Page 59 of Forget Me Not

Taryn mentioned there will be a masquerade party on Halloween night at the tavern. Since I’m not working, I might run over to the thrift store this afternoon to see what I can find. I’ve been there a couple times this week, picking up random articles of clothing to add to my collection. I even put said clothes in my dresser. Which is a big step for me.

I still haven’t heard from Dex and I’ve garnered that it’s a good thing. Had he answered my hundreds of calls and messages, I probably wouldn’t be in Lockhaven anymore. I would have ran before trying to work through my problems here, and that would have been a big mistake.

I’m beginning to learn that for every problem, thereisa solution. Look at me being an adult and solving them all on my own. Who would have thought?

Feeling optimistic, I walk toward the door to go to the bathroom, new-ish clothes in hand. I’m halted by the sight of a strange black jacket hanging on the doorknob. I walk closer, realizing I’ve seen this jacket before. It’s got a large, yellow L and H on the sleeve—short for Lockhaven. This is the same jacket that the asshole at the tavern was wearing. In fact, I even nicknamed him ‘Letter Jacket Guy’ in my head.

I pull the jacket off the knob and wince when I notice it’s damp. When I look down and see the streak of blood on my hand, I gasp, tossing it to the floor along with the clothes I was holding.

My heart races as my mind swirls with irrational thoughts. I rub my fingertips together, smearing what is definitely blood. But whose blood?

Frantically, I search the pockets, looking for any sign of the jacket’s owner. I come up empty-handed, but it doesn’t matter. I know damn well who it belongs to.

I quickly toss the jacket into my room and slam the door shut then run to the bathroom to scrub off any evidence of what I just touched.

Someone left that jacket waiting for me, and I don’t even have to think twice about who that someone is.

Just when I thought I was out of danger, this happens. I have no idea what it means. Is it another threat, or did he do something to that boy?

Either way, I’m in possession of what could be evidence, and my fingerprints are now all over it.

I scrub for minutes, watching until the water runs clear. And when it does, I scrub more, lathering up the soap until my hands are nothing but skin and bones beneath sudsy bubbles.

My eyes stare back at me in horror as I contemplate the possibility that Alaric killed that guy. I gulp, unsure of whether he did it to set me up, to prove a point, or to simply end his life for hurting my feelings.

Who the fuck kills someone over hurt feelings? Or for any of those reasons for that matter?

I slam my hand down on the faucet handle, without drying my hands. With a new mission in mind, I tear open the bathroom door, going straight to Alaric’s room.

Without knocking, I turn the handle to find that the door is locked. I heave a frustrated sigh. Of course, the psycho would ignore my privacy and steal my key but lock his door when he’s here. I pound my fist to the wood, over and over while shouting, “Open the damn door!”

My chest tightens and my eyes prick with tears. “Alaric!” I scream. “I know you’re in there. Open the door! Now!”

Another door comes open, and I take a step away from Alaric’s. My eyes travel down the hall to see Heather coming toward me. “He’s not there, hun. Alaric is next door. I’m on my way to meet him for breakfast. Would you like me to tell him you’re looking for him?”

“No!” My voice rises, warranting a stunned expression from Heather. “I’ll tell him my-damn-self.” I storm back to my room in a rage. Stepping over the bloodied jacket on my floor, I give it a kick, noticing some of the blood has smeared onto the hardwood floor.

I don’t want to risk damaging the evidence further, so I slide my feet into a pair of flip flops then go back out, closing my bedroom door behind me.

I walk hurriedly down the hall toward the front door, regretting my outburst. None of this is Heather’s fault and I shouldn’t be taking it out on her. If anything, I should be warning her to stay far away from that crazed man.

Still in my pajamas, my feet pad in my flip-flops as I practically jog to the tavern. In a swift motion, I jerk open the door, making a grand entrance that pins all eyes on me. I stand there with my back to the door, and when it closes, it nudges me farther into the room.

Suddenly, I realize I didn’t think this through. So here I am, standing in a pair of black-and-red plaid pajama pants and an oversized black hoodie with yellow lettering on it. My hair is a mess, my gaze as wild as my soul, and my heart is thumping violently in my chest. My eyes dance from face to face, and widen in surprise when I see Sheriff Guthrie seated at a table with two of his deputies.

I walk toward them slowly, knowing the risk I’m taking. But I can’t let Alaric get away with this. If I do, he could later use it against me. I’ll forever be at his mercy with the fear of him outing me for all the mistakes I made in the past, as well as the possibility that I’ve been framed for that guy’s murder—assuming he’s dead. This could all be a ploy to get a rise out of me.

I have no idea what I’m doing, or what the consequences might be, but when I approach the table, I have the sheriff’s and the deputies' attention, and I just freeze. My eyes deadlocked on Alaric’s as he walks through the revolving doors of the kitchen.

“Thanks again, Alaric,” Taryn says gleefully. “It would have been days before they got someone out here to fix that pipe. I owe you one.”

“What the hell?” I mumble under my breath, but it’s loud enough to draw attention to myself again.

Since when are Alaric and Taryn on speaking terms?

“Everything okay, hun?” one of the deputies asks as he takes a bite of his Belgian waffle.

Frazzled, I open my mouth to speak, but the words get lodged in my throat.

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