His scream was something out of a horror movie,echoing off the walls and lingering in the air as if to punctuate the shock.
I stilled, wondering what could entice that kind of reaction from a man who was the one who typically did the scaring.
Boots hurried across the living room, along with a low, panicked repetitive muttering of something I couldn’t make out. My thoughts spun, every instinct in my body telling me that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
“Rose!” My name exploded from his lips. It wasn’t the first time he’d screamed my name, but it was the first time it sounded likethat.
“Rose!”
My heart kickstarted into panic mode, my gaze darting around the kitchen. The window above the kitchen sink. Could I make it? Could I escape?
“Rose!”
I surged to my feet, my nightgown snagging on a nail sticking out from the cabinet.
My mind split in two—one half desperate to flee, the other paralyzed by the unfamiliar sound of panic inhisvoice.
What was going on?
I crept toward the doorway, heart pounding, breath held tight in my chest.
The living room was dimly lit by the television’s blue glow. A low, haunting melody accompanied the end of a movie streaming on the television. His back was to me—stumbling like he’d been shot.
And as my gaze shifted to the couch, my stomach plummeted.
2
ROSE
Twenty years later…
Ablast of cool air whipped through my hair, the sweet scent of rain and budding flowers filling the cab of my SUV. It was springtime in the south, although you wouldn’t know it. Days and inches of rain had plagued the small town, causing intermittent flash flooding and more cases of seasonal depression than I’d seen in my entire career.
The late morning sun peeked out from the thick, gray clouds that had been hovering overhead for days. My face lifted to the sky, taking a moment to appreciate the beams of light shooting through the canopy of trees above us. Somewhere beyond the miles of forest that surrounded me was a glorious rainbow.
Maybe I’ll catch it next time, I thought.
My SUV hit a pothole, mud splattering onto the windshield as it bottomed out.
“Road needs some work.” This growl came from the passenger seat, the first words my boss had muttered since checking his seatbelt—twice.
With my grip tightening around the steering wheel, I peered down to the dirt road where most of the rocks had been washed away. It had been five days of storm after storm, with midnight temperatures dipping low enough to allow black ice to form on the mountain roads in time for morning commute. The first responders had been working overtime, even recording a PSA for the small-town folk reminding them to drive with caution, and threatening to close down the mountain that housed Banshee’s Brew liquor store. I hadn’t seen an accident since.
“Well… can’t rain forever.” I replied, glancing again up at the sky.
As if on cue, thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Rose… watch out,” my boss said.
“Wh—” Before I could finish the question, a low-hanging branch scratched down the side of my brand-new BMW.
Shake it off, Rose,the voice in my head scolded.
You’ve got this.
I called this voice Thorn—the thorn to my Rose.
Thorn was relentless. Unforgiving. Judgy as hell. But she was also the reason I’d earned a doctorate in Psychology by twenty-five—while holding down a full-time job. According to my advisor, it was a record.
