Page 20 of Where Daisies Breathe (Star Meadows #2)

AVA

W hen I leave the hotel, Ellis insists on walking me to the car. The night that blankets the field around me is eerily quiet, and I only relax when I enter the rental house and lock the door behind me.

Clara is asleep by the time I arrive, and Bailey is waiting for me in the living room.

I decide to head straight to bed, but I barely sleep.

I thought I’d pass out, since I felt so exhausted and emotionally drained, but every time I closed my eyes, I’d see red ribbons floating in front of me.

I’ve seen them so many times throughout my life that I’m worried the drugs might have done permanent damage to my psyche.

Eventually, I give up on sleeping and climb out of bed.

The sun hasn’t risen above the mountains yet, so when I wander out of my bedroom.

The house is quiet and dark. Bailey remains in my bed, not wanting to get up yet.

I blame part of my insomnia on what’s been going on with my father’s death, my forgotten memories, and also the murders that have and still are taking place.

But part of it has to do with my trepidation of meeting the mysterious person who left me the note and photo.

Ellis will be there to keep an eye on me, but not knowing who will show up has me buzzing with anxiety.

The unknown. I felt that day in the woods. I didn’t know what would happen to me, if I’d even be able to take my next breath. Would I die? Would they kill me? Would I hate it or secretly be relieved that all this fucking agony was over?

I jerk myself from these disturbing thoughts as I enter the bathroom.

A massive tub is in the corner and a shower is beside it.

I opt for a bath since my muscles are a bit achy.

As the tub fills up, I peel off my pajamas and pull my hair up into a messy bun.

When I pass by the mirror, I catch sight of my reflection and pause.

My face is paler than usual, dark circles reside underneath my eyes, and my lips are chapped.

I haven’t been taking very good care of myself since I arrived in Star Meadows.

On a positive note, though, the bruising on my arm has slightly faded.

But it’s still visible enough to remind me of where it might have come from.

Could my mother really have been drugging me for my entire life?

If so, who does she know that would’ve given her the drugs?

And is this connected to Clover? It’s not as if my mother would know anyone who was in Clover’s circle, but there's that mysterious guy Clover wrote about in her diary. She mentioned he was older. Maybe he’s old enough that he has a connection to my family? That thought is chilling.

However, it might be a start down a path toward an answer. And maybe the path will be even clearer once I get my blood test done. Ellis had called his contact last night, and we’re meeting the guy today, before I have to go to the bar.

I release a breath and tear my attention off of my reflection. Then I make my way over to the tub, turn off the water, and climb in. Steam engulfs me as I slant back against the porcelain and close my eyes…

Steam surrounds me as I stand in a bathroom in a run-down motel room.

We’re moving. The move was sporadic, so sporadic that I barely got to say goodbye to my friends.

I also had to sell a lot of my belongings at a yard sale because my parents didn’t want to go through the hassle of moving my stuff.

It sucked. Everything sucks right now. And this bathroom smells as musty as the beds that are in the room and the lumpy sofa that I’m supposed to be sleeping on.

After I take a shower, I put on my pajamas, then start to open the bathroom door to go out into the room. But my father is talking to someone, so I pause.

“Look, I don’t care what you have to do.

Just make it go away.” He sounds furious, but that’s nothing new.

“This is why we had our backup plan, in case we ever got caught… I don’t give a shit…

The police will continue to look into it unless you forget those damn documents…

You’re part of this too. I can bring you down with me ? —”

“What are you doing?” My mother appears in my line of vision, and she’s looking right at me.

I stumble backwards. “Nothing.”

Frowning, she pushes the door open all the way. “Go to bed.”

Nodding, I hurry by her. My father is off the phone now and is storming out of the motel room to who knows where.

I’m glad he’s gone. My mother goes into the bathroom and slams the door.

I head over to lie down on the sofa, but then I spot a trunk on the floor by the bed that wasn’t there before I went into the bathroom.

I pause. My parents have had the trunk for a long time.

The leather exterior is worn and old, but the lock on it is new, because they replaced it recently.

They usually keep the trunk in the basement, tucked away in a closet with boxes of dusty clothes and books.

I’ve been curious about what's inside, but it’s always locked.

Right now, though, it isn’t. The lock is on it but is unfastened. I know I shouldn’t snoop. If I get caught, I’ll get beaten for sure. But my curiosity gets the best of me, and throwing a glance over my shoulder, I hurry over to it, slip the lock out, and crack the lid open.

I’m confused. All that’s inside are these things that I think are called videos. They’re old and no one really uses them anymore. I only know what they're called because my friend’s father collects them. I lift the lid of the trunk open all the way. Each video is labeled.

Deep Creek Bay. River Valley Forest. The Cabin out in Star Meadows.

The list goes on and on. Some of the places I recognize as names of areas where my family camps. These have to be videos of camping or hunting or something along those lines. I move to close the lid when something else captures my attention. Photos are tucked underneath the videos.

I pick one up and my confusion magnifies. It’s a photo of naked people dancing in a forest. Some look happy while others look terrified ? —

“This is what you get for snooping.”

I drop the photo and turn around, catching a glimpse of my mother’s face before red ribbons bleed into my vision, making me go blind as pain spreads through my arm. I feel like I’m drowning, in a tub of blood. It’s filling up my lungs ? —

My eyes fly open, and I push myself upward out of the water. I gasp for air, breathing frantically as I grip the sides of the tub. I dozed off while I was taking a bath and sank under the water as I plunged into a nightmarish memory.

I’m remembering things…

Dark things…

Things hidden in the shadows where daisies die…

But now they’re trying to breathe life again.

Why, though?

Why am I suddenly remembering?

I’m not sure, but I feel like there are so many worse memories trying to get to the surface. Like that trunk, and what was inside it. What the hell was on those videos? And was that the trunk Ellis overheard my aunt and mother talking about last night?

I need to tell Ellis about it, even if it throbs inside my skull just thinking about it.

I sit in the water until my fingers start to prune, thinking and procrastinating.

Eventually, I get out, dry off, and dress in a pair of jean shorts and a black tank top.

I leave my damp hair down and embark into the living room.

The moment I step foot through the doorway, the feeling that I’m being watched tugs at my insides.

I glance over my shoulder to see if Bailey or Clara has walked into the room, but the house is quiet.

I attempt to stuff down the feeling and go into the kitchen.

But again, the feeling snakes around me.

I stop beside the table and peer around the room. All of the curtains and blinds are closed, so no one could be watching through the windows.

I shake my head at myself. I’m being paranoid.

Exhaling, I round the counter where Clara has set up her coffee machine.

I start brewing the coffee, then rummage through the snacks we have, making a mental note that we’ll have to make a trip to the grocery store at some point.

I settle on a granola bar and an apple. Then I sit down at the table and open my phone to search amnesia.

About fifteen minutes and a cup of coffee later, I decide to call my therapist. It’s early, but she always tells me I can call her anytime, day or night if I need to.

And right now, I feel like I do.

I dial her number and wait for her to answer. She does after three rings.

“Hey, Ava,” she says tiredly. “Is everything okay?”

I trace the pattern of the table's wood. “I’m not sure.”

I spend the next handful of minutes giving her a recap of what’s been happening, minus a few details that I’m not ready to get into yet. My primary focus is on my resurfacing memories, and if she knows why this is happening.

When I finish, she’s quiet for a moment before she says, “I feel like we need to talk more about this during a session, when we have more time.”

“I know.” I collect the coffee mug in front of me. “And I will when I get back. But I just really need to know if you have an idea as to why I’m suddenly remembering things.”