ELLA

 

I think I’m the only woman in this level of suburban hell who doesn’t have kids—which is a conscious decision. I’m not one of those unmarried housewives whose life slipped away from her. Quite the opposite, actually.

I’ve always been content to be alone, but lately I’ve been yearning to not be so very alone, although I can easily chalk those feelings up to the fact that everywhere I look and everywhere I turn, it’s almost like I’m being followed. Scratch that, it’s like I know I’m being followed, like there’s a constant shadow hanging over me.

In every face of every stranger, in every passenger in every car, everywhere I go, I see and feel danger.

I’ve always been paranoid though.

Even back when I was a little girl on the schoolyard playground, I always found myself looking over my own shoulder and questioning the motives of those around me, and not for naught—I was a consistent target for bullying because of the big-rimmed glasses that sat perched on my nose. When I was a nobody in junior high, I was constantly paranoid that some bully would come after me the way they used to when I was younger. At the junction of becoming a teenager, I could count my friends on one hand—hell, I could count them with just my thumb.

In high school and when I hit puberty and grew into my body before all the other girls, I suddenly found myself a member of the popular crowd. That was even worse for me than when I was nothing more than a loser. When you’re a member of the “in” crowd, you’re always standing on a terrifying precipice of losing your status and reverting back into being a nobody.

It’s not the worst fate in the world, but to a teenaged girl, the very idea was enough to send me into a tailspin of panic. That’s the problem with youth, you always think you’re already who you’re going to be, and that’s not true.

When I was younger, I never could have imagined I’d live the life I live now. I have a few close friends, enough money to buy anything my heart desires, and based on the gawking of random strangers in the supermarket, the auburn curls in my hair are to die for. It’s not saying much, but for a girl who never came close to receiving a class superlative, I’ve certainly become somebody.

And yet, I’m terrified to go back to that very place that instilled fear and feelings of inadequacy into my soul. Ten years ago, I graduated high school and never looked back. I always swore I’d return with a vengeance and now that that day is fast approaching, I simply can’t be bothered.

My one remaining friend from high school, Kara Jean—with a name like that, it’s no wonder she won the class superlative for most likely to become a world-renowned pop star—is aghast that I simply refuse to attend our ten-year reunion.

Literally, she’s aghast, with her mouth hanging open wide as she palms a glass of wine, her perky, yoga-trained ass sitting on the edge of my sofa. “You can’t do that.”

“I’m a grown adult.” I flash her a wicked grin and take a sip of my own wine—a carefully selected bottle of pinot grigio. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

“I would normally agree with you.” She reaches forward and sits her glass down onto the glass coffee table. “Out of everyone I know, you’re the one I trust to make consistently good decisions, but this is a bad decision, and I’m going to have to call you out on it.”

“Why would I want to go there?” I shrug with apathy and shake my head. “Why would I ever want to go back to that place?” I shoot her a narrow gaze. “Why do you want to go back there?”

She cocks her head to me in a curious manner and raises one brow, as a depraved smile hitches across her plump, red lips. “Have you seen my husband?”

I can’t help but to roll my eyes and chuckle softly. “No, I’ve never seen him before,” I say with enough sarcasm to drown the both of us. “Do you really think that’s a legitimate reason to attend? To show off your fancy, producer boyfriend to the people who used to talk behind your back?”

She jerks back, a sudden reflex as the muscles in her face contort. “Nobody hated me.”

“And tell me, how is the lustrous pop career?”

“You know I’ve always had a crappy singing voice.” She reaches for her glass again and swishes it around a few times. “The only reason I won that damn award was because of the similarities to one famous superstar with a penchant for embarrassing and public mental breakdowns.”

“That’s my point.”

She finishes off her glass and then rises to stand. I can’t help but to groan in with the slightest bit of envy at her perfect body and perfect, straight blonde hair. She might have the singing voice of a hyena, but she’s got the looks of a bombshell sex symbol.

“I’m not giving you a choice.” She reaches to grab my invitation to the event off the mantle place overtop the vanity fireplace. “You’re going to take this invitation and you’re going to hop your happy ass into my car and you’re going to attend your class reunion with your favorite two people in the world.”

“I’ll think about it.” I stand to meet her at eye level, rip the invitation out of her hand and then place it back onto the mantle alongside the rest of the mail I’ve received. My eyes shift to a particular envelope I hadn’t yet noticed—one that’s written by hand with a thick-pointed marker.

My curiosity is piqued as I reach for the envelope and tear it open across the top. The paper is jagged and sharp and slices my pointer finger open.

“Shit,” I grunt out and raise my bleeding finger to my mouth to suck at the wound.

Kara bends down and grabs the piece of mail off the ground, but before she can retrieve the contents from the envelope, I rush into action and swipe it out of her hands. I’ve been here before. I’ve been in this exact same situation, receiving a weird piece of mail, and the last time, the letter written inside shook me to my very core.

I try to act nonchalant, but I think the nervous lump making its way down my throat betrays my intentions. The back of my throat dries in an instant as my eyes settle in on the letter as I unfold it: Slick black hair, eyes that burn holes deep into my soul, you’re all I think about anymore, though you’re not a dream, you’ve become something more. You’ve become the nightmare I can never escape from.

I stare blankly ahead at the letter before me, the words handwritten in red ink.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Kara says and reaches forth to grab the letter, but I twist away from her and fold the letter back up before she has the opportunity.

I think about lying to her, think about telling her that everything is fine. It’s not in my nature to be vulnerable. I force a smile, but once again everything else betrays me, including the words that slip out from across thin lips. “Do you ever feel like you’re being followed?”

“On the highway, sometimes.” She swallows a nervous lump in her throat and wets her lips. Her eyes drop for a moment, as a haunted look passes over her face before she looks right back to me, looks me dead in the eyes, and whispers, “When I’m going ninety and there’s a cop right behind me.”

It’s not long at all before her face begins to contort, trying to hold the laughter at bay. She’s making a joke, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m being serious.

“I’m being serious,” I scold her, my fake smile dropping into an ominous frown.

“If you’re in trouble—?”

“That’s a big if…” I sigh and drag the back of my palm over my forehead. “Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Maybe it isn’t, but maybe it is. You don’t know what kind of crazy people are out there these days, and it’s better to be safe than sorry.” She steps back over to the sofa she was sitting on previously and grabs her purse from beside the couch. Her hand disappears into the expensive bag.

“We’ve been over this before,” I scowl. “I don’t want a gun in this house.”

“It’s not a gun.” She cocks her eyes to me and lets out an agitated huff. “It’s a business card.”

“I’m not interested in whatever marketing scam you’re selling this week,” I say jokingly, trying to ease the tension in the world and trying anything to erase the ominous letter from my mind. “The last time I bought something from you, I woke up with boils.”

“Right.” She retrieves a small business card from her purse and steps towards me. “But those people were shut down not long after that incident and though boils are far from being ideal, we all learned a valuable lesson that day.”

“What lesson would that be?” I question as I pry the business card from her hand. “To stick to products tested on real, living people?” I glance down at the card:

 

FORD SECURITY

LUKE KING

213-555-8989

 

“What the hell is this?” I question, shaking the card profusely in my hand.

She grabs the card back out of my hand, looks it over quickly and then passes it to me. “I don’t know. It looks like a card for a private security firm, but what do I know. I only learned to read last week.”

“Okay, smartass,” I scoff. “I get that, but why are you giving me this?”

“Because,” she shrugs, “it’s better to be safe than sorry, remember?” She takes another step towards me, effectively stepping right into my personal bubble, and caresses the side of my arm. “You’re my best friend in this world, and although I think you’re probably overreacting, I’d be devastated if something ever happened to you.” She brushes her hands over my arms and then a finger through my long black hair. “If there’s someone following you—”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” I say, again with the same forced smile as before. “It’s just a stupid letter.”

“If it’s so stupid,” she crosses her arms over each other defiantly, “then why can’t I read the letter?”

Good point, but still I roll my eyes. I reach for the letter and pass it to her and watch her intently as her eyes scan over it. She cocks her head sideways as she passes it back to me.

“Honestly?” She raises one brow. “It’s creepy, but it reminds me of something they used to do back in the day.”

“Like chain mail?”

“Yeah, just like that.” She steps backwards and slings her purse over her shoulder. “My mom used to get stuff like that in the mail all the time, but times have changed and people aren’t what they used to be.” She steps back to me and places a palm on my shoulder. “While it might not be nothing, I’d still consider giving that man a call. Like I said, better safe than to be sorry, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Now, I need to be getting out of here, but keep me updated and remember, I’m not taking no for an answer about our reunion.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“You’re the best,” she squeals. “It’s going to be so exciting.”

I very seriously doubt that—both that it’ll be exciting and that I’ll be showing up at all.