Chapter 2

Ethan

I PULLED THE HAUNTINGLY familiar letter from my coat pocket and stared at the return address on the envelope. This was the place—the place where my life ended, maybe not in the literal sense but in every other aspect. Empty on the inside, except for the guilt I carried around each day. I was a shell of the man I once was. Nothing mattered anymore. Success, fame, and my career all died on that fateful day when I lost everything that mattered. Jonathan Reed ceased to exist and neither did his made-up characters or the fantasy worlds he created to escape his own inner demons. I was thrust back into reality—a reality I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

The salty air veiled my face and stung my eyes as I stepped out of my car. I squinted up at the late afternoon sunlight and pulled my sunglasses over my eyes, detesting this place even more than I thought possible. It was nothing but a painful reminder, and according to my overpaid shrink, one I needed to face if I was ever going to move on with my life. The problem was, I didn’t want to move on. I was stuck. Stuck in a world that no longer existed, wishing I could go back and rewrite those last few chapters of my life and have them end happily, but I knew better—happy endings weren’t my style—in my fictional world or my real one.

Grabbing my bag from the trunk of my car, I gazed up at the gingerbread-style house with disdain—this was my ghost that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I was now the character in one of my novels who kept so many of my readers up at night in fear, but there was no ending to my story. I was destined to live inside the pages of a book to which there was no resolution, no simple answer, no logic as to why things ended in the manner they had.

I walked up the stairs to the wraparound porch, crossing the threshold into a long foyer. Classical music played in the background as I took in every detail, from the pristine chestnut and walnut staircase to the large stained-glass window in the dining room.

“Oh, I think that will be beautiful,” the woman, who I assumed was the inn keeper, said to a younger brunette woman as they looked over paint samples. They halted their conversation, and both cast a questioning gaze upon me as I approached them.

“Mr. Banks.” The inn keeper’s smile transformed from warm and welcoming to a sympathetic stare.

I nodded, not much in the mood for pleasantries. I just wanted the key to my room and to be on my way.

“Okay, room eight is all ready and waiting for you.”

The brunette girl picked up the paint chart and stepped aside. Her intense stare burned into me.

I jerked my head in her direction, meeting her deep-brown eyes that seemed to look right through me. Her face reddened before she caught herself and looked away.

“There’s coffee, tea, and lots of goodies in the dining room, then at six o’clock we have wine and cheese hour. We’d love for you to join—”

“Can I just have the key to the room, please?”

“Oh yes, sure, Mr. Banks.” The older woman’s eyes widened over my abruptness.

I made no apologies. I wasn’t here to socialize. I just wanted to be left alone.

She handed me the key ring and I picked up my bag. “I’m Judith, and my husband, Harry, is around here somewhere. If you need us for anything, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“That won’t be necessary.” I reached my way to the staircase, pausing and looking out onto the front porch where the brunette had moved to take a phone call. She was actually a very attractive girl, and in another life, I would have been flattered to have her checking me out. Chances were, I’d probably be checking her out too and more than likely sweet talking her into my bed within hours of our introduction. But I was numb inside, and women didn’t excite me like they used to. In fact, nothing in life did anymore. Making sure she was deep in conversation with her call, I walked back over to the inn keeper.

“Yes, is everything okay, Mr. Banks?” She was immediately attentive.

“Yes, it’s fine. I expect my privacy to be maintained and not be shared with your guests.”

“Oh, certainly, Mr. Banks. We would never—”

“Very well,” I cut her off and made my way up the stairs, taking one last glimpse of the brunette, who remained on the porch, throwing her head back and laughing at whoever was on the other end of her phone conversation.

I turned the key and entered the room. Nothing could prepare me for the immense anxiety that overcame me as I came face-to-face with the last place he had laid his head. Pain shot through my chest, and my breaths shortened as I remembered his deep belly laughs, his blue eyes, and his mile-wide smile. He was the one thing in life I was sure I never wanted, and now I couldn’t live without.

A deep ache flooded my head. I moved to the window and drew the curtains closed, erasing all signs of the beautiful afternoon outside. Darkness was my life now, the only place I found refuge from my own personal hell. I took a seat on the bed and grabbed my favorite remedy from my bag. Lifting the bottle of Jack Daniel’s to my lips, I took a swig and washed down a pill. Reaching into my bag once again, I pulled out his favorite teddy bear, the one he’d sleep with every night. Sometimes, I swore if I inhaled deep enough, his scent still lingered on this bear.

I lowered my head onto the pillow with tears pricking my eyes. Squeezing them shut, I tried my best to halt my emotions. I learned at an early age that crying was for sissies, and that lecture usually came during one of my father’s drunken rages as the strap of his belt greeted my back. Manning up and holding it in didn’t matter to me anymore. My father wasn’t here to punish me for it, and in a way, I wish he were. Maybe the physical pain would dull the one in my heart. I pulled the teddy bear into me and allowed my emotions to come to the surface, wondering what his last moments were like for him. Was he scared? Was he crying? Was he wondering why I wasn’t there to save him? A deep sob escaped me as I replayed that image through my mind.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my words barely audible, even to myself.

My eyes settled on the pills and the bottle of Jack sitting on the nightstand. The antidote to my misery was in my reach. Just a few more pills and a couple more swigs and I could go to sleep forever. The harder I tried to resist the urge, the stronger my desire grew. Peace at last. No more nightmares. No more pain. I’d be free from my chains that were bound to me for the rest of my life. I sat up and reached for the pills. Pouring them in the palm of my hand, I grabbed the bottle of Jack in my free one. I was never a big believer in God and was feeling a bit like a hypocrite for now hoping there was an afterlife, and maybe in a few short moments, I’d be reunited with the only thing that ever mattered to me.