Page 145 of Shattered Veil

“Good,” she nearly whispered.

All wanting to ask the obvious, we glanced around the table before I questioned, “Have the police talked to you at all?”

“One second…stepping outside.” The metallic clack of a push bar on a large door sounded. “Gosh, it’s cold,” Skylar muttered. “Okay…long story short?”

All of us replied in a collective, “Yes.”

“They’ve been around. Kinda why I’ve been staying here…plus, Colton doesn’t have anyone else here with him, and we’re…you know…friends.” She stressed the last word with a purpose that we didn’t need to question. “Anyway…that police officer that took me, I—I don’t think he remembers much. I mean, I haven’t been told specifics…been eavesdropping, though…heard someone say retrograde amnesia.”

Liam glanced at Cassie, eyes wide as he mouthed, ‘Shit.’

“He’s still in the hospital, but I also heard the officers that came in saying that he needs to be detained upon discharge, which…that means he’s being arrested, right?”

“I think so,” Claire remarked, her voice turning jovial, “God, I think so! At least until a trial?”

Zoey spoke up, “Did anyone question you?”

“Asked me, like…my telling of things,” she replied. “Which you guys know, right?” We did know. The fabricated story that now only involved Colton and Skylar was embedded into all of our memories, whether we wanted it to be or not. “As for Colton, he’s too looped up on medication to be reliable on any front, so they’re circling back to him later.” She continued, “I mean, one of you already mentioned it—I’m not doubting that we’ll have to go to a trial for this, and those take time, so…long road ahead, right?”

It was interesting that she said so, for I was thinking the opposite, though I supposed that was because I was looking at the situation only in my shoes. As far as I had felt the night prior, my door had closed. The seemingly never-ending cycle of what haunted me, along with my family, was soon to be over. Long gone. Forever existing in our minds, but hopefully turning into a distant memory that we all buried with the purpose of living peacefully.

Our door did close—I felt it in my bones that it had—but I feared that upon its closure, a window may have opened.

Epilogue

Normal (adjective)

n?r-m?l

Conforming to a type, standard, or regular pattern. Characterized by that which is considered usual, typical, or routine.

Normal.

Normal.

I had said the word—both in my mind and aloud—so many times that it had begun to lose all meaning. Normal now sounded merely like a strange conglomeration of letters. It was mush. A moving of lips that may as well have been incoherent babbling in the distance.

Hence why I had taken the time to Google search the word and find the literal definition within a collegiate-approved dictionary. I now knew it verbatim as I was attempting to settle the confusion in my brain, but it did no good. It was still just…noise.

That being said, I knew what my normal could look like.

The morning that I was to return to work, she was there. Flitting around my kitchen in a tiny pair of cotton shorts and one of my t-shirts, I had smiled as I watched her pour my coffee into a travel mug. Because she knew that my tastes varied from day to day, she had asked how I wanted it. I told her that it was fine as is, for I was recently enjoying the bitter tannins just as she did. Cassie searched for my lunch in the fridge, and I reminded her that I had already retrieved it. I patted the space where I had safely secured it in my work bag slung across my shoulder, and she nodded in response, promptly beginning to search for anything else I needed.

I told her, “I’ve got it all, Darlin’. I have to go.”

Cassie blew a rough breath through her nose. “You sure?”

Stepping forward to stand before her, I gently joked, “You’re too young to get worry wrinkles,” as I traced the space between her brows that looked wrought with concern.

She pouted out her lower lip, and I traced my touch downward to brush my thumb against it.

“One more day?” she pleaded.

The way she said it made me want to throw all knowledge of the necessity of having a job out the window.

“You’re very good at puppy-dog eyes,” I murmured, “but I’ve gotta get back to normal at some point—you know that.”

Her arms wound around my lower back. “You could be late?”

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