Marked (A Dark Serial Killer Romance)
Marked: Chapter 3

Even after eleven years, I still feel it to my bones. The blame, the guilt, the regret. It’s soaked into my soul and there’s no getting it out.

I hear the whispers.

“She’s the one.”

“Poor Quinn.”

“Poor Mrs. Turner. Can you imagine it?”

And I step deeper into the darkness. I’m warm there.

I’m sheltered from the blotchy memories. I’m told they are too horrific for my mind to allow me access. Dissociative Amnesia. The selective variety, the doctors explained.

All I have are jumbled up images that make no sense, and get distorted when I try to focus on them. My memory may come back, or it may not, but the important thing was to stop trying to force it.

So, for eleven years, I’ve had days cut out of my memory. In the gap is where I settle my mind. Where it’s dark, and quiet, and only I can fit.

“What can I get you, Harley? Your usual?” Samantha asks from behind the register. I’ve known her since we were in elementary school together. She was Quinn’s best friend up until seventh grade.

She probably blames me.

If I knew the whole story, maybe I would too.

Quinn was a ray of sunshine. She shone so brightly; it pushed me into the shadows. Why should I have been the one who was chosen? It’s this question that keeps me mindful. I need to be worthy of the life given.

“Yes, please.” I pull out my phone, swiping open the app to pay for my Grande caramel latte. Same coffee, same seat at the coffee house, same time each day. Teaching fourth grade has taught me how important routine is to keep an organized life.

My mind may dance with chaos in the darkness, but I have to live out here in the light.

“We’ll have it ready for you in a just a minute.” She smiles, already looking at the customer behind me.

I replace my usual seat. A small booth in the back corner. I’m able to see the front door from here. It’s important to always be able to see the door. That way I can tell who’s coming at me.

The book I’m reading is buried at the bottom of my bag. By the time I dig it out and lay it on the table, the barista calls my name.

I hurry to the counter to grab it, but when I get there, there’s only a small cup with the name ‘Zack’ scribbled on the side.

Thinking I’m hearing things today, I sit back down and wait. But my name isn’t called, as another drink is put out on the counter. The only other person standing nearby takes it and walks out of the shop. I glance over at the workers; they’re wiping things down, chatting. No one’s making another drink.

I sigh and head to the counter to check the cup again.

It hasn’t changed. It still reads Zack.

“Hi. I heard you call my name, but I don’t see my drink.” I wave slightly at Jacob who’s wiping down the steamer.

He looks over at the counter, then picks up the drink.

“He must have taken yours.” He points to the window. “He’s sitting out there. I’ll make you a new one.”

I twist to see who has my drink. My stomach sinks.

It’s him.

The same man from the shop two days ago. From the grocery store yesterday.

He’s looking at me through the window, sipping my coffee. I can’t see his eyes; his sunglasses are on. But his eyebrow arches again, and he leans back in the chair like he’s ready to wait for me as long as it takes.

It’s not normal to feel someone beckoning to you when they aren’t making any gestures or sounds. But that’s exactly what’s happening.

“I’ll take this to him,” I offer, grabbing his coffee from the counter.

The humidity smacks me in the face when I step outside onto the sun baked patio. He’s watching me, cradling my cup in his left hand.

“I think you picked up my drink on accident,” I say when I reach his table.

“Did I?” He doesn’t even look at the cup.

“This one is yours.” I put his drink on the table, beside mine.

He twists the cup until he sees the name scribbled on the side. “Hmm. I guess so.” He drinks from my cup again.

“They’re making another for me,” I say, suddenly unsure how to have a conversation.

He pulls his sunglasses off, laying them on the table, while his eyes focus on mine.

I swallow.

He’s like something out of a magazine. A dusting of a beard is scattered across his jawline, like he forgot to shave this morning. His jaw, square and set firmly, gives him a rugged look.

He’s wearing a black polo shirt, neatly tucked into a pair of jeans. The top button of the shirt is undone, and black ink swirls out from the opening.

“Harley.” He says my name like we aren’t meeting for the first time.

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “That’s my name.”

He puts my cup down. “I think your drink is ready. Why don’t you get your things and join me out here?”

I look through the window and see Jacob waving at me.

“I…uh…” I have a book. I usually spend an hour reading.

He reaches over the table, picks up my hand and squeezes.

“Get your things and bring them out here.” He squeezes again.

My mouth dries as I stare deeper into his eyes. I can walk away, but at the same time I can’t.

“All right.” I nod and he lets me go.

I pick up my drink from Jacob, who’s gone back to cleaning the steam machine, and then grab my bag and book from my corner table before going back outside. When I get to the table, Zack is on his feet, holding a chair out for me.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I laugh a little.

“Hmm.” He pinches his lips together once I’m sitting, and he’s settled back in his seat. “What are you reading?” He picks up the novel resting on top of my bag and looks at the cover. “Little Women?” He quirks an eyebrow.

My face heats and I pluck it from his grasp.

“Yes.” I shove it into my bag and move it to the third chair at the table.

“You’ve never read it before?”

“Oh, no I have. I read it every year.” I snap my mouth shut.

“Hmm.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “You like it that much?”

Not really, but it was the book we last read together.

“It’s a good book.” I decide to stay neutral.

“But do you enjoy it?” he presses, leaning toward me enough that his shirt opens a bit more and even more of his tattoo is exposed.

“Oh. Well.” I take a sip of my drink. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Hey, Harley.” Josephine and Sara, two girls I went to high school with, walk up to us.

“I thought it was you,” Josephine says. She’s wearing a pair of sunglasses with mirrored lenses, so all I see is myself staring up at her. Her lips, painted with thick red lipstick, curl upward.

“Hi.” I grip my cup tighter.

“You’re on summer break then?” Sara asks, sliding her gaze toward Zack.

“Yes.”

Zack’s foot touches mine beneath the table. Such a small gesture, but it helps settle my nerves.

“How’s your mom?” Josephine asks with a sneer in her voice. She folds her arms over her chest.

“She’s doing fine.” I pick up my cup, take a sip like her presence isn’t bothering me. Like I don’t know what she’s thinking. How she’s judging me.

It’s the same since it happened.

The same look. The same questioning attitude.

“Really? It’s a hard time of year, isn’t it?” Josephine prods.

“Yes. It is.” The cardboard cup bends beneath my fingers, and I let go before I pop the cover off and make a mess.

Sara’s eyes go to my hand then back to Zack. “Hi. I’m Sara.” She extends her hand over the table toward him. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

Zack looks at her hand as though it drips with poison, and moves his hand to cover mine, squeezing a little. And just like with his foot, it settles my nerves. My stomach doesn’t twist so hard beneath Josephine’s glare.

Sara frowns and drops her hand.

“I’m new to town.” Zack leans back, moving his arm to drape over my shoulders.

“And you’re sitting with Harley?” Josephine pulls her sunglasses down her nose just enough to expose her brown eyes. They pierce me with her disdain, but Zack runs the tip of his thumb over my neck and I’m able to keep from hiding.

“I am.” Zack looks to Sara. “Did you want something? We were in the middle of a conversation.” His tone lowers, like he’s chastising toddlers.

Josephine shoves her glasses back up her nose.

“I know this time of year is really hard on your mom. I hope you’re doing the right thing and helping her through it.” She nudges Sara.

“Enjoy your summer.” Sara gives me a look filled with pity. I’m not sure how she deals with Josephine. I would have thought she’d be finished with putting up with the mean girl bullshit after we graduated, but maybe Josephine has worn her down too much for her to fight back.

“I will. Thanks. You too.”

“See ya, shadow.” Josephine turns hard on her high heeled sandals and pulls Sara along with her down the street.

Josephine’s mother owns the boutique on the corner. They’ve been working there since high school. Not much changes in this town.

“Who was that?” Zack asks.

“Just some girls from school.” I sigh, dropping my gaze to my coffee.

He moves his hand from around me to cup my chin, pulling my focus to him.

“Never lie to me, Harley.” His words are slow, deliberate. “No matter what, never lie to me.”

I swallow around the ball of nerves that’s moved up to my throat now that we’re alone again. Everything about him is intense, and it sets my insides on fire. But when he touches me, it all just sizzles away, and I’m at ease again.

“I’m not lying.” I promise. “I did go to high school with them.”

He searches my features.

“But there’s more.” Little wrinkles appear around his eyes as he narrows them.

“I don’t even know you.” I try to pull away, but he tightens his grasp on my chin, holding me steady. “You’re being very bold.”

“You will. I promise. But first, tell me, why did that girl make you feel so on edge? What did she mean by calling you shadow?”

My stomach knots up again.

“It’s a horrible nickname. That’s all.” I wrap my hand around his wrist. “Really, they’re just girls I went to high school with. Josephine’s a bitch, always has been.”

He moves his gaze to my hand.

“I think there’s more here, but I understand you need time.” He lets go of my chin and leans back into his chair. His knee presses against mine, though.

“You’re new here you said, but I saw you the other day. And yesterday.” I try for a lighthearted giggle. “You weren’t following me, were you?”

His lips quirk up to the right. Keeping his gaze locked on mine, he brings his coffee cup to his lips and takes a long sip.

I look away from him, at the cars driving by on the street. I shouldn’t have gone out today. I should be staying out of the public eye until this week is over. This week is always the worst one of the year. It’s better when I’m not around, reminding everyone.

Townsend County spans over five hundred miles, most of them farmland. Hazel Corners is the main town in the county. Half the population of the county lives within these twenty square miles. Running into people from my past is inevitable.

An alarm rings, and he pulls out his phone, glancing at it before swiping away the notification.

I’m saved.

“I have a meeting I need to get to.” He puts his phone away. “I’ll ask an easy question. Why is this time of year hard on your mother?”

There’s something so comfortable about his hard tone. It takes away my choice of whether or not to give in. I’m going to do what he says, because of him, because he’s not giving me room to run away.

“It’s because of something that happened a long time ago.” I scoot back in my chair, ready to get up. He’s leaving now, so I can go back inside where it’s air conditioned, and I can read my book.

“What happened, Harley?” He digs into his wallet and pulls out a business card.

“You’re going to be late for your meeting,” I say.

He puts his hand on top of mine, drawing my attention to him again.

“Tell me.”

I swallow.

“My sister was killed.” The words flow out on a long breath. After eleven years, I would think it would be easier to say the words. But it still feels like someone else is talking when I say them.

His expression doesn’t move. Did he already know? Most people are a little shocked when I say it out loud.

“We were kidnapped, and he killed her. Not me.” I pause. “We were twins. She was popular, pretty, had a lot of friends. They called me her shadow – that’s where the nickname came from.”

“Josephine had a lot of attitude for it to be just a bad nickname from school,” he pushes.

“She blames me. A lot of them blame me. The shadow survived.” I try to laugh it off, but I only end up huffing.

“They blame you because between you and your sister, you weren’t chosen?”

“No. Because I was.”