Once the box is open, I find note after note. Threats.
I’m watching you.
I see you.
I know your every move.
Quit the team or I’ll make sure you never race again.
Your day is coming.
I can do whatever I want to you, and you can’t stop me.
You have no place on the racetrack.
I’ve got something you can ride.
I’m coming for you.
I’ll make you come for me whether you want to or not.
Careful, princess. Daddy will know who you’re screwing.
I’ll make sure you lose everything.
You can run, but you can’t hide.
Do you feel me watching?
Your time has run out; it’s my turn now.
I cover my mouth with my hand. Lennon has a stalker. The cops are right; the wreck was intentional. Someone knew what was going on that night if these notes are any indication of the events which led to the wreck. But it doesn’t seem anyone I’m close to knew about this. They would’ve told me, especially Dash.
A photo album catches my eye, so I pull it out and flip through the pictures. There are a lot of Lennon and London andour parents. There’s some of Lennon racing over the years. A few even show Dash nearby. A much younger Dash.
There are some group pictures and I recognize the guys I saw at my dad’s garage. Jackson, Troy, and Dillan, I think. Again, much younger versions. I guess they’ve all been friends for a long time.
I close the album and lock the notes back up in their box and tuck it neatly in the same spot I found it. I’m about to close the cedar chest, but something makes me take a second look at the leather jacket. It’s well-worn like it was a favorite.
I pick it up and slide my arms into it. I feel a twinge of pain as I get my left arm settled. I left my sling at the apartment. I walk in front of the floor-length mirror in the closet and check my reflection. I lean the cane against the wall and stand tall on my own.
The reflection is still unsure, but I see a flicker of recognition I didn’t before. I stick my hands in the pockets of the jacket and feel a tube of lipstick. It’s a red-wine color. I open it and glide it over my lips.
I may still have a bruised face and an angry scar forming from my temple to my eyebrow, but this lipstick makes me look alive. I close the tube and wonder why it was packed away in the pocket of this jacket in the closet.
I leave the closet for the attached master bath. Lennon’s makeup is out on the counter waiting for her to use. I pull out the chair at her vanity mirror and try to cover my bruises and the incoming scar which led to my amnesia. I put a few coats of mascara on, feeling like I’ve taken a piece of my identity back, like I’m bolder somehow.
I glance down at my arm where I’m wearing the two bracelets each of us had, and I finger the one that says “Mirror, mirror. My heart to embolden.”
I slowly make my way back downstairs. Once I reach the bottom step, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket.
I pull it out, figuring it’s Dash checking in, but I’m wrong. There’s a message from Dad checking on me. But there’s another I didn’t notice come in while I was upstairs. And it makes the hair on the back of my neck stand.
It’s a text from an unknown number.
I know who you really are, but I know you don’t remember. And if you do, no one will ever know. I’m watching your every move.
I drop the phone like it’s on fire and search the downstairs. I move as quickly as I can to the door to make sure it’s locked. Then, I close the curtains on the windows. About the time I enter the kitchen at the back of the house, I see the back door is open.
