So I sit with my dark thoughts in my dark house late at night, all alone, while the walls and the ceiling and the roof creak and groan. It’s been windy lately, and that makes the house shudder and moan and some nights, I can’t take it. I pace the halls, unable to sleep, tears streaming down my face.
Thinking of chances lost.
Thinking of Spencer.
I exit the kitchen and walk out onto the deck that overlooks the thick forest. The hushed silence that greets me was eerie when I first arrived, but I’m getting used to it. The pine needles rustle with the constant breeze that blows through them, a sound that never stops.
That’s what I learned after a few days of being out here. You think it’s silent, but after a while, you can hear birds chirping. Animals calling to each other. The occasional burst of an ocean wave. The rev of a car’s engine, hollow and distant out on the main road.
No voices though. Never voices. Unless Roland makes his appearance, which isn’t often enough for me. The only voices I usually ever hear are in my head.
I’ve realized I don’t like those voices sometimes. They’re mostly full of doubt. And those voices in particular make me feel bad about myself.
I am my own person. I am my own person.
There is nothing more liberating than dumping your phone and everything attached to it. I shut down my social media profiles. I pulled out a lot of cash from the bank, so no one could track me down with credit card usage. I wanted to disappear. Go off the grid.
Become a ghost.
I’m also lonely. Hence the need for a dog. The cats that live on the property are mostly wild and want nothing to do with me. Except for one. She’s silvery gray with long fur, though not too puffy. Her tail is straggly and her face is delicately shaped. She reminds me of a squirrel. So that’s what I call her.
Squirrel acts like she doesn’t like me, yet she follows after me every time I go outside, batting at my ankles when I walk, her claws lightly scratching, but never enough to actually hurt. I turn to try and pet her, and she dashes away every time. Yet never too far, always watching me.
Like she’s interested, but cautious.
I feel her. I really do.
The flip phone I bought at a local Walmart in Monterey rings, and I yank it from my sweater pocket, frowning when I see Roland’s number flash. He’s the only one who has this number in the whole world, yet he’s never called me.
“Hello,” I answer.
“Miss Lancaster. I caught someone on the driveway.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“A man in an Audi. Said he was looking for you.”
Fear slithers icy cold fingers down my spine. “Did he mention my name?”
“Yes, he did. Said he knows you real well.” I hear a deep voice speak in the background. “He won’t give me his name though.”
“Is he there with you?”
“Yes. I stopped him. Stood right out in front of his fancy car and wouldn’t let him drive past me.” Roland sounds frustrated. Protective. We’ve only known each other for a few weeks, and he’s already taken me under his wing.
“I want to speak with him.” I have no clue who this could be. One of my Lancaster relatives? There are plenty of male Lancasters with the brains to figure out where I might be. No one has taken my disappearance to the media, thank goodness. I assumed my mother would do exactly that to get me to come out and show myself.
It wouldn’t have worked. I’d have stayed in hiding forever just to keep her out of my life forever.
“Here he is.” Roland hands over the phone, and there’s muffled conversation that sounds tense before a familiar male voice sounds in my ear.
“Syl. It’s me.”
My heart falls into my stomach. Deeper.
Spencer.
“Tell this man you know me and that I have your permission to come to your house,” Spencer demands.