Tracing the golden pattern of the door with my finger, I found that I wished the same thing for my parents. That somehow the three of them had found each other and were living adventures in Winterbrook.
Breaking the momentary silence, Rachel said solemnly, “The book is yours. You were right. It was here in the bookstore the whole time, waiting for you.”
Instantly my eyes welled up with tears as well.
“No tears. We’ll both start sobbing, and as of two days ago I thought I didn’t like you.”
“Same,” I answered before I thought about it.
We both cracked up at that.
“So you did name your store after the bookstore in Winterbrook?” I recalled how angry Rachel had been when I’d asked three years ago.
Slowly, she nodded.
I stared at the book in my hands and shook my head in awe. “Thank you. So much. This is . . . amazing.”
“I can’t argue with destiny.” Rachel smiled, content.
Glancing at the time on my phone, I had a mini heart attack. “It’s five a.m. I need to get home.”
“You can crash on the couch. You shouldn’t walk home this late. It’s too dangerous.”
I flinched from the sound of a gunshot.
My attacker hovered outside the second-story window, staring at me.
He disappeared.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good. I just need to get home. I’ll be fine.” I had to leave. I had to get out.
Rachel didn’t push the argument. Our relationship was still fragile after all. “I’ll walk you down.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do.”
I got it. Things had changed. Rachel was different.
We were friends.
“Okay,” I agreed.
I held both the painting and the book like the precious treasures they were, and we headed toward the door. It didn’t take us long to walk down the stairs that led to the closed store. It was strange moving through the stacks in the dark with only Rachel. I’d done it many times before after closing, but it was different somehow.
Arriving at the front door, Rachel unlocked it for me and opened it.
I stepped outside and turned to Rachel.
It was time.
This time gently.
Carrying the painting and book in one hand, I reached out with my other hand, offering it to Rachel.
Terrified, Rachel shakily gave me her hand.
“You got this,” I encouraged her.
Tears of fear rolled from Rachel’s eyes, but she nodded, and slowly, inch by inch, she stepped out of the store. After a moment of truly being outside of her own free will, Rachel breathed in deep, forcing herself to calm down.
“You did it. You’re here,” I said quietly, worried I’d spook her.
Rachel tightened her grip on my hand. “Don’t turn into me, Jeraline. Living in a constant state of fear isn’t living.” Her eyes searched mine for acknowledgment. “Promise me.”
Her face morphed into my attacker’s face, then quickly back again.
“I promise,” I uttered, though it terrified me to do so.
Rachel patted my hand as if this was enough for her, then let me go.
“You going back in?” I asked her.
Peering up at the sky, Rachel stared as if it were for the first time. She shook her head with a small smile. “I think I’m going to stay out here for a while.”
Without thinking, I hugged Rachel tightly. I needed to. I wanted to. And what shocked me more was that Rachel hugged me back just as fiercely.
“I’ll see you at work,” Rachel said kindly in my ear.
I pulled away, trying to hide the distance that crept up inside of me as I realized what I had to do. Waving the book gently, I said, “Thank you for the book.”
“Of course,” Rachel answered.
Leaving without another glance at Rachel, I started my trek home.
It was time.
I had to do it.
There was no other choice for me.
I had to turn myself in.
I headed toward the alley one more time.
It didn’t take long to get there and find what I was looking for: the Wanted poster for my attacker. The name had been ripped off, presumably years ago, but at least his face was clear. The first piece to my confession. I tore it from the brick, and it came off surprisingly easy, as if it were meant to be, because it was meant to be.
A deep resounding snicker boomed from the alley, and I tried to ignore it. It mocked me. It thought it had won the war. Maybe it had. But I didn’t care anymore. I had to take responsibility for what I had done, and if that meant the alley had beaten me, then so be it.
My legs shook as I forced myself to walk back home to gather the last two items I’d need to own up to what I had done.
Trembling hands opened the door to my building, legs heavy as if made of stone climbed up the stairs, numb fingers placed the key in my front lock and turned the knob.
I reached my bedroom, placing Hank’s painting on the bedside table and my book on the bed itself, then stuffed my attacker’s wanted poster inside my backpack.
I collapsed to my knees, my body no longer able to support me.
Arms weighed down by terror pulled out the box holding the gun from under the bed. Lifting the revolver carefully, I placed it on my lap. I grabbed the shirt from under the mattress and shoved it into my backpack on top of the Wanted sign.
Why couldn’t I do that with the gun?
Hank’s painting began swirling into a black hole. I wished it would suck me into its vortex.
I knew what I had to do, yet I couldn’t seem to move.
Olivia appeared, dangling her feet off the bed in front of me, gently holding the first edition of The Gateway to Winterbrook that Rachel had given me. “You finally got your prize, and now you’re going to be locked up for years. I wonder if they’ll let you bring the book?”
I didn’t answer.
She wasn’t real.
“You’re doing the right
