"You never had a problem with it before."
"I never saw that damn watch before."
Abigail frowned as she saw a shadow moving along the wall. It lifted up and crawled slowly toward her parents. Where was it coming from? There were no windows, and nothing that could cast it. It slinked down the hallway slowly. Methodically. But as a child, she was easily distracted, especially since her parents were escalating their argument. She scurried to her room to find her Scooter doll and hide.
She'd made a nest beneath her bed for just such occasions. It was where she felt safest. Her mother called it her princess hidey-hole. Abigail called it wonderful. With her blanket and dolls, she stayed there and lost track of time until she heard another familiar voice in the middle of their ongoing fight.
Jess's.
"You don't deserve her, you bastard."
"What are you doing here?" her father snarled, startling her from her play. "I told you not to come back."
"You don't tell me what to do."
Her mother's tone was much more reasonable. "Maybe you should go."
"So that's it, then?" her father shouted. "After all these years and everything I've done for you? You're just going to throw me out for this piece of random shit?"
Abigail covered her ears as the shouts grew louder and louder.
Her mother's scream rang out. "Stan! Put down the gun!" The next thing she heard was breaking furniture. Terrified, she dug deeper into her safety blanket and held her breath. She didn't know why she wasn't crying. But something told her not to even breathe audibly.
Four loud, deafening gunshots rang out.
Wide eyed, she'd been frozen in terror. Mama ... That single word hovered in her mind as tears welled in her eyes. Go check on her....
She couldn't. It felt as if someone or something held her down and kept her quiet.
Then there was the sound of lone boot heels clicking eerily down the hallway toward her room. Chills raised on her arms.
Don't move, Abby. It sounded like her mother talking to her. Whatever you do, stay silent and still. Pretend you're invisible.
Her door opened with a slow arc.
Holding her breath, she peeped from beneath her bed to watch the boots move across her floor.
"Where are you, you little brat?" Jess snarled. He searched the room for her.
He's going to find me.... Every part of her seized with that fear. I don't want to die.
"Abigail!" he shouted as he searched through her closet. "Where are you?"
The sound of sirens filled the air, which made him tear through her room as he did his best to find her. She covered her head, terrified he'd overturn her bed.
"We need to go. Now!"
Abigail frowned at a voice that sounded familiar to her. Not as a little girl, but as an adult.
Whose was it?
"I can't find the brat."
The sirens were getting louder and louder.
"I'll take care of it," the voice whispered again. "But you need to go."
"Why? It might be better if they find me here."
"I have a better idea."
He let out a sound of extreme frustration as pulsating lights flashed through the windows. "Fine," he snarled. "I'll trust you, but if you're wrong, you'll be joining the other two in the living room."
"Don't worry, I have your back."
She watched as Sundown stormed out of the room, leaving nothing but bloody footprints in his wake....
Abigail jerked awake to find herself in Sundown's house.
The memory of the night her parents had died lingered heavy in her heart as the sequence of events was clarified.
Sundown had killed her parents. He'd been lying to her when he denied it.
How do you know that?
Hello? I was there.
Still, there was a tiny part of her that doubted it. Her mind couldn't reconcile the two sides of Sundown that she'd seen. The fierce protector and the lethal killer.
You've killed, too.
But for a reason. Her parents hadn't deserved their deaths.
"You're awake."
She glanced over to the door where Sundown was standing. A wave of fury swelled through her, but she fought it down. The last thing she wanted was to warn him of her intentions.
"Yeah." Licking her dry lips, she glanced down to his right front pants pocket, which caused him to arch an inquisitive brow. Her face turned red as she realized he thought she was staring at his crotch and not the other, much smaller bump. "Not on your life, cowboy."
"Dang. Just when I got my hopes up, too."
For once, she didn't let his charm infiltrate her suspicions. She sat up on the bed. "Do you have the time?"
He pulled an old-fashioned pocket watch out and opened the cover to check it.
Before he could answer her question, she was off the bed and had it in her hand. Her breath caught as she saw the photo that had set her father off.
It was her mother.
"What are you doing with this?"
His face turned white. "It's not what you think."
She glared at him as she clutched the watch, wanting to strangle him. "What I think is that you're a liar." She held it up for him to see the picture. "This is my mother."
"It's not your mother."
"Bullshit. I know what she looked like."
Still, he shook his head in denial. "Look at it again. Your mother had short hair and never wore a dress like that one. Ever."
She turned it back toward her to study it.
He was right. The woman in the photograph had her hair piled up into an extravagant braided bun like a woman would have worn in the late 1800s. Her high-collar, white lace blouse was adorned at the neck by an antique cameo. Like her mother's, the woman's eyes glowed with warmth and kindness.
But the most startling fact was that their features were eerily identical. The same sharp cheekbones and dark hair. Eyebrows that arched at an angle above kind eyes. But her mother's eyes had been blue. The woman in the photograph had dark eyes. Even so it was like staring at her mother all over again.
"I told you your ma reminded me of someone." Jess covered her hand with his. "Now you know."
That touch sent a chill down her spine. "Who is she?"