I would call her eventually, but not now. After her initial, “Amy, where are you?” as opposed tohoware you, the conversation would inevitably be all about her. She was so wrapped up in her latest drama; she had no room for anyone else. I sighed. Putting up with her self-indulgent chatter wasn’t something I could deal with right now. Throwing the phoneback into the console, I turned the key and pulled away with a renewed sense that today would be a better day.
It wasn’t like it could get much worse.
Long stretches of green wooded terrain streamed past my window. The road slithered through the forest like a gray serpent, winding steadily inland and upward.
The summer sun streamed through the windshield and glimmered against the emerald of my ring. It was a large oval stone, wrapped in exquisitely detailed antique-gold surrounds. It was a gift from my parents.
“It has special powers and it will protect you,” Mom had said. “Never take it off.” She’d said the same thing about the necklace they’d given me not long after I’d first arrived, when the nightmares had woken me screaming, night after night. “It’s a magic necklace, and it will always keep you safe.” She’d cradled me to her chest as I’d sobbed. I remembered the warmth of her body, the soft scent of vanilla perfume, and feeling safe in her arms.
“What about the monster in the dark?” I’d whispered.
She stroked my head. “Especially the monsters in the dark. They won’t dare come anywhere near you now.”
It had worked on my young mind like a placebo drug. The nightmares ceased. It was amazing what the power of belief could do.
Even when I realized it wasn’t magic at all, but a mother just trying to ease the mind of a traumatized child, I’d never taken it off. Not to sleep, not to shower, not to train—never. The clasp must had given out, because the necklace had fallen off when I was running one day and I lost it. The ring had been a gift for my eighteenth birthday.
It was the last gift I ever received from my mother.
The lights of a police car flashing up ahead snapped my attention back to the road. The car sat sideways, blocking anyfurther progression. I pulled over, and an officer—a squat man with dark hair and a friendly face—came over to the window.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the road is blocked. There has been an accident up ahead.”
“Is everyone alright?” I asked.
“There’s been a fatality, and it will be blocked for some hours. You can turn around, go back an hour or so to the nearest town, Two Peaks, or take the road to Church Heights, off to your right. It’s about a forty-five minute drive.”
I stared at the heavily wooded area, huge pine trees with cascading branches standing tall like stealthy caretakers of the forest floor. The roadside dropped sharply to the left. To the right, the road wound up through the thick trees. Crows flew through the canopy above, squawking as their midnight-blue wings sparkled against the sun’s rays.
My gaze drifted to the ancient yellow sign, the faint outline of the mountains sketched across its facade. The paint was peeled, and black leered out from beneath it like soulless eyes. At odds with the rest of the sign, the blue writing was clear and fresh.
Church Heights
Population 3561
A place where you can start again.
The words pinged something alive in my chest. Something that felt like hope. I headed toward the promise of a fresh start.
Chapter 6
Church Heights
Idrove along twisted roads beneath the canopy of a towering forest. Overhead, the limbs entwined, coiling into a claustrophobic tomb. To the side, the road plunged off steeply. Occasional breaks in the trees revealed a deep chasm. A moment of inattention would see me plummeting to certain death. The earlier sense of a fresh start dulled beneath an unsettling sense of oppression.
My hands white-knuckled the wheel, and I drove slowly, concentrating on the road. Occasional spurts of crystal sunlight wrestled through the canopy, creating a pretty mosaic of etched light on the asphalt.
It felt like an eternity before the road left the forest behind for an expanse of meadows. Ahead, a decent-sized town appeared. Tucked in the foothills, the town itself was flat. Circumnavigating it, an endless expanse of thick green forest stretched up through the cloudy haze of mountains, disappearing into the horizon. The town was built long ago, with wide streets and old buildings. The shopfronts were tall, rising towards the sky, with scrolled windows and details etched on the brickwork—something you didn’t see on modern buildings. It was beautiful in the way old, historic towns held rare beauty,and the bones of the buildings whispered untold stories and treasures from long-lost pasts. But quite a few had “Closed” or “For Lease” signs hung lopsidedly on grime-coated windows.
I pulled into a parking spot, exiting the car, and stretching my arms as I took a deep breath. The hot, fresh air slid down my throat, drifting to my hollow stomach. I looked up the street for a café sign. I couldn’t see one, but my legs were stiff from sitting, and a walk would do them good.
I passed by Belle’s Hairdressing, Mave’s Shoes, Buckley’s Chemist, and John’s Realty. Mystic Haven was a shop that advertised psychic readings. A vast collection of dream catchers and crystals hung from the ceiling and covered the front window. I kept walking until I came to Joe’s Diner.
The creativity of the town was outstanding.
I clamped a smile behind my lips and headed in. The diner was old-fashioned, but clean, with checked vinyl floors and wooden booths with red leather-covered seats. It wasn’t overly busy, so I had my choice of seats, and I chose a booth by the window. I scanned the menu, ordering a coffee and the only thing on the menu aside from fries that was vegetarian—a burger.
In a booth a few seats over, a young child with squashed raisins on his face and ginger-colored hair was inhaling his burger like he hadn’t eaten for a month. His mother chastised him, but he couldn’t answer because the sides of his cheeks were popped out like bubble gum, so he rolled his eyes and kept on munching. A couple of teenage girls sat opposite each other, staring at their phones, picking distractedly at a plate of fries they were sharing.
