Page 5 of Eight Years Later

KAT

“That is the last thing I’m buying this kid, I swear,” I muttered to myself as I finished wrapping another present. I carried it over to our tree, shaking my head as I fought to find a place for it underneath.

There were only the two of us.

And other than the tiny present I’d been given by a patient at work—which I knew was a box of chocolates—every single gift was for my twelve-year-old son, Dylan.

My nurse’s salary wasn’t exactly conducive to me becoming a billionaire, so a lot of the gifts were inexpensive items like candy, socks, and deodorant—because teenage boy. But there were also a few I’d been saving for since last Christmas, and I honestly couldn’t wait to see his face when he opened them.

Hopefully it would make this year feel a little more like Christmas.

It was usually just my mom and us. We used to drive eight hours to be with her for a week or so, but two years earlier, she’d uprooted everything and moved a few minutes down the road.

I thought it was because she’d been offered a new job, or maybe she had a new man she wouldn’t talk about. But in January that year, she’d told us it was because she wanted to spend as much time with us as possible before the cancer really got a foothold.

By April she was gone.

And this Christmas was going to feel that little bit lonelier without her.

A cold chill began to swirl around me and I knew I needed to get rid of it before it settled into my bones, so I grabbedmy bag and headed down the hall to my bedroom. My bag had everything in it, from my phone and charger to gym clothes and keys, and I needed to make sure that everything was charged and sweaty clothes were washed before my shift the next day.

But first, I was going to have a long hot shower.

I tossed the bag onto my bed and headed straight for my bathroom, pulling my shirt up over my head and tossing it onto the vanity.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

For a second I wondered if I was hearing things and paused, holding my breath.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

This time the knocks were harder and definitely coming from my front door.

“Dammit,” I cursed, glancing longingly at the shower before letting out a heavy sigh and reaching for my shirt again, pulling it back over my head. I hurried back down the hall to the living room, catching the clock out of the corner of my eye as I passed by.

It was after nine at night.

Not a common time for me to get visitors.

The thought made me pause at the door, my hand hovering above the lock. “Who is it?” I called, trying to sound confident and keep my voice from wavering.

“Kat, it’s Eve,” a soft but shaky voice called back. “Please, I need help.”

Eve lived across the street, and she and I had gotten reasonably close since we’d moved in a little over a year ago. The panic in her voice had me quickly flicking over the lock and reaching for the door handle, yanking it open. Only, instead of just her standing on the other, there was a man with his arm draped around her shoulders, her tiny body obviously struggling to hold him up.

“What the…”

“Please, help. I can’t hold him,” she pleaded, looking up at me, her eyes sparkling with tears.

I almost tripped over the entranceway as I hurried to get out. I lifted the man’s arm over my shoulder so I could take some of his weight as we maneuvered him through the doorway and into my living room. We managed to get him onto my couch, where I saw the problem the second he was laid out on his back.

“Oh my God,” I exclaimed, snatching a cloth from the counter and pressing it hard against what looked like a stab wound in his stomach. I looked up at Eve, my eyes wide. “What the hell? Who is this?”

I wasn’t sure she’d heard me, though.

She merely stood there, holding her trembling hands out in front of her, staring at the blood that coated them.

“Eve!” I yelled, finally drawing her attention.

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