“Is there any particular reason you are in such a bad mood?” I poke at his ribs, letting out a giggle myself, but he doesn’t budge. “Oh, come on, grumpy…you’re no fun.” Dipping my head I mumble, “Danny, really, what’s going on?” I’m met with a frown on his face and the wind blowing my hair into my face.“Listen I’m trying my best here,” he stays silent, “and I’m sure that whatever it is, I can help you.” He stuffs his hand through his dark hair, and than uses it to rub his eyes. “Sloane,” he hesitates for a moment, “I just need you to shut up for a minute okay? I’m trying to think.” A part of me shatters. He hasn’t ever spoken to me like that. Not since- well we don’t talk about that. “S-sorry. But I do need your help.” “OK, what do you need help with? And where are we going anyway?” I ask, my heart still slightly aching. He stops walking, stopping me too by placing each hand on my shoulders. His eyes narrow, and he bites his bottom lip. I swallow a lump in my throat, I know that look. And I know what will happen if I don’t help him. I’ve lived this before. I don’t want to do it again. “No, Danny, please.” I cup my face in my hands trying to hide. “I know, I know. Sloane, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I-I just get so mad sometimes, I’ll get real help I swear. Please just this last time.” I pull away from him. “You say that every time…” He nods and then grabs my wrist tightly and forcefully tugs me forward. “Danny, stop.” He doesn’t and his grip tightens as I pull away. My heart bounces off of my ribs, I cannot do this again. After what feels like ages of walking through the woods, he finally stops walking but he doesn’t let go of me. “OK, Sloane, I’ll go get the body, you start digging.” He uses his free hand and forcefully shoves a shovel into mine. He releases my arm, an almost bruised looking ring around it and nudges me forward. Without loosing sight of me, he slowly steps twoard an old bus. He kneels down for a moment, and them tugs the body out of the bus by its arms, headed straight toward me. I shriek, this isn’t the first time I’ve seen a dead body. But this one is different, there are odvious stab wounds to the man’s chest and bruised marks all over his skin. “Well, what are you waiting for?” I shutter, slowly stepping back from him. “I-I can’t do this…” He drops the man, and locks eyes with me. I want to run, I need to run, I know where this is gonna go. But I can’t. He steps toward me, “Sloane you’re shaking, come here.” I shake my head, stumbling over my own feet and the shovel I’m clutching so tightly with my hands. “Get the fuck away from me,” I mumble, a tear slipping down my cheek. He instead fills the spacebetween us, landing just inches away from me. “Don’t make me hurt you,” he whispers, his hot breath bouncing off my skin. Keeping eye contact he rips the shovel from my shaking hands and steps away beggining to dig. “You are no help Sloane, you never really have been.” I glare at the man for a moment, his lifeless eyes still. I do not want to end up like him. I turn, letting my body carry me as fast and far as it can. My legs moving in long even strides. I look back, but Danny isn’t digging anymore, he’s got his arm extended toward me. And he’s holding a gun. My heart falls to my toes. The air is filled with a deafening clap of what sounds like thunder, but I know that’s not what it is. The bullet strikes my back, splattering blood all over the ground around me as I fall. A sharp pain radiates through my body until it slowly becomes numb, but I can’t get up, my body really won’t allow it. I let my head fall back, angling it to face Danny. But he’s not where he was moment ago. There is nobody but a mutalated body. A hand rolls me over. Damn… _ _“Sloane,” he quivers, “look what you made me do.” Using both hands, wraps them around my neck, and stratles over me. My head begins pounding and everything starts becoming fuzzy and dark. I reach an arm out trying to push him off of me, but he swats it. I feel the ground for something, anything at all. My hand grazes something hard. A rock. I pick it up and with all of my energy, swing it at his head. He rolls off of me, whaling on the ground. I rise slightly, warm blood trickling down my thighs. He stands much quicker than I can and shoves me down. I let out an ear peircing scream and try to roll away as he aims his gun directly at me. He pins my down with his legs, the blood from where I stroke him falling onto me. He pulls the trigger, but I don’t feel anything at all. And everything becomes darker and darker.

“Shit, they found me out, again,” I yelp without realizing I was talking out loud. “What? Reese, you really need to go to bed it is way to late for this.” Dad says, closing my latest book in his lap. “Dad, I know you, you’re going to go up to your study and work on puzzles until 3am. So why can’t I stay up and find out who I have to pretend to be next?” His thick brown eyebrows climb his wrinkly forehead, “Reesie, you are right about me, but you are going to bed. I don’t like how much you worry about this. You are an amazing writer, just as your Mother was.” _ Was. _ The final word rings in my ears, ricocheting off of every inch of grief left in me. He presses his lips onto the top of my head and mumbles something about keeping me safe under his breath as he heads to the stairs. Gosh, he’s crazy if he thinks I can sleep at a time like this. I have hundreds off ideas flowing, and my mom taught me many techniques to utilize each and every single one of them. I just hope that someday Dad will give in and let me put my own name on the cover of my books, not some made of girl who nobody knows because she doesn’t exist. I take a long sip of my cold water and then quickly get back to writing, my fingers dancing across the keys. I can’t be stopped, it’s like candy, I can’t get enough, and I can’t stop until I’m finished. It’s become quite a problem. I find myself not sleeping most nights because I get carried away in my current project. Most times it’s that, other times it’s the haunting memory of finding my mothers dead body on the side of our road. But that was a long time ago, and after spending all four of those restless years hoping for any answer at all-there wasn’t ever one- I learned to block it all out. _Ohhhh, maybe I could be Chloe Anderson this time, there is no resemblance to Reese Montgomery at all. _ _ _My train of thought is interrupted by a knock at the door. Quick on my feet, I glide to the door. I stand on my toes trying to look in the peephole before opening the door, because who would come here in the middle of the night? After Mom, Dad moved me far from where we used to live. Now it’s just him, his crazy theories, and me. I can’t quite see anything through the hole, which is clearly pretty dusty. My heart quickens. I’ve read about this, and I’ve wrote about it too, even lived it once. Well sorta. I pull the door open slightly, enough to see the person at the door, but not enough for them to try anything. An older man, maybe in his late sixties, stands outside. A thick coat is slumped over him and his hood is pulled over his eyes, casting a dark shadow across his face. I hear my Dad at the top of the stairs, he isn’t moving toward me though, just checking in I guess. He can’t even fully see the door, or me from where he is sitting. “C-can I help you, sir?” I ask, fidgeting with a piece of fuzz in the pocket of my hoodie. He looks up at me, finally allowing me to see his eyes. They widen slightly, as if he wasn’t expecting me to speak first. My blond hair blows off of my shoulder from the icy wind outside. A moment of scilence fills the air between us, “Sir?” “Right.” His tone is low, and slightly unsettling. “Are you Reese Montgomery?” My heart bounces off of my ribs, and the color fades from my face, “Yeah, um why?” He lunges forward, grabbing hold of my boney wrist. “Listen, I need you to not panic, and I need you to pay close attention.” He releases my wrist. “I know what happened to your mother.” The muscles in his neck tighten as he studies my face for a reaction. Oh. Oh. _ _“Tell me,” I say. Those were the only words I could force out of my now shaking body. “Tell me, you have to tell me.” “I also know that they are coming for you next.” A shiver rolls down my spine, and all off a sudden I feel like I might throw up. I pull the door fully open. “Why don’t you come in.” He hesitates for a moment seeing Dad sitting at the top of the stairs, and then follows me to the living room. Dad follows too, but then decides to dip out and head to the kitchen instead. “S-so…?” I stutter. “I hacked into the plans whoever this man is and found out everything from your mothers murder to his plans to well… kill you.” He rummages through his pocket and pulls out a small photograph. “Why? Why did they do this?” He shrugs, his eyes growing wide, “I’d assume your mother wrote about him in one of her world famous novels, and killing only her wasnt enough. But I did find this,” he says, handing over the picture. “This was in his plans, it’s a picture off him, er- the killer.” I reach over for the photo. A short man sits in frame with ruffled brown hair and a pair of magnifying goggles over his eyes. I know those goggles anywhere. “T-that’s my dad…” I stutter as I feel a knot of anxiety creeping up my throat. I gaze at Dad through the corridor, a tear slipping down my cheek. The man next to me stiffens, “O-okay, Reese, we need to get you out of here…” I stand, followimg close behind this man I’ve never met until today. I don’t think Dad noticed our absence but if he did, this probably won’t end well. “Where are you to going?” Dad says approaching us from the spot he has stood the entire time in the kitchen. I keep my head low, expecting the man to speak up, he doesn’t. “Dad I-“ but before I can finish, the man pulls a long sharp knife from the inside of his coat. He uses he free hand and wraps it around my waist, pulling me into him. My heart practically explodes, but I’m frozen, hardly able to fight it. “am an absolute waste of space that believes men she’s never met and agrees to leave the house with them,” he finishes my sentence, and then looks down to me. “Your mother would not be very proud,” he says, a wicked grin spreading wide across his face. I try to fight his grip, but I can’t, and Dad lunges forward forcefully trying to pry me from the man’s grip. It’s to late. The man shoves Dad back into the wall, sending me flying. But before I get it together and do literally anything, he has me pinned against the floor. “Say hello to your mother for me,” he says, and then plunges the knife into my abdomen. I let out an ear piercing scream as the pain shoots in every direction and everything starts to fade, becoming dark and fuzzy, until there is nothing at all.