He sat at his desk and flipped his laptop open. He needed to clear his head while he waited to hear from his daughter. His new book sat in its file on the desktop, and he clicked it open. With a last sip of coffee, he started to type.
Why did all her bright ideas always happen in the middle of the night? It was a sickness, she thought as she got out of bed, her bare feet moving against the hand-carved hardwood floors she’d had to have. Now, ten years and a divorce later, they seemed an extravagance she didn’t need.
Her steps were quiet as she made her way to the staircase, careful to avoid the squeaking stair as she descended to the house’s main living room. The dying embers of tonight’s fire glowed softly in the center of the tall space’s wall, giving her enough light to make it to the kitchen unaided.
Joshua was sleeping, and she didn’t want to wake him. He had his band recital tomorrow, and the kid was already nervous enough about his less-than-stellar trombone skills. She didn’t blame him. He was terrible, and her ears would testify to that in court.
She grabbed the pen and paper off the kitchen countertop and began making notes. Ways to pay off their debt sooner. Something thudded to the floor from upstairs, and Dana jumped off her seat. She listened, thinking it might just be Joshua pushing one of his toys off his bed. He liked to sleep with them, as if having an action figure under your pillow would make your dreams better. Maybe the kid was onto something. She’d put a ten-dollar bill under her pillow tomorrow and see if it helped.
When no other sounds emerged from above, she kept writing. She could finally sell all his stuff. He wasn’t coming back for it. The garage was full of things other people would pay money for.
The stair creaked: the one she’d avoided because of the noise.
Someone was walking around her house. “Joshua?” she asked, her voice too quiet to carry from the kitchen. She glanced at the clock. 2:12 blinked on the microwave above the stove. What was her son doing up?
She found her nerve and pushed the impending fear of an intruder from her mind. She had a security system for a reason. Dana got up and moved toward the living room, the kitchen tiles cold against her bare feet.
“Joshua, you better go back to bed…”
Her voice fell off upon seeing the stranger. He was wearing black, standing in the corner of her living room. Dana tried to move but couldn’t. Fear froze her like someone looking Medusa in the eyes. Her gaze lowered, and she saw the glint of the embers reflect from a long knife in the man’s hand. No. A machete, her panicked brain told her.
He started toward her slowly, sure of himself. Only when he was two feet from her did she find her voice and scream.
“Honey, do you want some eggs?” Terri called to Paul from the hallway.
Paul’s attention snapped from the blinking cursor on his page to the door. “Well, Dana, I guess we have to wait until later to see what happens to you. I wish you luck.” He saved the document and shut the laptop.
He glanced at his phone. No calls. No texts. He was in the hallway, heading for the kitchen, when the idea struck him. “Terri, I think we should make a trip upstate to Bellton.”
Terri grinned at him, and Stevie cheered from his position on the couch, a superhero cartoon blaring on the TV.
_______________
Taylor hadn’t spent much time in Red Creek as a kid. That week she had, they’d arrived at night and had left a few days later. Still, the feeling of oppression was heavy as they entered the town proper, heading past dilapidated homes as they neared the main drag.
“Where are we?” Brent asked softly, his eyes darting around the old town. “I know you said it wasn’t much to look at, but this is something else.”
Taylor was finding the air hard to breathe inside her car, and she pressed the window button, cool, wet air giving her a slight reprieve. “I know. It’s strange. Isabelle says it’s like the townspeople don’t even know how bad it is. It’s like they never leave and see other places to compare it to.”
They kept driving until the sign for Chuck’s came into view. “Park here,” she suggested, and he started to turn the car around, waiting for an old truck to pass first, before cutting in front of the oncoming traffic. The driver of the other vehicle glared at them from behind a cracked windshield.
“Friendly locals,” Brent muttered, and for the first time, Taylor considered what her boyfriend was wearing. He had on an emerald-green polo shirt and pink shorts, wearing tan loafers and no socks. With his perfectly-styled hair and his pearly white smile, he looked like a model. He wasn’t going to fit in well in Red Creek.
“What are you looking at?” he asked as he threw the car in park.
She laughed, feeling better that he was there with her. She didn’t think she’d have been able to drive into town without him.
“You’re too handsome for your own good,” Taylor said as she opened the door and stepped onto the street. She’d done it. She was back.
“I hope this place is good, because I’m starving.” Brent shut the car off, and they met in front of the restaurant. Another five vehicles were parked in a row, and Taylor smelled the familiar scent of eggs and bacon mixed with coffee.
They entered through the glass door, classic metal chimes announcing their arrival. Taylor had never been inside the restaurant. The one time she’d
