The Mirror Guardian

Nancy O’Toole

The Mirror Guardian

First published by Midnight Tide Publishing 2024

Copyright © 2024 by Nancy O’Toole

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

First edition

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Contents

I. EDEN

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

II. DIRA

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

III. EDEN AND DIRA

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Acknowledgments

Also by Nancy O’Toole

More by Midnight Tide Publishing

I

EDEN

Chapter 1

Eden Harrington tightened her hands around the steering wheel. Her neck and shoulders had gone stiff. Her gaze focused on the small café ahead, with its large picture window and bustling clientele. She swallowed, forcing a lump down her throat.

Come on, she muttered. You’re good at this, right?

At least, she had been.

She reached up and flipped down the overhead visor, ostensibly to check her appearance but more to procrastinate. The sight made her pause, regardless. Not so much at her eyes, which were brown, as always, but the dark circles that lined them, despite her efforts to cover them up. But no matter what product she tried, they remained. A constant reminder of sleepless nights and the nightmares behind them.

Mal trudged through the shadows, alone. He pitched forward—

Eden snapped the visor shut, shaking her head. That stupid mirror had been designed to show a person in their least flattering light. She grabbed her purse before opening the driver’s side door. The dry, frigid air immediately invaded her space, hitting every exposed patch of skin. She shoved her hands into her pockets, regretting her decision not to bring gloves. If the scent in the air was any indication, it was about to snow.

The bell above the door jingled as she pushed it open, but its noise was mostly lost in the chatter of the lunchtime rush. Around her, almost every table was full, surrounded by people in suits and skirts beneath heavy winter jackets. She recognized some of them, if not by name, then reputation. The folks by the front window worked for the marketing firm down the street. The woman in jeans and a heavy sweater ran a bridal boutique. The two young men in their twenties, the second nearest dispensary.

Everyone’s just minding their business, Eden thought to herself as she made her way to the front counter. It may be loud and crowded, but at least—

Holy shit! Eden Harrington?

At the sound of the new voice, Eden’s body went tense. She closed her eyes for a second, then sighed and turned.

She knew this would happen eventually.

The speaker, Bridget Bayer, was a woman with bright red curls and a pale, flawless complexion that spoke of a strict regimen of high-end makeup and neuromodulators. She sat between two other women at a table close to a brick fireplace. This time of year, it was their regular table if they could get it. A fact Eden should have remembered.

Is my timing bad? She crossed the space between them.

Bad? Bridget asked, jaw agape. Shit, girl. It’s been, like, nine months.

Wooooow, Jessica Clarkson, a plump woman whose dark hair was cut in a chic bob, added. I can’t believe it’s been that long.

Me either, Eden said.

A bald-faced lie, of course. There was nothing wrong with Eden’s perception of time. She took a moment to drink in the three women in front of her. Out of everyone at the firm, she had always been the closest to Bridget and Jessica, probably since all three were in their thirties. The third face, Lang, was less familiar to her. In her mid-twenties, the young Vietnamese woman had started at Baker and Braun a few months before…

Before…

Eden shook her head. I was in town for a doctor’s appointment and figured I’d swing by. She glanced over the table. Some things never change, right?

Um…sure? Bridget tucked a lock of her hair behind her ears.

The old nervous tick, as well as the apparent discomfort from the table, gave Eden pause. Eden had always proudly considered herself to be a people person. While she appreciated the occasional bout of solitude, unlike her sister or Mal, she had never found a crowded room or group of strangers intimidating. With a solid sense for picking up on subtle social cues and body language, she often joked that she was rarely the smartest person in the room, but she could damn well find them if given enough time.

But while her co-workers’ favorite table hadn’t changed, other things had. Instead of finding comfort in the crowded café, it felt like a little much for Eden, from the churn of customers to the string of shouts from the baristas. Before, those things had comfortably melted into the background. Now, they seemed weirdly magnified.

What do you expect? You’ve barely left the house for the past year.

Another thing that had changed was her friends’ reactions. She was used to them greeting her with smiles and waves (and, if she was fortunate, office gossip). But now…

How are the kids? Eden asked.

Raising hell as normal, Jessica replied.

What about you, Bridget?

"Like…fine, I guess." The redhead rolled her eyes.

Eden paused. Bridget complaining about her trio of children was a time-honored tradition, with everyone encouraged to pile on. But now, she didn’t exactly look happy.

Maybe I should give them some time to regroup.

I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Eden pointed back to the cash. I know you have to get to work, but do you mind If we catch up for a few?

Oh, sure, Lang said, her ponytail bobbing up and down enthusiastically.

That’s great! I’ll be back in a minute.

Well, that was different, Eden thought, making her way back through the maze of customers to the cash register. But it made sense. When she had left Baker and Braun, she hadn’t exactly said much in the way of goodbyes, and her communication with the two women had been spotty at best. It was just with everything going on…

Next!

The sharp-voiced barista snapped Eden out of her reverie. She plastered on a smile and stepped forward, parroting off her old order. She moved over to the side to wait, only to find herself jostling elbows with another customer, spilling hot coffee all over the back of his hand.

Oh god, I’m so sorry! Eden said. Let me clean that up.

She stepped forward to the counter, grabbing a fistful of napkins from a kitschy napkin holder with an angel carved onto its side, its clothing and features worn down by time. She spun back around…

Only to find the spot empty, the victim of her clumsiness already halfway to the door.

She held back a sigh as she watched his retreating back, wondering how she had even missed him in the first place. He wasn’t dressed like anyone else. Instead of bundling up in a ski parka or wool coat, he wore a long duster. The brevity of their encounter made it a little tricky to make him out, but the sight of his silver hair and deep lines around his eyes stuck out to her.

I’ve seen him before, a small voice in her head said. But where?

Eden! the barista announced.

Oh! She turned back to the counter and accepted her latte. Thank you.

At least she had plenty of napkins for the table. Jessica had always been a bit of a klutz.

But by the time she returned to the fireplace, it was completely empty, save for a scattered pile of crumbs. Eden paused, and for a moment, the overall chatter of the café faded away, leaving behind a silent void.

Should she have expected this? After all, Eden had been bad about keeping in contact with people over the last year. And without her taking the initiative, everyone had just drifted away.

Should I stay and drink my coffee? Or would that be worse? Just sitting alone at the table where she had once held conferences with friends on practically a daily basis.

Better to get home before the snow picked up.

As Eden moved toward the exit, the noises of the café came back to her. Snippets of conversations drifted to her ears. People talked about annoying customers, long shifts, and being forced to drive in on bald tires during a storm. Barely more than small talk. So why did it feel almost oppressive, pushing in on all sides?

She didn’t even mind the bite of the cold when she stepped outside. By comparison, it was preferable. She glanced down the street and paused when she saw three retreating backs: Bridget, Jessica, and Lang, heading down the path that Eden had traversed several times per week during her five-year tenure at Baker and Braun. But now, following them felt impossible.

You’re good at this, right? Her words came back to her. But before, things had been different. She knew it wouldn’t be long before the conversation turned to her lengthy absence. And Mal.

So instead of following them, she headed back to her SUV and shut the door behind her, cutting off the outside world. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against the smooth leather steering wheel cover. Feeling her pulse begin to race, she took in one giant breath, then two, three…

After the fourth, she returned to an upright position and turned on the car. She grabbed a sip of her latte as she checked her mirrors. She blinked at the familiar face, then turned around quickly, causing the hot drink to slosh over her hand.

Shit! Lowering her drink to the cupholder, she reached for that collection of napkins. After cleaning the mess, she turned to the back of her vehicle only to find nothing but a passing car.

If it had been the older man in the duster again, she supposed the spill would have been karma.

But as Eden backed up, she found her memory drifting back to his face and the feeling that she knew him somehow.

Snowflakes began to gather on her windshield as she pulled out into traffic.

Chapter 2

The rumble of the garage door closing filled the air. Eden glanced up at the sky, almost at full dark. The light on the detached garage illuminated thick chunks of snow as they fell around her, landing on her brown curls and light skin. She let out a long sigh, and her breath froze before her like her own personal cloud. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, appreciating the silence of her lakeside home, so far away from the hustle and bustle of her old life.

A life you used to love, a small voice said.

She headed inside, the wooden wraparound deck creaking beneath her feet as she made her way to the sliding door. A couple of inches of snow had already gathered, with plenty more on the way. It wouldn’t be safe to drive tonight.

Not that she wanted to. She flicked on the lights, illuminating a large kitchen complete with a top-of-the-line gas stove, a massive island overhung with copper pots, and a large stainless-steel fridge begging to be filled with delicious ingredients. It had been a joke for years, she and Mal owning such a showroom-level kitchen while the two had the cooking skills of college students.

Wincing at the memory, Eden removed her winter clothes. She hung them up in a nearby closet rather than in a heap of fabric on the floor. This time. She pulled her phone out of her pocket to discover a call had come through on her long, snowy commute.

She froze when she realized who it was from.

Pulling up the voicemail function, she pressed the phone against her ears to hear a familiar, masculine voice speaking in gentle tones.

Miss Harrington. This is Detective Boucher returning your call. I appreciate the new information you were able to remember about your husband’s disappearance, and wanted to let you know that I will be looking into it. It may take a little while before I can get back to you.

Eden nodded as if he were standing across the kitchen island from her, as he had a year before.

At the same time, he said after a pause. It is important that I don’t give you false hope. While it’s good to know that your husband connected with this old friend of his, this…Kieran Myers, before his death, the truth is that Mal has been missing for a year. You need to open yourself to the possibility that he is—

Eden held her breath.

Gone, he finished, voice gentle yet firm. Now, this is an understandably difficult concept, but I also don’t want to fill you with false hope. Please call me if there is anything else you’d like to discuss. Thank you.

With that, the voicemail ended. For a moment, Eden stood there, phone pressed against her cheek.

When her husband had first gone missing, Eden’s initial response had been alarm. They lived close to hundreds of acres of untouched wilderness, wilderness that Mal had loved exploring on long, solo walks. What if he had fallen and hurt himself? What if a hunter had mistaken him for an animal and accidentally shot him?

It had been enough to spark a massive manhunt. With a positive reputation for his paintings and philanthropy, Malcolm Harrington was the tiny town of Winterfield’s most well-known citizen. But when their search came up empty-handed, other avenues of investigation were opened. Had Eden noticed anything off about her husband in the time leading up to his disappearance? Had the two of them been fighting? Had there been any strange shifts in his mood?

Those answers had been difficult for Eden. Yes, they had been fighting, and yes, there had been a shift in his mood. The usually calm and open Mal had grown distant, disappearing for hours or even days without any real explanation. And then there was this other woman, this Christine.

Eden crossed her kitchen, fingers drifting over the glass door of the liquor cabinet before drawing back. No, now wasn’t the time to numb things. Thanks to the encounter with her former coworkers and the phone call from Detective Boucher, the wound was open. And she, against all logic, was going to pick at it again.

Her feet led her up the stairs of the lakeside cabin she and Mal had shared for seven years of marriage and most of their ten-year relationship. She headed to the only closed door on the second level.

She had prepared excuses ages ago. The room, with its massive windows overlooking the lake, was drafty. Didn’t it make sense to close it off? But the truth was apparent to anyone who knew what lay beyond.

It was the only place left where Mal’s paintings were stored. Some hung on the walls, but others were stacked in a corner, separated by sheets of cardboard. Eden suspected it was not the safest way to protect Mal’s life’s work. But the sight of his paintings hanging around the house merely stood as a silent reminder of his absence. As she entered the studio, she glanced over one and almost immediately turned away.

It was, like most of Mal’s art, a nature scene. The painting mainly focused on birches reaching to the sun, but there was a way that the light played across them that made them seem unnerving, almost alien. Eden had met Mal during an art show where he had shown off several paintings with the same beautiful yet unsettling air. The people around had said it was clearly about climate change and deforestation.

At the time, she had been the only one more drawn to the artist than the art.

Crossing the room, she headed to a corner where several bags lay. She pushed aside a couple of suitcases and a backpack, only to pause when she realized the latter had left grit behind on the palm of her hand. Eden frowned at this. She and the police had poked through Mal’s things plenty of times, but she couldn’t remember looking inside this bag.

The first thing she found was a water bottle, liquid sloshing inside. And beneath that, a camera. Eden looked at it and swallowed.

They had gone on their last hiking trip months before Malcolm had gone missing, but she could still picture the photos she had taken. Shots of rock formations, trees, and Mal standing near the edge of a cliff, his rail-thin form standing out in a dark silhouette against the bright blue sky. A smile played out on his face.

It had been one of their last happy memories together before Mal had begun to change. She doubted there was anything here that could be of help. But on the off chance that this could be considered evidence…

She paused to glance over the water bottle once more. She didn’t recognize it, which was odd. It was made of silver metal, with bright yellow markings arranged in a row down the side. Perhaps a brand name? The typeface did remind her of Thai. With a shrug, she reached into her pocket and took a picture of it with her phone. She could always send a photograph of it alongside the images from the camera.

Camera in one hand, water bottle in the other, she headed down to the kitchen and her drawer full of chargers. Once the camera was charging, she turned to the sink and twisted the cap off the water bottle.

Or, at least, she tried.

Frowning, Eden rolled up her sweater sleeves and attempted again, only to come up with the same outcome. With a grunt of frustration, she turned on the hot water and ran it over the seal. It had been untouched for so long. Had the metal become warped?

Eden tried to open it again, only to fail once more. She sighed and reached into a nearby cabinet, picking out a rubber jar opener, and it failed again. Letting out a grunt of frustration, she put all her strength in it, gritting her teeth. A flash of something—a reflection of light perhaps—could be seen on the bare skin of her arms. But before she could think about that, the bottle let out a squeak. She blinked. Had she managed to open it a little? She tried once more—

A massive flash filled the room, knocking her back and into the island. Eden let out a small cry as she fell to the floor. She looked up to the sink, then choked back a gasp.

There was no getting around it. Hovering above her granite countertops was what she could only describe as a fistful of lightning crackling in the air with sudden and dangerous energy.

And then, it rushed for her.

Muscle memory from half a lifetime ago kicked in, allowing her to dart out of the way and onto the floor. She heard a giant crash as the strange thing slammed into the side of the island. And then, silence. Eden took a step toward the island’s far side then moved to stand, peering up and over to get a better look.

The first thing that emerged was a hand.

Its fingers, white as the snow, were long and jagged, ending in sharp claws. The creature flexed, and those claws dug into the granite, sending cracks across the countertop. It began to rise, exposing the attached arm, long and hairless. It pushed the creature up to stand, allowing Eden her first look at the body attached to it.

It had to be seven and a half feet tall, although some of that height could have been an illusion created by its impossibly broad shoulders, with a torso that quickly narrowed down in an exaggerated V. This same V-shape was echoed in an oddly flat, inhuman face, its smooth surface broken by three orifices: two slits for eyes, as solid and black as night, and a mouth, no less terrifying for all its narrow shape.

Not with those needle-like teeth shoved inside of it.

Eden was, by nature, a curious person. She had always been filled with the urge to understand things, from the most mundane to life’s biggest questions. And under different circumstances, the appearance of a strange, alien-like creature in her kitchen would be enough to send a flood of questions running through her mind.

But for now, all those were drowned out by one single, all-consuming command.

Run.

With a panicked yelp, Eden spun away from the creature and began bolting toward the sliding door. Behind her, she heard the crashing of pots. She turned to see that it had leaped across the island, landing on the refrigerator and digging in its claws.

Claws that had been aimed at her.

Eden yanked open the back door and fell forward onto her hands and knees. The cold hit her like a slap, bare hands buried deep into the freshly fallen snow. She heard what sounded like the cry of a bird of prey, the noise resounding across her kitchen. She spun around just in time to see that the creature had landed on the floor again, its midnight gaze staring into her own eyes. It poised itself to jump. Eden scrambled backward.

And then, it was there, too fast for her eyes to follow its movements. The creature landed on top of her, pinning her to the ground with a single hand, its spindly fingers long enough to span the entirety of her chest. It opened its mouth and let out another one of those strange howls, those dozens of needle-like teeth descending toward Eden’s terrified face. Instinctually she raised her hand to shield herself. In return, the creature dug its fangs into the flesh of her arm.

Only…no? There was no pain. She blinked to see her arms suddenly covered in a strange, almost liquid-like metal, its reflective surface displaying her own horrified expression.

The creature let out a third cry, tightening its grip around her before throwing her aside if she weighed only a fraction of her one hundred and fifty pounds. She shot through the air, crashing onto the ground in a heap of limbs. Eden blinked, taking a moment to gather where she had landed. No longer on the deck but in the driveway, mere feet away from a set of legs wearing a pair of hiking boots.

Mal? she whispered.

But no. A closer look revealed that the figure above her bore little resemblance to her husband, with his narrow frame and comforting head full of dark curls. This man was older and with a sturdier build.

It was the man from the café.

The question she had wanted to ask before sputtered to her lips. Who are—

She froze when he reached behind his back and pulled out a sword.

Chapter 3

The man stepped forward, the tip of his massive sword pointed toward the ground. Before Eden could react, the creature charged, and the man responded by swiping his blade in an upward arc. The creature let out a piercing scream that made Eden’s skin crawl. Black blood spilled over the freshly fallen snow.

The older man jerked his head in Eden’s direction, his voice like a growl. Go!

She didn’t need to be told twice. Pressing her bare hands against the frozen earth, Eden moved to her feet, her eyes glued to the glow of the open kitchen door. If she could just get inside, she could call for help and…

She was halfway toward the entrance when she felt a hand latch onto her shoulder and yank her back. She looked up to see the triangular head of the creature, the porch light reflecting off every one of its sharp teeth. Letting out a shuddering half-scream, Eden pulled away, but the monster refused to let go, digging in its claws.

But just like before, mirror-like metal reformed around her shoulder. So, while she felt pressure, there was no pain. She was still whole.

Then the massive sword jutted up and through the creature’s chest, narrowly missing the side of Eden’s face.

The creature sagged, loosening its grip, and Eden sprung free, bolting back toward the open door. She reached it seconds later and spun around to shut it. But before she could, her eyes landed on the monster as it wrenched the sword from its chest, scattering its own blood in a wide arc. With a growl, it tossed the weapon to the side, then turned back to the older man, now unarmed.

And Eden realized who this man actually was.

Instead of sliding the door shut, she ran back into her kitchen, grabbing two of those ridiculously expensive and underused pots. By the time she made it back to the doorway, she heard a cry, but not from the creature who had, in the seconds that it had taken her to retrieve the pots, tackled her rescuer to the ground. The man kicked and struggled, but all efforts were futile, pinned as he was beneath the monster’s giant hands. It flexed its claws, and, for just a second, Eden could have sworn the man wasn’t wearing a long coat but what looked like armor out of some historical reenactment.

Clutching her hand around a handle, Eden drew on former softball days and hurtled one of the expensive pots towards the creature. It hit it square in the head. It turned to her, lips curled into a snarl. Eden threw the second pot. The projectile crashed into the direct center of its face.

The creature bolted toward Eden so fast that she barely had enough time to close the sliding door. The monster slammed into the tempered glass, which cracked into a wide, web-like pattern. It curled one of its hands into a fist and pounded against the door. The sound of shattering glass filled the air as the door was completely destroyed.

And then, just like before, a sword tip plunged through the creature’s chest. It let out a howl, its face creasing in clear and obvious pain. It fell through the door frame, revealing the man standing behind it.

Jasper, I— Eden began.

Stay back, he ordered.

The man reached forward and pulled out the sword. Then, gripping both hands, he jerked the point downward, stabbing the creature in the back. It let out another cry of pain.

And then he did it again, and again, and again until the creature’s cries turned to gasps, then died out completely.

And then he did it again.

I think it’s dead, Eden said.

Wait. The man raised a single finger, eyes glued on the bloody body in front of him.

But…it’s not breathing?

They don’t breath.

The creature sprang to life and hurtled toward Eden. She fell backward, slamming her head against the edge of her countertop.

She saw stars, then darkness.

Eden opened her eyes to find herself underwater, warping her vision. Automatically, she tried to jerk to the surface, only to find that her entire body was locked in place. She pressed her lips together.

Don’t breathe. You’ll drown. You’ll….

She caught sight of a face, warped by the water’s movement, but something about the shape sent a jolt of panic coursing through her.

And then, she was awake. She let out a gasp, and air rushed into her lungs. Her hands, no longer frozen in place, shoved off the heavy quilt that had been pulled up to her neck.

For a second, all she could do was lay there and listen to the thundering of her own heartbeat. This was often the case after one of her nightmares. And this one was far from new, a regular occurrence since Mal’s disappearance. In her most manic, sleep-deprived moments, she had wondered if it was a sign that he had drowned in the lake.

But those horrors felt mundane after the events of the previous night.

It came rushing back to her. The lightning turned into a monster. The sight of black blood spilling across the freshly fallen snow. Of Jasper Harrington, standing in her kitchen, sword gripped in both hands.

She blinked. That had to have been a dream too. But when had she fallen asleep? She was still dressed in the leggings and sweater she had worn to her doctor’s appointment, not the flannel pajamas she usually wore in the winter.

Adrenaline jolted through her. She tore from her bedroom and headed down the stairs. She remembered the sight of the broken glass door, the scattered pots, the claw marks in her countertops…

Instead, she was met with nothing but a spotless kitchen. The pots hung from the ceiling all neat and in a row, the island beneath it free from claw marks, and the sliding glass door untouched. Eden dug her hands into her dark curls, overwhelmed. Of course, it would make sense that it was all a dream. Monsters made out of lightning? Knights in armor and swords? It was utterly ridiculous!

Including the sight of Mal’s estranged father standing in her kitchen.

Jasper Harrington had been a person of interest early on in Detective Boucher’s investigation, not due to any recent connection but based on how strained their relationship had been. In the decade that Eden had known Mal, she had encountered his father twice, both meetings uncomfortable and short. When she questioned Mal about it, the conflict sounded like something out of a movie.

It was no secret that Mal was rich, and very little of that came from his art. That had come from his father’s business ventures. But Mal, the stereotypical young artist, had no interest in following in his footsteps, which had strained his relationship with Jasper since childhood. In college, his parents had divorced, putting an end to any regular interaction between the two.

It was the man in the duster, Eden thought, examining her perfect kitchen. He looked like Jasper Harrington. That’s what put the idea in her head.

Then she heard a scraping noise from outside.

She headed straight to the door, half expecting to find Mal’s father standing out there, sword in hand, surrounded by the black blood-stained snow.

But of course, it was just her elderly neighbor shoveling off her deck.

Anthony, she said, sliding open the door with a whirl. You…you don’t have to do that, you know!

The gray-haired man turned to her, the wrinkles around his eyes forming into deeper caverns as he smiled. Oh, you know, I was just getting you started.

Eden shook her head. It was a familiar argument between the two of them. Anthony argued he had done the same for Mrs. Hutchins down the street ages ago when her daughter and caretaker had died. Eden ducked inside and pulled on her jacket and boots, reflecting how, at the time, Mrs. Hutchins had been 82 years old, an age that Anthony wasn’t far from himself.

If this old man slips while trying to clear my steps, I will never forgive myself.

It took a little prodding to get him to give up the shovel. The steps were finished, and her deck more than halfway complete. This allowed the old man to take a seat on the built-in bench that lined Eden’s deck, watching as she cleared off the last of the eight inches of snow that had blanketed the Earth overnight, leaving no evidence of the fight.

Not that there would be, a small voice in her mind said. The plow she hired on in the winter months had swung by early enough, pushing the snow up her long, wide driveway to various spots on her lawn, completely covering up any signs of a struggle.

But all that blood…

Hope your visitor was able to get out yesterday, Anthony said.

What?

He nodded to the road. The Ford. Saw it pass by my place. Not many people are willing to come down this road in the winter.

Eden blinked. They lived on a long, dirt road that encircled the lake. Houses were few and far between, and Eden and Anthony were currently the only two that occupied their properties year-round. There were times in the winter when travel was difficult. It was why Eden had traded in her sedan for an SUV soon after she moved in.

That Ford. Could it have been Jasper Harrington’s?

Yeah, she said. We didn’t…bother you, did we? Think things may have gotten a little loud.

Nah, Anthony said. Didn’t hear a thing.

Which, given that his hearing wasn’t at all impacted by age, said a lot. She remembered the sound of the monster’s screams and how those cries had echoed around the lake.

So, what did it say that her neighbor had seen a vehicle but hadn’t heard the fight? Perhaps the truck hadn’t been Jasper’s after all. Maybe it was just some poor soul who had wandered out to the middle of nowhere and found themselves lost.

After all, the alternative was impossible.

Chapter 4

The steps cleared, Eden bid her neighbor goodbye and stepped inside, only to have her cell phone vibrate on the nearby counter. She checked the name on the screen before answering it.

Hey Jenny, she said.

Am I late?

Eden paused, which only appeared to increase her sister’s anxiety.

Shit, did I get the wrong day? she asked.

No. Just…my mind’s still on shoveling, I guess. But I remember. We were supposed to figure out Mom’s birthday, right?

Yeah. The relief in Jenny’s voice was palpable. I hope to keep things simple this year with…you know.

Eden nodded. Her sister had recently given birth to her first child, a daughter named April. As Eden noticed was often the case with any first-time parent, Jenny found the experience overwhelming. The fact that she was doing so much alone made it even more challenging. Her wife, a police officer, had taken on more hours to help care for baby-related expenses. Eden had swung by before, but the winter weather complicated the almost two-hour trip.

That and long car trips didn’t agree with her anymore. Too much time to just sit and think.

That’s a good call. Eden pulled off her coat. The question is, will Mom see things that way?

"I’m gonna go with a no on that one. The woman’s about to turn sixty.