cheekbone and behind my ear, tucking the lock of hair away.

Another, more tired, sigh follows before Bishop's rumbling voice quietly says, "I'm sorry we failed you, Low. We won't make that mistake again. We'll protect you. I swear."

His large hand brushes over my hair, tucking stray strands away from my face until it's bare for him to see. I keep quiet and still as a statue as I listen to his soothing voice’s promise to look after me.

Bishop stays beside me a little longer before leaving the room, turning the lamp off and shutting the door quietly behind him. The moment he's out of the room, my eyes pop open and I wait ten seconds before I fling the comforter off and scuttle to the door, propping my head against it again.

"She's out cold. We should get some sleep so we're clear-headed in the morning. She's going to have so many questions when she wakes up. We'll need to be alert enough to explain the best we can," Bishop tells the other two, sounding reasonable and in charge.

"Sure. Micah, you can bunk with me," Aleric says, making me aware that I'm currently residing in Micah's room. I almost feel bad that I've stolen his bed for the night, though it wasn't done by my own volition. I don't even know who put me in here.

Sadly, my mind is whirring, and I don't have it in me to feel more guilt on top of what I'm already carrying. Especially since I'm quickly discovering these guys have come to Salem for something related tome.They know the scary man who I feel like I know, they know what's happening to me, and they haven't said a word about it. They know I killed four people and went as far as to cover it up. What sane person does that? Seriously? If that doesn't tell me I'm in an apartment with insane people, then I don't know what does. There’s only so much crazy I can handle, and I’ve filled up that quota all on my own.

What if I've found myself knee-deep in the middle of a cult? It won't explain the unnatural things happening to me or why I keep feeling like I know these guys, but things aren't adding up. They have more knowledge than they let on, and I don't believe for one minute that they didn't know who the hell I was when I met them. Micah got to my house without me ever telling him where I lived. He didn't tell his brothers that he met me, so they couldn't have told him. Which begs the question: how the hell did he know where to find me? Not to mention, things that shouldn't be possible are quickly becoming a reality, and I'mcompletelyin the dark. The men I met today know way more about my situation than I do, seeming to be smack bang in the fucking middle of it, and the little trust I had for them is at risk of quickly dissolving like cotton candy in water.

I hear the three of them puttering around outside the room I'm in, so I head back to the bed and climb in. The room is dark, save for the moon filtering in through the open curtains. The darkness is almost welcoming. That way, I can pretend for only a few moments that things are okay. That I'm suffering a really bad nightmare, and I'll wake up at any moment and things will be back to normal when my eyes open to a new day.

Pulling the comforter over my crossed legs, I sit and stare out of the window. I can see a part of the moon, and my eyes fix themselves on the half that's visible through the window. A memory attempts to niggle to the forefront of my mind, and the more I stare at the moon, the more forcefully the memory pushes until a picture of a full moon fills my vision. The moon is large, bright, and emanating a glow that pulses to the rhythm of my rapid heartbeats. It's mesmerizing. And something I vaguely remember seeing in the Hollow Grove. Before things went awry.

Just as I feel like more memories are about to filter through my mind, I blink and they all disappear, scattering through my muddled brain like a fallen deck of cards. A tired sigh passes through my parted lips, my shoulders slumping as though something was just in reach then snatched away before my fingertips could even graze it.

Movement at the door handle draws my attention, and I'm too slow to pretend to sleep before the door slowly opens. Micah's form is silhouetted by the hallway light behind him. His gaze meets mine, his irises looking darker without the light to brighten them. He offers me a small smile, one I don't have the energy to return, then nods and signs something I don't understand with his hand. He leaves a moment later, shutting my door soundly and walking away from my room, the quiet thuds of his footsteps growing fainter the further he walks.

Alone and left to my thoughts, I stay awake for the longest hour of my life, unable to fall back to sleep. I watch the sky turn from dark blue to light, the moon sinking to make way for the morning sun. When I check the time next, the clock displays six in the morning. With no idea what the time was when I got here or when I woke up after passing out, I'm none the wiser to how much time has passed. All I know is my body aches, and my back is stiff. Above all else, I'm ready to get away from here to be properly alone so I can finally process all that's happened in such a short amount of time.

The apartment has been quiet for the last couple of hours, not even the sound of the clock ticking loud enough to be heard. Everything is still, offering a false sense of peace and tranquillity.

Deciding now is as good a time as any to leave so I can gather some of that clarity I'm needing, I climb out of bed and head out of the bedroom, careful to make as little noise as possible. The doors down the hallway are closed, save for the bathroom, so I tiptoe into the living room and discover it’s empty.

Finding my duffle bag next to the front door, I hurry toward it. Who made me a bag to stay here? And why do I suddenly feel bad for sneaking out before they wake up? They've helped me, made sure I had some things I needed. Guilt tries to creep its way into my mind, but I firmly shake my head to keep it at bay. They're hiding things.Bigthings, from what I've heard. Things about me that I deserve to know. Guilt has no place here right now.

Realization crashes into me like a freight train, remembering how Micach found me without my address. I’ve been played for a fool. They know about me, meaning our first encounters were all a farce. Staged. Even Micah knew who I was. Bishop said they were sent here to protect me. They obviously knew of me in order to do their fuckingjobs.

My heart suddenly hurts, and tears prick my eyes from anger and a bone-crushing hurt I shouldn’t really feel. I've never felt more of an idiot. I have no idea what they need to protect me from or what is going on with me or what the hell is real or not right now, but there is one thing I do know. I've been made to feel like a fucking idiot.

They're still pretending. After the events of the night, when I needed understanding and clarity more than I've ever needed it, they didn't tell me a damn thing? Sure, I wasn't in the right state of mind, but the ridiculous disappointment I'm harboring right now doesn't ease with that knowledge. I can't seem to see past my own hurt feelings, which is totally idiotic since I have bigger things to worry about. Some of those being my missing mother, my ruined house, and whatever abnormal changes my body is currently going through.

Building my resolve, I dig into my bag and look for my cell. I should call Adam. I need my best friend. I search and search, rummaging through the clothes that are piled in the bag, but come up empty. They packed pretty much everything I'd needbutmy phone.

I sit on the heels of my feet and drop my head back to look at the ceiling, releasing a frustrated sigh. I'll have to go back to the bungalow to get it.

Closing my eyes and staving off the dread of the task ahead, I heave in a breath and go about pulling my black chucks out of the bag, tug them onto my feet, and hook my bag over my shoulder as soon as I'm standing. Just as I'm about to leave, there's a rumble outside and the telltale sound of rain pattering against the window panes. Great. Just fucking marvelous.

With no jacket or umbrella tucked away in my duffle, I search for something that will cover me well enough to get me home without freezing to my death. The only thing I find is a hooded leather jacket lying on the arm of the recliner. Not caring who it belongs to, I snatch it up and stab my arms into the sleeves, tucking it around my body tightly. It can't belong to Bishop. It's too small.

Shaking my head, I hook the strap of the bag over my shoulder and hustle out of the apartment on silent feet. When the door closes, it makes a noise that sounds a lot louder in the quiet stairwell I'm standing in. I wait a moment, listening for any sign that I've blown my cover already, and hear nothing from behind the door. Deciding to hurry my feet along, I race down the steps and out of the building into the slow downpour of rain.

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