SHANNON.
"I swear, Valerie, this wasn't a dream. It felt so real," I said, rubbing my forehead with one hand while gulping down the glass of milk I'd just poured myself. My stomach still felt like it was tied in knots.
"Shan... Have you been taking your medication? This might all be stress."
There she went again, lecturing like always. Anytime I told her something remotely terrifying, she blamed stress or hormones or my sleep schedule. Never once did she stop to actually listen.
But this wasn't some silly paranoia.
And there was no way in hell I was going to tell George about what happened last night, or about Kenai. He didn't even know I had a stepbrother, let alone that he'd spent the last eight years in prison.
The moment Kenai was arrested, I shut that chapter of my life and buried it for good reason.
I knew he took the fall for me.
Yes, I killed someone by accident, but things were way deeper than him just taking the fall for me.
Kenai was a torment to me. He was terrifying. He wanted more than a stepbrother should want from a stepsister. And when he decided to take the fall for something I accidentally did, I let him. Just to be free of him.
But for the past two years, it seemed his ghost had come back to haunt me.
Strange things started happening. Little things. Like my favorite brand of soap showing up at my doorstep in unmarked boxes. Doors unlocked. Drawers rearranged. My charger missing only to appear right back a day later. Then the dreams started. Then the sensations. Then last night.
Last night wasn't a dream. I was so certain.
"I just spoke to our guy, and Kenai is still in jail," Valerie said, sounding way too calm about it. "He was seen getting into a fight this morning during breakfast. So, whatever you thought you saw last night? It wasn't real. You need to rest. Check your phone."
Just then, my phone beeped with a message.
I unlocked it with shaky fingers. It was a photo of Kenai, in his prison uniform, with his fingers tangled in his hair like he always did when he was agitated. It was timestamped with today's date.
This should make me feel better, but it didn't.
Everything in me rejected the photo.
"Kenai is sitting pretty in jail, Shan. Stop seeing things that aren't there."
God, no. She never understood me.
"I woke up on my bed this morning, after having a sound sleep. But the last thing I remembered was running toward the door and bumping into someone. Kenai. I know what I saw. It was him."
Val exhaled loudly. I could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "Just get ready for work, baby. You'll be fine."
And then she hung up.
I didn't move for a few seconds. I just stood there in the kitchen, feeling like I was losing my grip on reality.
But I wasn't crazy.
Something was wrong.
And someone was here last night.
At work, the day dragged like wet cement. I couldn't concentrate. Every small sound made my heart jump. I kept glancing over my shoulder, convinced that someone was watching me. Even when I was surrounded by people, I felt a set of eyes that didn't belong.
As soon as the day ended, I hurried out of the premises and took the first taxi I saw. Thankfully, George had called me and said he was already home. Although he didn't sound happy. But the most important thing was that he was home already.
As soon as the taxi stopped in front of our house, I paid the driver with shaking fingers and slammed the door behind me.
It was already getting dark.
And for the first time since we moved into this quiet, lonely neighborhood, I felt unsafe and afraid. It felt like every window had someone watching behind it.
You could literally count the number of houses in the neighborhood. There were barely ten houses total, scattered wide apart, separated by large lawns and empty fences.
It was the kind of place no one would hear you scream.
George and I didn't have much money when we decided to get this house, but we realized that money wasn't everything. As long as we were happy and we loved the peace and serenity of the environment, then we were good to go.
I grabbed my bag tightly and rushed to the front door with my keys already in hand. Just as I stepped onto the porch, my phone buzzed in my purse, but I didn't stop to check it.
The moment I pushed the front door open, I caught sight of George.
He was sitting alone at the mini bar near the kitchen window, with a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the counter beside him. His head was slightly bowed, his elbows on the counter, and his fingers wrapped around the glass like he was trying to squeeze some answers out of it.
He looked… off?
He looked pale and worn down. His eyes had lost that usual baby-blue warmth they always carried. He'd just turned twenty-eight last month, but right now, with the way his shoulders slouched and his jaw clenched, he looked sixty-eight, like something had drained the light out of him.
"George?" I called, already stepping toward him.
He turned to look at me, and his lips lifted slightly in a half-smile. The kind of smile that said 'I'm glad you're here, but I don't know how to say what's on my mind.'
I didn't say anything at first. I just dropped my bag to the floor and wrapped my arms tightly around him from behind. I held him like I hadn't seen him in months.
And in truth, I didn't even know why I was holding him that tight.
George gently placed his hand over mine, where they were clasped around his chest. "Hey," he whispered softly, a little surprised by the gesture, "missed me that much?"
I didn't answer for a while.
Eventually, I let go and walked around the counter to face him. His eyes were a little red. He hadn't shaved. His hair was tousled in that I've-been-stressed way. Still, even with all of that, there was something so painfully beautiful about his innocence. He always had that soft, boyish look – big blue eyes, soft pink lips, the kind of face that always looked like it didn't belong in a harsh world.
I sat beside him. "What's going on?"
He reached for his phone, unlocked it, and handed it to me.
It was an email.
It looked formal and work-related. And as I started reading, my heart dropped into my stomach.
SUBJECT: Staff Transfer Notification
FROM: HR@thedial.org
TO: George L. Wallace
DATE: 08:22 AM
Dear George,
We're pleased to inform you that you've been selected for an urgent transfer to our North Carolina branch. Due to restructuring and operational needs, your transfer is effective immediately, with expected relocation before the 10th of this month...
"Wait..."
My brain stopped processing at the word Carolina.
I read it again.
North Carolina.
We lived in Albany, New York. That was a nine-hour drive, at the very least. Ten if traffic was bad. Longer if the weather turned.
My hand trembled slightly as I handed the phone back to him before I dropped it on the floor. We couldn't afford to spend the little money we were earning repairing damages that could have been avoided.
I gulped down the tears that were already bubbling in my chest, "What...? How long have you known about this?"
"Today," he muttered, rubbing his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I got it this morning. I didn't want to tell you over the phone."
"But… this is... this is too far, George. This is... what, nine, ten hours from here?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Nine and a half if you speed. I already called my supervisor. They want me down there to start prepping the Charlotte team. It's not negotiable."
I didn't know the stubborn tears had already escaped my eyes.
"I don't want to go either," he added quietly, sucking in a deep breath. "But they're talking promotion and salary increase by as much as forty percent. And we don't exactly have a line of jobs waiting for us out here, Shan."
I stood from the stool slowly. My legs felt like they were made of sand. "When are you supposed to leave?"
"Next week. They want me to report on Monday morning. Meaning I have to leave on Sunday. But they said I can come home twice a month to see my family. I think that's fair for now, baby."
That was just three days from now.
"But... What about me, George?"
He pulled me into a hug again and kissed the top of my head. "Come here, baby." He wiped off the tears from my eyes, "I promise, I'll get something better while I'm there. That is, if we can't work out your transfer to meet me there. I'm already pulling some strings, okay?"
I didn't believe him. Not because he was lying. George never lied to me. But because life had a way of playing these cruel games – building up your hope just to knock it out of your hands when you needed it the most.
What if my transfer doesn't go through? What if the company says no?
What if I'm stuck here?
Alone.
With everything that's been happening. The dreams. The missing things. The feeling of being watched even in daylight.
My throat suddenly felt too tight, and my mind spiraled. "What if they say no, George? What then? I stay here? Alone? In this house? In this neighborhood where I can count the damn houses on one hand?"
"Babe…" he cupped my cheeks gently, his thumbs brushing under my eyes. "Please. Don't cry." His voice dropped, "It's just temporary. Two months, max. We'll get this figured out. I promise."
Then he kissed me in a way that made me believe everything's going to be okay.
And for a second, I let myself believe it.
But just as I was about to let my worries go, I remembered that my phone had beeped while I was walking into the house.
Wait. What if it was also a transfer email? Oh, my God. It might be.
I quickly pulled away with a small smile on my face. Maybe HR remembered that George and I were married and decided to transfer both of us instead.
"What is it, baby?" George asked, a little confused about my sudden reaction.
"Wait… I think I got an email, too, when I walked in.
I quickly opened my bag and pulled out my phone with high expectations.
But the moment I unlocked the phone, my expectations came crumbling to the ground like Humpty Dumpty.
It was from HR.
And yes, it was a transfer email.
But...
Not the kind I was hoping for.