Locke

Three weeks earlier

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Resting the coffee mug on the counter, I ripped open a couple of sugar packets and dumped them inside. Steam off the liquid swirled up across my face and I inhaled a deep breath.

The smell of coffee did things to me, it woke me up, it made my body come to life when all I really wanted to do was crawl back into bed and let the noon sun be my wake up call.

No. . . Remember the past is in the past.

I'm not there, not anymore.

Picking up a spoon, I stirred in the sugar and listened to the news on the television in the background. I wasn't really much of a 'sit down and watch it' type of person, I honestly didn't even know why I had that ritual to begin with.

But every morning, like clockwork, I would turn on the news and make my coffee. I guess I was a creature of habit. It was the same thing my mother used to do for years, and deep down I didn't want to give up on the small things that still made me who I was.

It grounded me, helping me to keep my feet moving forward the best I could. I hated that my mind would circle around the same fucking thought day after day. The pitted black eyes and soulless smile carved through my thoughts and never left.

He's always there.

I couldn't outrun the past, I only learned to live with it. It was a part of me, no matter how much I hated it.

The news anchor in the background was rattling off a list of first birthdays to children in the area, all of which I was certain weren't actually aware of their small moment in the public eye.

Why do they even do that segment?

It's not news, it's only important to the parent who requested it.

Yes, I know that sounds cruel and emotionless and I know what you're thinking; let them have their moment, you only turn one once, right?

Try telling that to the fourteen year old version of myself, who has yet to release her cold dead grip on my soul.

I was cruel and emotionless. But maybe that's because it had been hard as hell to find a glimmer of light in this world when I knew just how dark it could be.

For every spark that ignited, ten went out, for every smile that erupted, twenty lost hope in the world.

I was that failed flame, I was that lost girl, suspended on a string and nibbled at by sharks. Even ten years couldn't erase the feelings that still held me hostage.

Time had done nothing but burn it deeper into my bones. That black hell stole everything from me.

And yet, I somehow kept going.

Taking a small sip of coffee, I flipped through a pile of mail I had set down the night before. Junk, junk, bill, bill, junk. Pushing it aside, I leaned back against the counter and gripped the mug in both hands.

And the cycle continues. . .

“The body found yesterday in Prairie Creek has been identified as twenty-two year old, Bethany Doone. She's the fifth victim in a series of homicides since May of this year. Police are not releasing any details at this time, but have stated that they do believe the cases are linked.”

Turning to face the television, I stared at the screen of the young girl whose life was cut short way too soon. A piece of my heart tore off as sadness flooded through my veins.

She's almost my age.

Resting the cup down, I gripped the edge of the counter and continued to stare at the picture of the girl on the screen. Her hair was black—just like mine, her eyes were green—just like mine, even the shape of her face reminded me of my own.

I wasn't looking at my reflection, but sure as hell, the similarities were unnerving. Swallowing the lump that formed in my throat, I couldn't shake the thought that it could have just as easily had been me in that picture.

My heart picked up speed as her image faded away and the anchor moved on to the next line the teleprompter rolled out. But I wanted to know more.

Where was she from?

What was she doing the last time anyone saw her?

Why her?

A gentle purr cut through my thoughts as my cat brushed his face over my arm. “Morning, Frito, you hungry?”

Purring again, he stuck his ass up in the air and flipped onto his side, stretching his tiny paws in my direction.

“Alright, give me a minute.” Scratching the top of his head, I grabbed a can of his favorite liver and cod food and held my breath as I spooned it into his bowl. “There, now you're all set, I'll see you tonight.”

Grabbing the remote off the counter, I turned the TV off. The screen snapped to black, and I stood for a second still seeing that girl's face. I fucking hate this world.

Snatching my purse off the small stand by the door, I locked my apartment up tight and headed to my shitty waitressing job downtown at Golden's Bar.

I shouldn't say I hated it, that was a bad choice of words. . . I loathed it.

No one wanted to be ogled at by early bird drunks or college boys who were looking to erase the hangover from the night before by accruing another one.

For now, it was a job, and I didn't have the luxury of being picky.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, I grabbed the collar of my jacket and hiked it up my neck. It was chilly out. The wind was blowing harder than normal, and even though the weather man said it was going to be in the mid seventies today, it felt like winter had arrived early.

Tucking my head down, I started towards the bus stop. I shouldn't have been looking down, I should have kept my head up, watching where I was going. But the wind stung as it hit my cheeks and made my eyes water like tiny needles were getting thrown at my face.

A heavy shoulder slammed into mine, causing me to jerk sideways and stumble over my feet. “Ah, shit!” I yelled, reaching for my arm and rubbing it vigorously.

Looking up to see who I hit, a tall, broad-shouldered man was glaring down at me. A hooded jacket covered most of his head, but his eyes stood out. They were dark, black as night—empty.

His lip twitched in the corner as his brows furrowed deep into the bridge of his nose. “Watch it,” he snapped, as his stare hollowed and venomous lines painted what I could see of his face.

“I—I'm sorry, I didn't—”

Cutting me off, he shook his head. “Save it, I don't give a shit.”

Turning away, the man stalked off, anger working his muscles in a fury as he stormed away.

“Dick.” Whispering under my breath, I watch him for a moment until he disappeared into the crowded sidewalk.

Taking a seat on the icy cold bench, I pushed my earbuds in place and started scrolling through the music on my phone. Giving up on choosing one, I hit random and let my phone decide for me.

I can already tell today is going to suck.

Curling my legs up, I scrunched into myself to keep warm. Drums beat inside my head as the music drowned out the outside clutter of the city. Through the noise in my ears and the wind raking across my face, a feeling pressed down on my shoulders, smothering my chest and making it hard to breathe.

I felt uneasy, like I wasn't alone, like someone else was watching me.

Pulling out one speaker, I glanced around. People were passing by, some on their phones, others were staring straight ahead and walking with a mission.

No one seemed to be looking at me, but I could feel it. The eyes were there, piercing my body like sharp knives. It was a sensation, one I had felt before. Instantly, the hair on my neck stood up, goosebumps speckled my skin and my stomach twirled like a violent cyclone.

There was no denying the curdle in my gut or the fire on my flesh. I could never forget that feeling.

Searching the sidewalk around me, I expected to see someone close by, examining me, maybe even eyeing me in a, 'I think I know you,' kind of way. Only there was nothing.

The squeal of brakes startled me, forcing me to jump to my feet. Rolling to a stop, the bus doors opened. Taking one last look around, I gripped the metal bar and stepped inside.

No one was out there. No eyes, no face searching from a distance. Shaking my head, I smiled at the driver and found a seat.

It had been years since I allowed that feeling to truly work its way in. It was always there, never really disappearing, but dulling into an ache like arthritis from an old injury.

Time had only given me one power. . . The power to stuff it down, to lock it up and force it into submission.

Years had come and gone; years since I lost myself, years since I decided that my gut wasn't always right. I cried wolf one too many times, I screamed in terror when no one was actually out there at all.

Except for that night, that one night that changed everything.

But I couldn't shake the feeling this time. . .

Someone was watching me.

And that voice, it made itself known.