Carefully, I scooted to the edge of the couch I lay on then eased myself into a standing position in a way that wouldn’t agonize my ribs. Delilah bobbed and weaved in the strands of my hair as I moved to her cage, but she was blessedly quiet as I released her in its spacious confines.
“Wish me luck,” I told her as I closed the latch.
A ragged meow drew my attention to Sampson, my one-eyed albino rescue cat, who sat by the back door watching me judgmentally.
“Don’t give me that,” I scolded as I moved toward him and collected my white Converse from beside his swishing tail. “I’ll text them before they know I’m gone. I just need space.”
Sampson turned his snub nose up at me and then stalked off, clearly unimpressed.
I laughed softly at his attitude as I gently turned the knob on the old door and cracked it open just enough to slip through without making it creak on its lightly rusted hinges.
As soon as I was outside in the burning orange twilight of the autumn evening, I regretted not having a coat, but it was too late to turn back.
Free and giddy with it, I circled around the house to my trusty vintage pink Fiat. It was the bane of the brothers who worked at Hephaestus Auto because it was always breaking down, requiring them to send someone to pick me up and cart it back to the shop for another bout of work, but I loved it too much to give it up for something more practical.
I retrieved the spare set of car and house keys I kept hidden in a fake rock by the driveway and made my escape.
The curtains twitched as soon as I started my car, but I only waved blindly at the house as I reversed into the road and took off.
I laughed as I hit Main Street, and my stereo finally kicked on, appropriately spilling out the “Dark Side” by Bishop Briggs.
I didn’t have a destination in mind. I just wanted the drive to be alone and reflect further on how I would get Priest to notice me enough to want me. After stopping at Evergreen Gas to fill up my car, Mary, and grab a jumbo bag of Fuzzy Peaches, I cruised along the water. It never failed to amaze me how gorgeous Entrance was. To the east, the Rocky Mountains exploded from the earth like the spiny backs of great dinosaurs fossilized in the soil. To the west, the glittering expanse of opalescent blue ocean beneath the rough-hewn cliffs of the coastline. Between the two, sprawling forest teeming with wildlife that had grown so accustomed to humans, we often had bears, deer, and cougars trolling through the streets on their way to greener pastures.
I adored it, every single inch of it.
This was why I chose to commute to university down in Vancouver instead of live on campus. I wanted this beauty as my backyard, and the love of my family to ornament it further.
I had so much goodness in my life, it was almost a shameful overabundance.
Despite growing up largely ignored by my parents with a sister who’d battled cancer twice, I was blessed more than most people ever would be.
I owned my house—thanks to the inheritance from my disgusting father—I attended one of the best universities in the world, lived in one of the most beautiful places, and had the loveliest, though perhaps unconventional, family.
So why did I have this niggling malcontent?
I popped a fuzzy peach into my mouth, savouring the sweet tang as it dissolved on my tongue and decided to be honest with myself.
I was lonely.
Not lonely the way I often wondered if Priest was lonely, as in without companionship.
It was possible for the most popular person to feel essentially lonely, even when surrounded by a group of friends.
I felt isolated because I was deliberately keeping the truth of who I was in my heart from those closest to me.
Yes, I was a good girl, a churchgoing, straight A-receiving, animal-loving blond with a serious penchant for all things pink and girly.
But I was drawn to the dark like a planet pulled irrevocably toward a black hole.
I wanted more than sunshine and flowers.
I wanted to hone my edges against the whetstone of danger, test my mind against those who thought contradictorily to me. It was the reason I was studying criminal psychology.
And I couldn’t decide what had come first, the chicken or the egg.
My obsession with Priest or my obsession with the deviant.
As if in answer, the universe offered me a gift…
The sight of Priest’s all-black Harley Davidson motorcycle partially obscured behind a dumpster in Purgatory Motel’s parking lot.
Instantly, my hands were moving on the wheel, turning my little Fiat into the lot.
It was dark now, the sunset only a smudge of grime grey light on the edge of the horizon, and the parking lot was poorly lit by three lampposts, only one of which was working. I shivered as I got out of the car, the fear and cold coalescing to pump adrenaline through my blood.