Page 24

“R ose. Come.”

I walked along the grass barefoot, the cool dampness on my soles. The sky was hazy, a thick layer of fog hovering over the lake. From here, the water appeared black, like it’d swallowed all the shadows around it. Behind me, Twilight Oaks was pitch-black. No lights on inside or out.

Cobwebs clung to the exterior.

The flowers were dead.

The floorboards creaked quietly.

Bats with crooked wings flapped around it.

“Keep walking. You’re close,” a voice whispered.

I walked faster, making my way down the hill. Someone appeared, standing on the edge of the platform dock. She was facing the water, her curly hair flowing down her back. She wore all white and had her arms out, like she was trying to keep her balance.

“Eve!” I called. She didn’t answer.

“Eve!” I called again, hurrying down the stairs and taking the path leading to the dock.

She finally turned her head a fraction. I kept walking, ready to meet up to her, to demand to know where she’d been all this time. As I approached and she’d turned fully to face me, her eyes were dark, hollow gaps and her lips were stitched together and bloody.

Eve dropped to her knees and stretched her mouth just enough to moan.

Her face was tight and exhibited pain. Blood spilled down her chin as the flesh on her lips ripped apart.

She tilted backwards and fell into the dark water.

I peered over the edge, wondering how the water had become so silent after the splash. How not a single ripple was there.

But as I did, a withered, gray hand shot out of the water, grabbed my ankle, and snatched me down with it.

A sharp gasp split the air as I sprang up on the sofa.

My phone clattered on the floor and my laptop careened to the left.

I caught it before it could fall too, and set it down next to me.

The cottage was darker now. My laptop screen was pitch-black.

I picked up my phone and it was nearing six o’clock in the late afternoon.

“Shit.” How long had I been asleep?

I had come back to the cottage, had Nico run a check on Eve’s superfan that Zoey told me about, then decided to dive into my article about Robert Cowan.

The rain was coming down hard outside, lightning strikes exposing parts of the interior.

Thunder rumbled as I stood and stretched.

I flipped a light switch on, opened the fridge, and reached for a bottled water.

As I cracked it open, someone pounded on the front door. I froze, listening to heavy footsteps thunder off the porch. Hurrying to the window, I saw someone in jeans and a black T-shirt running toward the main path, then disappearing between a line of trees.

What the fuck?

I immediately went for my gun and then my phone to punch 911 into the keypad.

I took careful steps to the door, rising on my toes to see through the peephole.

I didn’t see anyone, but there was something on the porch floor.

With my hand holding the phone, I managed to twist the doorknob.

The door creaked on its hinges and a strong gust of damp wind sprayed me.

I peered through the crack with my gun raised as I studied the surroundings.

When I caught no one, I looked down. My breath hitched as I stared at the object.

I yanked the door open wider before lowering to a squat in utter disbelief.

It was an oversized beige Michael Kors bag. And not just any bag.

“Eve’s,” I whispered.