The look in Celeste’s eyes was one of defeat. I shook my head wildly, hoping that she would receive the message. She couldn’t give up. We had to fight.
The small shake of her head warned me that I was too hopeful. Too optimistic. She smiled. Her face was splattered with her own blood as her skin took on a pale tint.
“I love you, sissy,” she mouthed as the knife went across her neck.
I screamed, hoping God would take mercy on me and wind back time just this once—but he just laughed.
I covered my ears as the memory of Celeste’s lifeless eyes began to assault my brain; the echo of his laughter rang in my ears. A sob broke free as I remembered the last pieces of her I had left were gone.
My legs trembled as I attempted to stand, but the room tilted as the weight of my decisions barreled into me at warp speed.
Foolish. Naive. So stupid.
You shouldn’t be here.
My hands found their way into my tangled and matted curls and pulled. The bite of pain centered me. I spent the first yearafter Celeste was killed looking over my shoulder, hiding my body and the masterpiece of scars he’d left me with. The police closed the case, and I assumed he would be happy getting away with his crimes. I foolishly assumed he would stay away. He took everything from me. What could he want now?
A chime broke my paralysis and drew my attention to the clear plastic bag that held my cell phone.
Shakily, I unlocked it.
[Unknown]: You have 48 hours to leave New York.
[Unknown]: You should have left when they told you to, Evvie.
[Unknown]: Hide and Seek was always one of my favorite games.
My vision blurred as my phone slipped from my shaking hands and clattered to the floor.
Sweat beaded at my hairline as my chest tightened and the room shrank.
He’s back.
Charles came back for me.
Chapter 2
Parker
Ijolted upright, awakened by the sound of a nurse's sneakers squeaking as she ran down the hall.
Damn, it’s been a long week.I must have dozed off. The recent storms kept my firehouse busy most of the week. Rubbing my hands over my fresh fade and across my face, I tried to wipe away the exhaustion. After a week of rescuing people from electrical wires that had fallen on cars, trees that crashed through houses, and routine medical calls, I was called to a two-alarm fire in Pelham Manor. We arrived just in time before the roof started to cave in. Being the Fire Captain meant that it was my responsibility to rush inside before anyone, while the rest of my team controlled the fire from the outside. I would always carry the weight of my team. It was my job to make sure they returned home to their families.
I hadn’t expected to find a woman consumed by a nightmare. She thrashed and whimpered in her bed as the flames crawled up the walls of the bedroom. I woke her as gently as I could. Pain was written all over her tear-streaked face. Whatever she was dreaming about had her trapped in its clutches and I fought it to let her go. The look in her eyes had done something to me; terror freezing her in time. I had seen this type of look before—some nights, that look was all I saw, except they weren’t tear-filled hazel eyes, they were blue. We didn’t have much more time before the flames took the bedroom too, so I lifted her into my arms and carried her towards the side door that wasn’t being blocked by the flames.
It was only when we emerged into the crisp night air that she began to scream. The sound still haunted me as we rode back to the station.
The fire investigator, James, interviewed me about what I observed when arriving at the scene. I noticed the pour patterns on the floor the moment I set foot into the home. That observation, combined with how quickly the house was swallowed by the fire, led me to believe there was foul play involved. The heavy smell of smoke lingered in the air as we ascertained the damage. Nothing would be salvageable.
When we reached the backyard, James and I used our flashlights to survey the area for any additional information we could add to our reports. My eyes caught on an orange duffel bag behind a bush near the house, completely untouched by the fire.
Pulling on his gloves, James unzipped the duffel bag and found a tin of gasoline, zip ties, and a piece of folded paper.
I released a low whistle.Something in the milk ain’t clean.
This new evidence confirmed my suspicion that someone had intentionally started that fire. James had given me a somber look before unfolding the paper. When he turned it toward me, it was a photo of the woman I had carried out tonight, her face pressed against another woman, smiling so wide you could see most of their teeth.
I used my phone to snap a picture as he placed a call to the 49th precinct. This was no mistake—whoever left this bag here clearly had bigger plans.
