Page 244 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

His eyes weren't filled with the judgment of a lawman. They were dark, blazing with a hunger that mirrored the very thing I had just confessed.

“You think you’re the only one who’s haunted, Seraphina?” he growled, his voice dropping into a dangerous, possessive register.

“You think you’re the only one who stays awake at night tracing the lines of a ghost?”

He leaned down, his breath ghosting over my lips, marking the moment the line between hunter and prey vanished forever.

“I love you Seraphina. I love you just the way you are,” he says softly.

“Never think for a second that I’m going to run from you, Seraphina. You built a shrine for me, but you have no idea how easily I will turn this bedroom into your church.”

Seraphina

Three Months Later

Rrrriiiip.

The sound of brown packing tape tearing through the cottage was ridiculously satisfying. I pressed the strip across the top of another cardboard box and smoothed it down with my palm before giving it one proud pat.

"There."

Another box packed. Another piece of our life folded away. Another step toward whatever came next.

"Crooked." Frank's voice echoed with all the enthusiasm of someone attending their own funeral.

I frowned.

"It is not crooked."

"It is," he replied immediately.

"It's leaning left. That box is going to explode halfway through the drive."

Gerald sighed so dramatically I could practically hear him pinching the bridge of his non-existent nose.

"She's not sealing boxes," he muttered.

"She's committing crimes against cardboard."

I slowly looked toward the windowsill. The two ceramic garden gnomes I'd bought the week before sat exactly where I'd left them. Frank's little painted face looked permanently offended. Gerald's held an absurdly tiny flower with all the dignity of an old gentleman attending afternoon tea.

"If the two of you continue criticizing my packing," I warned, pointing the tape dispenser at them.

"I will individually bubble-wrap both of you and put you underneath the cast-iron cookware."

Frank gasped.

"The abuse."

"The disrespect," Gerald agreed.

"I kept you alive."

"You imagined us."

"Still counts."

Gerald muttered something about never arguing with unstable women anymore. I smiled to myself as I reached for another pile of books. The cottage looked different now. Half the shelves were empty. Boxes lined the walls. Blank spaces had begun appearing where memories used to live. We were leaving Blackridge. Leaving the valley. Leaving every ghost, we'd buried behind. Elias had accepted the promotion. Well second promotion just after being Sheriff for a few weeks he got another one. Federal task force. Still Detective Reed.