Page 5 of Courage of the Mountain
I loved having him over. Sometimes he’d stay at our house for weeks at a time. Those were some of my favorite memories, but now they’re tinged with sadness. My sweet, supportive grandma has been gone for years now, and Hayden came back from overseas a different man.
Sighing, I set my book down, admitting defeat for the evening. I rub my temples, trying not to think about the heart-wrenching call I received three years ago from Hayden’s commanding officer. They’re not usually the ones who contact next of kin in case of an emergency, but I guess my brother was an exception. I’ll never forget the words he spoke that day.
Hayden is in critical condition. We’re flying him stateside for life-saving surgery.
My heart ceased beating, my breath stilled, and my whole world came to a crashing halt. I felt so helpless and utterly useless. Our grandmother had just died a few years before, and I wasn’t in a great place emotionally. And now Hayden might be dying, too? It was all too much, but I somehow got it together enough to ask where they were taking him.
Three surgeries and a year of physical therapy later, Hayden declared himself healthy and healed. He took off for a freelance security job the next week and has been bouncing around the country ever since.
I’m jarred out of my memories by a loud cracking sound, followed by a hollowthump. Standing from my comfy reading recliner, I make my way over to the window overlooking Main Street. I don’t see anything suspicious, but I can’t seem to get my heart to slow down.
It’s just the wind, I tell myself.
When I hear the cracking sound again, my head snaps to the door of my apartment, leading downstairs to the bookstore.Did the noise just come from inside?
Panicking, I look around for a weapon. Of course, I don’t have a gun or anything. Not even a baseball bat. I survey my options, passing over the remote control and an ornate hardcover anthology of Jane Austen’s greatest works. It would be a shame to ruin a special edition on a dirty thief.
I eventually decide to grab the lamp next to my reading chair. It’s an old antique lamp I found at a thrift store in the town over. It’s heavy as hell since the base is made of brass, and I’m guessing it could do some damage if wielded properly. Not that I know how to attack someone, but I’m hoping an adrenaline rush will motivate me to learn quickly.
Armed with my art deco lamp and a fierce need to defend my property, I pull open my front door and head downstairs. I move as quickly and quietly as I can until I reach the back office.Standing in the doorway, I frantically look around in the dark in search of what made that sound.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I creep forward, into the main store. I tighten my sweaty grip on the lamp base and hold it out in front of me like a sword. Shuffling along the side wall, I stealthily make my way around the perimeter of the store.
When I get to the front, I peer out the big display window, hoping to catch sight of a raccoon or stray cat I can blame the noise on. No such luck.
I sigh and turn around, facing my dark, empty bookstore. I stand completely still, hardly even breathing, as I assess if I’m alone down here. My gut tells me there’s no one here, but my mind is swirling with worst-case scenarios.
An hour has passed, or maybe it’s only been five minutes. My arms are screaming from holding the lamp in front of me for so long, but I can’t bring myself to move. After long moments of silence, I eventually find the strength to take a step forward. And then another. And another.
Each movement loosens more of my muscles and joints until I’m able to search the rest of the store. I don’t find anyone or anything out of place, so I must just be paranoid. That letter from Top Spot rattled me more than I thought.
Just as I’m about to go back upstairs, my eye catches on a slip of paper on the floor in front of the checkout counter. A beam of moonlight catches the white paper, making it almost glow in the otherwise dark room.
I should leave it until morning. It’s probably nothing, just a piece of garbage.Then why is my stomach in knots? Why can’t I seem to take a full breath?
Inching my way closer, I reach the slip of paper and snatch it up as if it might jump away at the last second. It’s a square piece of cream-colored stationery, folded in half. I’m shaking so hard Ican hardly grip the edges to open the damn thing. When I do, my heart drops to my toes.
It was all too easy to get in. Next time, we’ll leave more than a note.
It’s handwritten in black ink, but other than that, there are no other clues as to who the note is from. My mind immediately goes to Top Spot, but that’s just absurd. Right? Surely, they have better ways to conduct business than threatening the owner. Then again, if it is them, it’s working. I’m freaked the hell out, yet I don’t have anything to bring to the cops. The note in and of itself isn’t a direct threat, nor is it an admission of guilt. Also, I have no way to tie it back to the real estate company.
But I know. And that’s all they want.
I take a deep breath and debate whether to toss the note or keep it. Ultimately, I shove it in my pocket before going up to my apartment and locking the door. I even shove a dining room chair under the doorknob for an extra layer of protection. I have no idea if it’ll work, but I see people do it on TV. Can’t hurt, right?
My phone rings, and I yelp as I drop the lamp.Get it together!
I take a calming breath, and then another, until I feel a little more in control. My phone rings again, and I grab it, smiling when I see the caller ID. Even though I’m still anxious about the incident in the store, talking to my brother is always a highlight.
“Hayden,” I greet. “It’s so good to hear from you.”
“How are you, Lily? Staying out of trouble?”
He’s trying to tease me, but I hear the weariness in his voice. It kills me to know he’s so unhappy and hurting, but I don’t know how to help. He doesn’t seem to want to stay in one place for long, and I have to be here to run the bookstore.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You know as well as I do there isn’t any trouble to be had here in Hope Mountain.”
This earns me a chuckle, even though it sounds a bit hollow. “I was thinking about you,” he tells me. “I realized I hadn’t checked in since I left last week. This job has kept me busy, but I’ll be starting a new one soon.”
