Page 1 of Find Me
1
My feet felt cementedto the floor as I stood frozen by fear.
“Shi, run!” Shayla cried out just before Mr. X slid his knife across her throat, silencing her forever.
Blood poured like a crimson waterfall from her neck. Her gray eyes were wide, filled with terror as they bored into mine.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t look away.
With each passing second, I had to watch the spark of life within her eyes dim.
Mr. X unhooked his strong arm from around Shayla’s middle and shoved her forward. Without resistance she fell, crumpling to the floor in the hallway right in front of my bedroom. Blood pooled around her, seeping into the beige carpet, and staining the ends of her cotton candy pink hair a bright red.
My heart raced at a painful rate, booming in my ears with a rapidthump! thump! thump!
Internally, I begged myself,Move! Run! Do something because he’s coming!
My gaze tore away from Shayla—my sister, my twin—to Mr. X. His booted foot took an ominous, slow step over her body while his monstrous coal eyes held mine. There was blood splattered across his face, clashing against his alabaster skin. An evil smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as he took another step, then another, closing the distance between us.
“Shiloh,” he sung my name. His voice was light yet haunting and made my entire body tremble. I’d never forget his voice, no matter how much I’d wish I could.
My soul screamed,Run! Run! Run!
But my body wouldn’t listen.
Mr. X finished his walk down the long hall to stand before me. As if stuck in a trance, I watched him lift his bloody knife.
Closing my eyes, I screamed.
* * *
“Shiloh!” Firm hands grasped me by my upper arms and shook me. “Shiloh, wake up!”
My uncle Logan’s gruff voice broke through my chains of fear. Forcing my eyes open, the first thing I saw was his face. I sat up panting, drenched in sweat. If it hadn’t been for Logan sitting next to me, I would have panicked because I didn’t immediately recognize my surroundings. Blinking away the fog that still lingered from sleep, I took in the dark, bare room, from the few boxes stacked in the corner to the very uncomfortable air mattress I was lying on. Slowly, my memories came back to me. This was my new house. It was our first night sleeping here. I was safe. Mr. X didn’t know where I was.
“Christ, Shi,” Logan cursed, running his tattooed fingers through his coffee-brown hair. “It’s been a while since you’ve had a dream like that. I’d be surprised if you didn’t wake the neighbors.”
I clenched my jaw. How did I respond to that?I’m sorry?Why? I couldn’t control what I dreamt or how messed up my past was.
Logan sighed. He was kneeling on the floor next to my air mattress, looking tired, in nothing but black boxer briefs.The rest of his body, from his shoulders to his toes, was covered in colorful and beautiful tattoos. The ex-Navy SEAL turned U.S. Marshal was an ink addict. I had no idea how he got away with being so heavily tattooed working for the feds. But what did I know? I just wished he’d invest in some PJs.
“What time is it?” I asked, my voice sounding coarse. I pushed a strand of sweaty lilac hair away from my face. Seeing the bright color still took me by surprise. I’d dyed it the wild shade for my eighteenth birthday a few days ago as a way to honor my sister, Shayla. She’d dyed her light brown hair all kinds of crazy colors to set herself apart from me—her identical twin. She’d been the lively and edgy twin, who gave our parents hell, where I was the shy and obedient daughter who was too timid to disappoint anyone. I wished I’d been more like Shayla. Maybe she would still be alive today.
Logan stared at me for a moment, like he was debating how he should answer. Not that it’d do him any good. “A little before five.” He got to his feet. “Wear your tracker,” he ordered over his shoulder as he stalked out of my room.
I crawled off my air mattress and went inside my closet. Flipping on the light, I opened one of the boxes on the floor full of my clothes that needed to be hung. I dug around until I found a pair of leggings and matching tank.
Even though it was summer, and we were now living in the desert, I still put on an athletic zip-up jacket with thumb holes in the cuffs. I had scars on my arms. They were hard to look at and I hated the attention they drew. I pulled my hair up in a messy bun, grabbed my tennis shoes, and put on my GPS anklet tracker before making my way toward the front door of my new house I’d received the keys for yesterday.
I’d bought this three-bedroom Craftsman without even seeing it first. I had been relieved and happy it had looked just like the pictures the realtor had sent me. Because Logan and I had been hidden away in the Alaskan mountains for the past year, I’d had to do the entire house-buying process online and through email.Why?Well, because of WITSEC—a.k.a. the witness security program or witness protection.
My life in WITSEC had started the summer before my senior year. Because I’d been weeks away from turning seventeen at the time and Logan was my only living relative, he had been assigned to watch over me, thus resulting in him taking a break from his job. Logan’s position as a U.S. Marshal and my guardian had given him a little pull in deciding where we would be sequestered. Alaska had been beautiful but cold and isolated. The nearest neighbor had been miles away and it had been an hour drive to town, which had a population of no more than five hundred people. It was the perfect place to hide, temporarily. I’d needed time to recover, rehabilitate, and get a crash course in intense survival skills from Logan. Just in case. The past year had been the hardest of my life both emotionally and physically. But now that I was eighteen, Logan wanted to return to work and I needed to move on and finish high school.
Sitting on the wood floor by the front door, I was slipping on my shoes when Logan came back out of his room. He was dressed in jeans this time. My eyes were grateful. He held a small handgun in a shoulder holster. “Put this under your jacket. It’s small and lightweight.”
I unzipped my jacket and slipped it off, revealing the long scar on my inner right arm. It started at the crease of my elbow and ended at my wrist. Even a year later, I could feel the phantom sensation of Mr. X’s blade tearing open my skin.
