Page 4 of Shadowed Whispers

The one closest to the front door.

The one that divides the women’s quarters from Marcus’s.

Like I said, I know his kind. I don’t have proof, but I don’t need proof. It’s a feeling, a vibe that makes my gut scream. It’s an instinct I listen to. It’s kept me alive more often than not.

“No, you see that door?” He points a pudgy finger at the front door. “I’m here to escort you out, and next summer, you can’t stay here.”

It’s far too early for this bullshit.

Feeling my body slowly wake up, I tug my hair back into a low ponytail. It needs to be washed, brushed, and cut, but I can only control two of those things right now. None of it will be accomplished before I find a cup of coffee. The relentless ache behind my eyes pleads for caffeine, an unspoken ritual to kick-start another day on the run.

“Yeah, well, Marcus…” I snap the band a little too tightly and stand up to face him. We stand eye to eye—not because I’m tall, and not because he’s short, but because we are both exceptionally average. We are just a pair of everyday people, one haunted by shadows, the other casting them. “Go fuck yourself.”

I grab my bag and head for the door, a yawn cracking my jaw loud enough to threaten the silence of the morning.

“Don’t come back here, Frankie,” he calls to my back like the coward he is. His words ricochet off the walls, hollow and brittle.

I give him the finger as I walk out. Marcus’s parting shot, meant to unsettle, only solidifies my resolve. I’ve been evicted from places far more welcoming than this. Unfortunately, Marcus isn’t the type to let things go. His threats might carry more weight this time, especially with the eclipse drawing near—a time he superstitiously believes is a harbinger of change.

Bright sunlight burns my retinas as I step into the sweltering heat of Morrow Bay. Even though the town is located in New England, it has humidity due to the ocean. As soon as I step outside, I feel sweat bead between my shoulder blades, a clammy embrace that coats my skin.

Shrugging off my favorite worn leather jacket, I tie it around my waist as my Doc Martens hit the sidewalk. My black shorts cling to my thighs, and my simple black tank top exposes the swirling ink on my arms. The sun beats down on me as though its sole purpose in life is to torture me with its heat.

The women’s shelter is located in the center of town, right by the courthouse, and if I were a conspiracy kind of gal, I’d bet that was done on purpose. And Marcus? His cousin is, of course, the commissioner of Morrow Bay. I can only push my luck so far.

Slinking down the dark alley between the buildings, I make my way to the back parking lot, hoping that in those four hours, my car wasn’t towed or broken into. At least Marcus woke me before the meter maids go on rotation.

Relief spills through me as I spot my baby. He is my first love and the only man I will ever love—Jeep.

Listen, when I’m fighting for survival, creativity is nonexistent, so my vintage Jeep Wrangler is named Jeep for practical purposes, and I gendered the beast a man, because he’s the only stick shift that hasn’t let me down, even if I need to milk him a little to get him going. Besides, I love making the red Wrangler my bitch.

Peeling off the cover, I toss my backpack in the back and climb in. I need to shower. I smell like death. I also need to make my way to Shadow Locke Island and see if I can get on campus a little early.

The semester starts in less than two weeks, and if they won’t allow me on campus now, then I’ll have to spend two weeks sleeping in my Jeep. It isn’t the first time, but with Marcus kicking me out, I guarantee he already called the commissioner, who will have the police keeping an eye out for me.

I have lived in this quaint, seaside town for two long years. Well, it’s more like a small city. I never would have known about its existence if I hadn’t received an acceptance letter to a university I never applied to.

I was completely content to live out my days as a shadow, but that stupid letter changed the course of my entire life—a letter I still keep in my glove box.

Feeling nostalgic, I pull out the piece of paper, now brittle from living in my glove box all these years. I shake it out, running my fingers over the emblem of the university—a simple crescent moon.

I left, of course. The next day, I packed up everything I owned, which, living in foster care, was the entirety of my backpack, and drove from Arizona to Connecticut.

If it weren’t for the scholarship for foster kids, then I wouldn’t be here.

“Frankie,” a voice, warm and literally coming from the only ally I’ve made in two years, calls out to me. Blinking against the sun, I see Officer Hart, her short, spiky hair almost white in the blazing sunlight. Her smile is all kindness and comfort. Sometimes, I find myself wanting to hug her just because I’m curious about what it feels like to be hugged by someone who gives a shit about me.

I don’t, of course. I don’t touch, ever, unless it’s to release my inner demons or to satiate the need to get off.

“Officer Abigail Hart.” I squint at her because she is standing in front of the rising sun. “Heading in or out this early?”

“Out.” She leans her elbows against the door, dipping her head until her blue eyes glare at me over the rim. “Commissioner Evans has it out for you.”

What else is new?

“And what did I do to him this time?” I begin to massage my temples. The relentless throb there seems to have found a companion in my stomach, which grumbles loudly, reminding me it hasn’t been fed since before the final rush at work last night, and that was on a Thursday.

Officer Abigail Hart just gives me a look like I already know, which I do, but he doesn’t have to be a dick about it. Really, he could just let me live my life. I only have two years left here, that’s it, and then I’ll be on my way with a degree in my hand.

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