Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I was in the basement and then it turned into a forest, and I was floating in darkness! Something grabbed me—no, you grabbed me! But it wasn’t you, it was something else! Something evil!
“Willow,” she murmurs, squatting in front of me. “Please tell me what’s going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on, Faye. I just…I thought I saw something in the basement but…it was nothing. It couldn’t have been anything.”
She considers that a moment. “Is this about Warren?”
When she says my brother’s name, I freeze again and avoid her eyes. “No.”
“Your birthday is this weekend,” Faye continues. You’re turning thirty. He’d be turning thirty too.”
“Faye, please.” I close my eyes and rub the center of my forehead. “Not here. Not right now.”
“You have to talk about him, Willow. You can’t keep holding it in.”
“I’m not holding anything in. I’m fine, really!” I exclaim, a little louder than intended. “I’m—I’m medicated. I’m living and breathing. I’m fine.”
“I called your name six times in the basement,” she says, concern swimming in her eyes. “It’s like you were looking past me and at something else when I tried to snap you out of—of whatever the hell that trance was.”
I push off the stool and step sideways. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m fine. I just think you’re right about the meds and tequila. Maybe now is a good time to stop mixing the two.” I laugh but there’s no humor to my tone, and Faye can sense it because she doesn’t laugh with me. She’s still worried, and I don’t blame her.
“Come on, let’s go get that wine before people realize they’re still sober,” I say, steering the subject.
A smile pulls at the edges of her lips, but it doesn’t reach her eyes and I know she’s still thinking about the basement and about whatever the hell that trance of mine was. Hell, so am I. But Faye has guests and tonight must run smoothly, so she doesn’t put up a fight, despite how badly I’m sure she wants to.
And besides, what happened to me has nothing to do with Warren, nothing at all. And even if it did, he’s the last thing I want to talk about right now.
Nine
WILLOW
I act as normal as possible throughout the entire open mic, despite Faye coming to check on me every ten minutes. When the night is over and the guests are leaving, Faye thanks them all and waves them off, and while they exit, I help Mel (the employee who showed up to run the café) stack the chairs.
It’s as we’re dragging the tables back to their designated areas when Faye returns with a heavy sigh. “Just leave it. I’ll be in early tomorrow to fix things before opening.”
“Are you sure?” Mel asks, standing upright.
“Positive. It’s been a long night and the storm is going to get worse. We should get out of here while we can.” Faye walks down the hallway to get to the employee lounge and collect her things. Mel does the same, and when they return, I’m sliding into my jacket and pulling my car keys out of the pocket.
Faye wishes Mel a goodnight and watches her cross the parking lot to her car, and when it’s just us, Faye turns and asks, “So is it just tequila at your apartment?”
I enter my apartment, kicking out of my shoes right away as Faye follows me in. She slips out of her damp jacket and hangs it on the coatrack by the door along with her purse, and then looks around my place.
“Ugh! What the hell, Willow? This place is a mess.” She walks to my dining table and picks up the empty box my cinnamon roll was in.
“What? I haven’t been home long enough to clean it yet,” I counter.
“I can see that.” She scrunches her nose. “And what is that smell?”
I look around, as if I’ll spot where the smell is coming from. “Hmm. So, it isn’t just me smelling that then?”
Faye ignores my comment and marches to the kitchen, and when she notices the dirty dishes in the sink, she groans. Immediately, she rolls up the sleeves of her sweater, turns on the faucet, and begins rinsing the dishes.
“Faye, you don’t have to do that!” I yell at her from the couch.
“If I don’t, who will?”
“I will…when I’m in the mood.”
She cuts her eyes at me briefly before putting her attention back on the dishes. “So are you going to tell me what that was about at the bookstore, or am I going to have to get you drunk and force the truth out of you?”
I knew this was coming, yet even with the question lingering in the air and having nearly two hours to think about it afterward, I still can’t bring myself to present a solid answer.
“Okay…” I sit up on the couch. “It’s going to sound crazy, but I’ve been having these really weird dreams. Or maybe they’re hallucinations? I don’t know.”