A pause. “Could be her. Maybe she ran into something, maybe an animal.”
I hold my breath as their footsteps recede. I wait. One minute.
Two minutes, then more until all that remains are the sounds of nature, and one of those sounds I recognize; it’s what made me fall in love with Crescent Bay.
I push up onto shaking legs, my ears straining for the rhythmic crash of waves beyond the trees. The ocean... the beach. Hope flickers.
I force myself into motion, stumbling forward, my body aching with every step. I nearly cry from relief when the forest ends, giving way to a narrow, steep trail leading down the hill to the beach. Digging into my bag, I take out my phone. “Motherfucker.” My shattered phone stares back at me, unusable. I must be the unluckiest person alive. There’s no way to call for help.
The path to the beach looks uneven and unsafe, but I’m not about to stand here waiting to be captured. I don’t hesitate. I dig into my bag, grabbing my flats, kicking off the chunky fall boots. I’m not risking a twisted ankle now. At least the moonlight is illuminating my way. With each step I take closer to the shoreline, my mind is a jumbled mess. Cyan’s grip on my throat still haunts me. My hand brushes over the tender skin. Icy dread rolls over me at the thought of his suffocating grip. My panic surges anew. Clutching my large tote close, my footsteps quicken as I stumble toward the beach.
When I finally reach the sandy bay, I peek behind me hoping no one is following, thank goodness only the shadows of tall trees follow me. My body begs to stop. To rest, but I can’t. Seeing the pier, the strip of buildings at the far end of the beach. A few dim lights glow. Please let something be open.
I stagger onto the pier, my breath ragged, my body screaming with exhaustion. Crescent Bay, once my haven, now feels like a trap. The strip is silent. Every storefront already locked up tight. Even the bar is closed. No late-night diners, no drunken locals, no help. Just me, the cold slap of ocean air, and the hollow thud of my heartbeat.
Bang!I jump, spinning toward the noise. My heart skips a beat. A door slams open against a wall. Light streams from the open door into the side alley. A woman steps out, holding a garbage bag. I don’t think. Irun toward her.“Help me! Please help me!”
She stiffens, her grip on the bag loosening. “Whoa. Hey. Hold on.” She squints at me in the dim light, assessing me and taking in my disheveled state. She steps forward, lowering her garbage bag. I glimpse her face; a jagged scar sliced along her left cheek. She’s older, maybe in her late fifties or early sixties. She’s old enough to know trouble when it comes running straight at her.
“H-help me, please.”
Her sharp eyes scan the darkness behind me, then flick back to my face, cautious. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to hide.” My voice cracks. “There’s a man, Cyan, and his gang. They’re after me.”
Something shifts in her gaze. Her fingers relax around the bag. “Come inside. Now.”
She grabs my wrist, pulling me through the back entrance. The door clicks shut behind me, the scent of grease, salt, and stale beer hitting my senses. The seating area is dark, quiet... chairs stacked on tables, the bar wiped clean, a flickering neon sign hums behind the counter, casting erratic shadows. “This way,” she motions for me to follow her, leading me into the dimly lit hallway behind the bar. “I’ll call the sheriff.” I nod gratefully for her help. The woman opens another door, ushering me inside, and follows me in, locking the door behind us. Looking around the space, I see it is an office. “Name’s Rosa, by the way.”
“Aria, thanks for helping me.”
Rosa glances down and reaches under her desk, brings up a bottle of water, and shoves it toward me. “Drink while I call Sheriff Bob directly.” I didn’t even realize how thirsty I was until I took the bottle and twisted the cap off, drinking down all the water. Rosa dials. I listen as she mutters to Sheriff Bob. My name. Cyan’s name. She hangs up. “He’s coming.”
Resting the empty bottle on her desk. “Thanks so much for helping me.”
“Aria. In this town, we’re family, and family loyalty is important.” A tight nod is all I manage. Rosa’s words hold such conviction that my own responsibilities towards my Nonna flood my mind. My grandmother was always there for me; she sacrificed everything to raise me when my parents.... I shudder to think what will happen to Nonna if something happens to me tonight.
Family is everything. The words hit hard. Family. I should call my sister from another mother to give her a heads up on the shitshow I’ve found myself in. Tasha will know what to do. Hayden knows where I lived. What happens if Cyan goes to my home? I need to warn Tasha. “Can I make a call?” Rosa hesitates, then nods, handing over her phone as she glances at the door. Just as I reach for it, Rosa’s elbow knocks the stack of papers on her desk, sending them flying to the floor.
“Oh crap, I just sorted these bills.” She bends down to pick up her scattered papers, and I get off the chair to assist her. Just as we finish picking up the papers, the phone rings, and we both go silent. Rosa grabs her cell, answering. “Bob? Okay, I’ll open the door.” Relief rushes through me as Rosa, with her cell at her ear, leaves to open the door.
Sheriff Bob enters, Rosa trailing behind him. The door clicks shut; he listens as I spill everything: Cyan, Hayden, the attack, the chase. Bob nods, scratching his mustache while taking notes.
“Alright, let’s get you out of here,” he motions for me to follow. I don’t hesitate. I cast one last glance at Rosa, expecting relief, but her smile is tight-lipped, strained. We exit through the back, stepping into the cool night air. The alley is silent except for the distant crash of waves. Bob walks briskly, leading me to his patrol car parked at the end of the alley. The sight of it floods me with fragile relief. His black-and-white cruiser is a symbol of safety. A barrier between me and Cyan.
Bob opens the door, his expression unreadable. As I slide into the backseat, an unsettling feeling ripples through me.Will I truly be safe? What if the sheriff can’t protect me?The locks click, and the engine hums to life. We pull away; the bar shrinking behind us. With a shaky hand pressed against my chest, I exhale slowly. I’m safe. I need to calm my racing mind. The cruiser slows, pulling up beside a sleek black car, the paint gleaming under the streetlights like polished onyx. My stomach knots as the back door swings open and I see him. Cyan.
Those unnatural blue-green eyes bore into me.No. No, no, no.I snap my head toward Bob, my breath sharp and ragged. “Sheriff, please. Don’t do this.” My voice quivers, but I don’t care; I’ll beg if I must.
Bob meets my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Just family business, sweetheart.”
The sharp click of the automatic locks makes me flinch. I stare as Cyan reaches for the handle; another soft click and he slides in beside me. The scent of whiskey and leather fills the air, wrapping around me like a noose.
Instinct takes over. I lunge for the opposite door, fingers scrambling for the lever. But before I can throw myself out, Cyan’s voice cuts through the air—stopping me in my tracks.
“Tasha Diamond.” I freeze. My stomach plummets. He says her name like a loaded weapon, like it alone could bring me to my knees. My hands drop from the handle. Slowly, I turn back to him. Cyan watches me, smug and victorious. He lifts his phone, with Tasha’s picture. “Aria Concetta Boschett, you really thought you could run?”
Thud, thud, thud.My heartbeat is a war drum in my ears. “You’re a junior accountant at J&G working in the business payroll department at the branch here in town. Top of your Master of Finance program at the University of Chicago. Bright future, until your grandmother got injured, then you dropped out.” I stare at him. He’s dug up everything in just this short time.
