Worst of all, Heather had charmed everyone.The same women who had once loyally shopped at Hartford’s Closet now raved about Heather’s “fresh approach” and “community spirit.”
Heather hosted artisan markets and charity events.She joined the Chamber of Commerce and quickly rose to prominence.And when the Chamber announced its “Best Small Business” award—an honor Amanda had been working toward for years—they gave it to Heather.
The betrayal had been too much to bear.Amanda had filed her lawsuit convinced that justice would prevail, that others would see what she saw: a calculating woman who had systematically stolen her business model and her customers.Instead, the lawsuit had backfired spectacularly.The legal fees had drained her already struggling business, and the community had rallied around Heather, painting Amanda as a jealous competitor who couldn’t accept fair competition.
Amanda spat toothpaste into the sink and watched the white foam swirl down the drain, like her dreams, her reputation, her life in Trentville.
She shuffled to her bedroom, not bothering to turn on the light.She slipped out of her uniform—a polyester nightmare in the discount store’s signature red and khaki—and into an oversized t-shirt that served as her nightgown.She turned to the bed, which she hadn’t made that morning.Just as she was about to pull back the covers, her phone chimed with a notification.
Another TownCircle alert.
She should ignore it, should give her mind the rest it desperately needed.But the same compulsion that drove her to check the site every day, to measure her declining status against the rising fortunes of others, now pushed her toward her phone.
The notification previewed part of a new comment on the thread about Derek: “Amanda Hartford needs professional help.Her bitterness has become concerning...”
Her hand shook as she placed the phone face down on her nightstand without opening the full message.Tears burned behind her eyes, but she blinked them away.She would not cry.Not over Derek Sullivan, not over TownCircle, not over Heather Banning or her lost boutique or her ruined life in this town that had never truly accepted her.
Amanda switched off the bedside lamp and lay down, staring at the ceiling.Tomorrow, she would wake up and put on the same uniform and stand at the same register, scanning items she once would have considered beneath her dignity to sell.She would smile at customers who knew her story and pitied or despised her for it.And Heather Banning would continue to thrive, unaware or uncaring of the devastation she’d left in her wake.
The sounds came so suddenly that Amanda didn’t immediately register it as the apartment door opening—a soft click, the whisper of hinges.By the time her brain processed these signals as danger, it was too late.
A figure lunged from the darkness at the foot of her bed.Amanda opened her mouth to scream, but a gloved hand clamped over her lips, stifling the sound before it could form.She was yanked from the bed, her bare feet leaving the floor as she was spun and thrown face-down onto the carpet.The impact knocked the remaining breath from her lungs.
A knee pressed into the small of her back, pinning her in place.Amanda thrashed, her nails clawing at the carpet, finding no purchase.Her mind raced with fragments of self-defense advice—go for the eyes, scream fire instead of help, kick between the legs—all useless now as she lay immobilized, her face pressed into the synthetic fibers.
Something thin and strong looped around her neck—a cord or wire that tightened with terrifying speed.Amanda’s hands flew to her throat, scrabbling desperately against the strangling ligature.The pressure increased, cutting off her air supply, sending bolts of panic through her body.
Black spots swarmed across her vision.Her lungs burned with the need for oxygen.The room began to dim, sounds growing distant as consciousness started to slip away.In her final moments of clarity, Amanda heard a whisper close to her ear, a breathless hiss that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once:
“Green is for envy.”
And then there was nothing at all.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Morning sunlight filtered through a canopy of pines, casting dappled shadows on the dirt path beneath Jenna’s feet.She was walking toward a cabin on a hill, each footfall silent against the earth.It took several moments for Jenna to realize she wasn’t actually there—not physically.The edges of her vision shimmered with a soft luminescence that appeared in her lucid dreams.
Where is this?Why am I here?
A cabin materialized before her, familiar but more vibrant than the one she remembered.The weathered silver boards gleamed in the sunlight, the small porch swept clean.Smoke curled from the chimney, a thin gray ribbon against the blue sky.At one side of the house, neat rows of vegetables stretched toward the horizon.
Then she saw a figure stooped among the green shoots, working methodically with a hoe.He wore faded overalls and a checkered shirt, his movements fluid and strong.
Wendell Gillis.
Although she recognized the man tending that garden, he bore little resemblance to the withered shell she and Jake had found dying in that narrow bed.This Wendell stood tall, his shoulders broad, his hands steady as they worked the soil.Only his white hair and the lines on his face revealed his advanced age.
“Wendell,” she called, her voice carrying across the garden.
He straightened, turning toward her voice.A smile broke across his weathered face, crinkling the corners of his eyes.He waved in greeting, as if her presence was expected, even welcome.
Jenna moved forward, drawn by the impossible sight of the man she had watched die just weeks ago.As she approached, fragments of another dream slipped into her consciousness—Wendell appearing to her three nights after they had found Piper, his form faint and flickering like a candle flame in wind.
“She’s still in danger,” he had told her then, his voice urgent.“The darkness—”
But his words had been cut short as the dream dissolved, leaving Jenna with only questions and a lingering sense of dread.
Now he waited for her, leaning on his hoe, solid and substantial in the morning light.Jenna quickened her pace, afraid that he would vanish again before she reached him.
