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Chapter
One
HER
Starting over never gets easier, not even when it becomes a routine.
I drive down the lonely road, my only companions the worn cardboard box of albums on the passenger seat. Type O Negative’s melancholic rendition of Summer Breeze plays from the speakers, a strangely fitting soundtrack to this journey. I roll down the window, letting in a humid gust that carries the faint scent of pine. The Pennsylvania mid-August heat clings to me, a familiar sensation from my childhood, but one I’ll need to reacclimate to.
Aside from checking out my new apartment a couple of weeks ago, I haven’t returned to this state since I was seventeen, back when I legally emancipated myself from my mother and her new husband. Patricia and Ronald made it clear they wanted nothing to do with me, not even offering to help pay for my college tuition despite his wealth. My mother had almost always shown me thinly veiled disdain.
I remind her too much of my father.
I glance at my watch. It’s only 11 AM, so I have plenty of time to fuel up at a gas station and make it to my apartment before the moving truck arrives. As I stop at a red light, I double-check the map balanced on my lap to make sure I’m on the right track. I’d hate to make a wrong turn and end up being chopped up and eaten by a family of cannibals or something.
I wait for the light to turn green, feeling exhaustion creeping in. The lack of restful sleep has been taking its toll ever since the multiple interrogations about the violent murders of my ex-boyfriend and closest friend. Even though the police cleared me, I’m lucky they let me leave Vermont. Detective Bryant told me to keep his number and reach out if I remember anything that could help with the investigation.
Murders happen all the time. It may sound callous, but it feels much more ominous when it hits so close to home.
I don’t want to think about the past right now; I’m afraid I’ll lose myself in it. As the light turns green, I force my eyes open and grip the steering wheel, continuing down the road. Farmhouses and weathered buildings dot the landscape, surrounded by never-ending pastures. A billboard with peeling paint looms into view: Welcome to Fallbank, where all your dreams come true!I roll my eyes; we’ll see about that.
Eventually, I reach civilization. Fallbank is a town torn between its past and the future, like someone cut a random slice of a bigger city and plopped it down in the middle of nowhere-Pennsylvania. Main Street has modernized with updated buildings and outdoor dining options. There’s a movie theater—which is what passes as exciting entertainment in this town since the nearest mall is about ten miles away.
The park on the outskirts of town, next to a river, is my favorite place in Fallbank. It’s a small piece of nature in the middle of suburbia, where I can escape the noise pollution of humanity and find some peace. After signing my lease, I visited the park, exploring the trees and meandering paths, and noting the covered pavilions with picnic tables. I’m looking forward to going for my morning jogs there.
I spot the Readimart sign and pull into the parking lot, finding an empty pump. After turning off my old black Honda, I remove the gas cap and grab the nozzle, grimacing at its grimy texture. As I fill my tank, I scan my surroundings. A gas attendant is washing a windshield covered in bug splatters. Wasps flit around overflowing garbage cans. Music drifts out of parked vehicles.
My mind wanders, but the metallic sound of the pump turning off snaps me back to reality. I reach into my wallet to pay, but the machine beeps in error when I swipe my card. Letting out a huff, I lock my car and head into the store, passing by a pair of loud, chattering teens loitering near the locked ice machines.
As the automated doors slide open, the first thing that hits me is the smell of coffee. The second is the song playing from the overhead speakers. Blue Öyster Cult’s(Don’t Fear) The Reaperwas one of my father’s favorites. When I was a kid, I thought he just liked cool psychedelic rock bands. I was too young to understand the song’s meaning: the inevitability of death and eternal love. Nor was I aware of the double meaning of the title, and why he loved it so much.
I really, really had no fucking clue.
I maintain a neutral expression and navigate around a couple arguing over which movie to rent, making my way to one of the snack aisles. Needing to recharge, I grab a protein bar and a small bag of trail mix. As I head to the checkout counter, I pick up a copy of today’s newspaper.
I stand in line, listening to the slushy machines whir. The person ahead pays for their scratch tickets with crumpled bills, holding up the queue. That’s when I feel it—the unsettling sensation that I’m being watched. The hairs on my arms stand on end and I frown, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I scan the area, seeing if I could catch anyone’s lingering gaze. But I see no one.
I’m just jumpy, I think. The interrogations have put me on edge. I have a nagging, unfounded suspicion that whoever got Briar and Grace—and the other victims in Ashburn—will come for me next. I approach the checkout and greet the cashier with a smile.
Unimpressed by my attempt at politeness, he raises an eyebrow. “What can I do for you, miss?”
“I’d like to buy these,” I say, placing my items on the counter before nodding toward the parking lot. “And the pump’s card machine isn’t working right, so I’m here to pay. It’s 2A.”
Chewing his gum noisily, he scans my snacks. I glance at the wall of tobacco products behind him, and the urge to smoke returns full force. But I fight it off; I didn’t endure the pain of quitting just to start again because of a little paranoia, even if said paranoia is persistent. Instead, I gesture toward the coffee machine as he enters some information into the register. “Could I get some of that?”
“Want some creamer? Sugar?” he asks, preparing my drink. “I recommend getting it iced. It’s hotter than balls today.”
I chuckle softly. “Yeah, all of that sounds great. And iced, please.”
After he finishes ringing me up, I grab my bag and leave. The feeling of being watched lingers, and I suddenly regret not buying those cigarettes. I cross the sunbaked pavement, making it halfway to my car—when I let out a shriek, almost dropping my coffee as someone revs a motorcycle. My heart hammering in my chest, I rush to my car and slide inside, embarrassed.
Even though I locked the door, I still feel the need to check the backseat. Swallowing, I lean between the seats and look around, relieved to find no serial killer lurking. I curse myself for not stabbing the bastard at Grace’s house, but there’s no use dwelling on the past now. I put my coffee in the drink holder, toss the bag onto the passenger seat, and start the engine.
I merge into traffic, turn up the stereo, and drive. Not even a third of the way to the apartment, time slows. I see a house cordoned off by yellow police tape with several cruisers parked outside. Groups of people have gathered in the yard, and the officers stand at attention, their gazes trained on the opportunistic reporters desperate for a scoop. My mind catches up with my body as I whizz past, dread settling in my stomach.
Could there be another murder?
I shake my head in disbelief. It would be just my luck to escape one murder-filled town, only to end up in another in a misguided attempt to outrun my past.
