Dahlia
Rain tricklesdown the front windows of the bookstore in streams, blurring the world outside into nothing more than smears of headlights and slick asphalt. The sun set a few hours ago, taking its warmth with it, and another soul hasn’t set foot in Better Than Fiction since.
I should just close early. If it were any other day, I would. But Fallon is working the night shift tonight, and the thought of coming home to an empty loft even earlier than planned just doesn’t sound appealing.
I miss Mom and Dad extra tonight. If they were still around, I could just head over to their place for the night. I’d gorge myself on Dad’s food and binge-watch my favorite Filipino soap operas with Mom. Instead, I’m stuck here. Alone.
Echo hasn’t contacted me in over two weeks. Which is fine. I told him to stop, and he did. But I think I just got too used to him being there. The constant texts. Therandom check-ins. The way he always seemed to know what I was thinking.
Echo took up space in my world. And now that he’s gone, I feel his absence. And I really hate that I do.
It’s just so unlike him to disappear like this.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and quickly check the notifications. No new messages.Damn.
He’s always been vague about his work, but judging by how effortlessly he killed those men in the alley, I know he isn’t sitting at a desk for a living.
Maybe something happened to him.I swallow hard.God, I really hope nothing bad happened to him.
I restart my phone and wait for it to power back on. Maybe my connection is off. Or there’s some kind of network error. Nothing again. I lock the screen and slip it back into my pocket, feeling embarrassed for even bothering.
God Dahlia, get a grip on yourself. This is what you wanted.
The rain picks up outside, tapping harder against the windows. My shoulders tighten before I can stop them. I move behind the counter and start straightening things that don’t need to be straightened. A stack of bookmarks. A cup filled with pens. The little chalkboard sign with our book of the week. Anything to keep my mind distracted and my hands busy.
I’m adjusting a crooked pile of paperbacks when my phone buzzes. The sound ricochets through the store, and my heart jumps so hard it almost hurts. I grab it without thinking and answer it.
“Dahlia Nocon?” A man on the other end asks, his voice professional and familiar in the worst possible way.
My stomach drops. I haven’t heard anyone call me by my real last name in years. “Yes.” I manage. “This is her.”
“This is Detective Harris with the Franklin County Sheriff’s Department’s Major Crimes Unit.”
He pauses, and in that silence, I know something is wrong. I sit down slowly on the stool behind the counter. “I wanted to inform you personally before the news goes public. Christian Sanders escaped custody two nights ago.”
I try to process what he’s saying, but his words don’t make sense. They can’t make sense.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, my voice strangled, barely audible.
He clears his throat. “There was an incident while he was being transferred to another facility. We’re-”
“How?” I interrupt. “How did this happen? He was supposed to be locked up. He was supposed to-”
“We’re still investigating the details, but I wanted you to be aware. He hasn’t contacted any of his immediate family, so we have reason to believe that he may attempt to contact you. I understand this is alarming, but?—”
The rest of his words fade as my phone slips from my fingers and hits the rug with a dull thud.
Christian is out.
The room tilts and I grab onto the edge of the counter to steady myself.
This can’t be happening.
This can’t be fucking happening.
I worked so hard to escape my past. I changed my last name, moved across the country, and built a whole new life for myself. And now, the safe little life I’ve made for myself is at risk. All because they let him slip through their fingers.
I slip off the stool and slide down to the floor, pressing my back against a bookshelf as I pull my knees to my chest.
