5. Ava

AVA

S omeone had made Liath’s voice message disappear. Just like someone had made Liath disappear.

If the police weren’t going to do anything about it, I was going to investigate Liath’s disappearance myself.

And I knew just where to start.

My stalker.

It was too much of a coincidence that two girls— friends —from the same college were being stalked by two different people. Right?

I was sure my stalker was Liath’s stalker. My stalker took Liath.

And I was going to catch him.

“Ava? Are you alright?” Ebony’s concerned voice broke through my thoughts.

“Grand,” I lied and smoothed down the thick white linen napkin across my lap.

Ebony and I sat at the heavy black wood dining room table in stuffy red velvet wood backed chairs, cornucopias of fruit etched into the tall wood backings .

The heavy wood beams and iron chandeliers hanging above our heads made me feel like I was in a medieval banquet hall. A long row of tall, narrow windows overlooked the black night.

Ebony had inherited this Victorian mansion in the affluent Dublin area of Ballsbridge when her creepy-ass father died last year.

It was undeniably beautiful: high ceilings dripping with chandeliers; wide, dark wood staircases; gold and black damask wallpaper; and huge stone fireplaces.

But something about it creeped me out.

It felt like there were too many corners that the dim lighting didn’t reach. Too many long dark corridors. Too many icy drafts that seemed to steal in despite all the windows being closed.

We’d lived in this house for almost two years now and I still didn’t feel like this labyrinthian mansion was my home.

I mean, she still had her father’s wing as it was when he was alive, just covered with white sheets and a layer of dust.

Not to mention the dark dusty attic. And the floorboards that seemed to creak for no reason.

“They’re just hallways and rooms,” Dr. Vale told me when I dared to bring it up. “Stop making them into labyrinths and dungeons.”

Ebony poured me a glass of wine from a crystal decanter and asked if the fire was warm enough. She had a glass of wine with every meal for as long as I could remember.

As soon as I turned eighteen last year, she started pouring me a glass, too.

“Your hands feel cold,” she said, taking one of mine in her strong surgeon’s hands .

“I’m grand.” I tugged my hand back into my lap, trying not to notice the flash of disappointment in her eyes.

There was something wrong with me.

I wanted affection. I did.

I wanted a family. A mother. People who loved me.

But there was a gaping hole in my soul. A part of me that felt broken. Alone. Lost.

Like there was a part missing.

Ebony poured herself a glass of wine and swilled the thick maroon liquid in the glinting Swarovski crystal glass. “I’m sorry you couldn’t find the voice message from your friend.”

I stiffened.

I could never tell with Ebony if she was being sincere.

She sounded concerned but there was always something stilted in her demeanor, like she wasn’t sure how to show affection. Or maybe she just used too much Botox.

Ebony took a sip and nodded with satisfaction before pouring more of the wine. “I’m sure wherever Liath has gone, she’s doing fine.”

“Can we talk about something else?” I said, trying not to scowl.

I hadn’t lost Liath’s voice message.

Someone deleted it.

Even sitting on the phone for three hours with the phone company and going through three levels of management couldn’t get me a copy of that recording. I knew they kept that stuff.

Thankfully Mr. O’Rourke, the McKinsey family butler, marched into the dining room at that moment with two porcelain bowls of a green soup that smelled of peas and fresh mint on a silver tray.

His hunched back gave him the perpetual look of humble servitude, but he was a prickly asshole to anyone but Ebony, whom he adored like she was his own daughter.

He bowed when Ebony thanked him, but my thanks went unacknowledged as he lurched away.

Mr. O’Rourke only appeared in the main house when Ebony was here.

When she wasn’t, he slunk away to the servants’ building separate from the main house. Like I wasn’t worth acknowledging.

Suited me fine.

I didn’t like his deaf, grumpy ass anyway.

The mint and pea soup was one of Ebony’s favorite, a perfect blend of savory chicken stock, sweetness from the peas, and the refreshing herby zing of mint, thick slices of sourdough slathered in Kerrygold butter on the side.

But I could barely taste it.

I was thinking about the trap I’d laid out earlier for my stalker.

I was ready for when he showed up.

And this time there wouldn’t be a digital footprint he could so easily erase. I was going old-school.

And I had smuggled an extra-large thermos of coffee into my bedroom, ready to stay up all damn night if I had to.

The familiar sense of being watched came over me, and in my periphery, I caught Ebony staring at me.

I swallowed down a mouthful of soup and dropped my spoon into the bowl with a clatter. “I can feel you watching me.”

“It’s called concern,” Ebony answered, dabbing with her napkin at the spots of green liquid I’d splattered onto the tablecloth. “And it’s a mother’s prerogative.”

Ebony adopted me when I was fourteen, but five years was still not enough for the word mother to sound natural on her tongue.

Still, she wasn’t the only one reading from a script.

“I’m fine,” I said, rolling my eyes like the daughter I wasn’t.

Ebony made a humming noise like she didn’t believe me at all. “So I ran into Cormac’s father the other day.”

Crap.

I tried not to choke on my soup and cleared my throat. “So, how is Mr. Foley?”

“He mentioned that you broke up with Cormac.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “You didn’t tell me that.”

I thought we’d already topped the list of Conversations I Didn’t Want to Have with Ebony. But apparently not.

I wiped my mouth with my napkin before tossing it to the table. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“Ava, you breaking up with your first love is a big deal.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. “I would hardly call what Cormac and I had love .”

Ebony leaned back in her chair and tented her long, pale fingers. “What would you call it?”

I swilled around the last mouthfuls of wine at the bottom of my glass.

I’d never admit to Ebony, but it was more like I was trying him out for size .

You know, like you see everyone wearing this season’s polo t-shirt dress from Ralph Lauren and you don’t think it’d suit you but you try it on anyway. And lo and behold, it just felt itchy and uncomfortable.

“You know,” I said, sitting up and smiling, “I always thought you and Mr. Foley would make a cute couple. It has been, like, forever since his wife passed away, right? So he’d be ready to get back on the horse, per se. Not that I’m calling you a horse.”

“Ava—”

“Although”—I made a face—“then Cormac would become my stepbrother and I’d have to live with him. Ew.”

I shuddered at the thought.

“Ava, we aren’t talking about me.” Ebony smoothed down the front of her crisp white shirt. “What happened with Cormac?”

I bit back a groan. Dr. McKinsey would not be deterred when she lasered in on something.

“Apparently, he’s quite upset,” Ebony added.

I repressed a snort. Yeah right. Cormac was only upset that I hurt his giant ego.

“I just wasn’t feeling it so I broke up with him,” I answered, hoping that would be the end of it.

“He’s intelligent, handsome, comes from a good family…” She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead.

“What?” I laughed. “Just because I’ve turned down the richest, hottest, most well-connected boy at Darkmoor, I must be sick?”

To her credit, Ebony laughed. “You know, I still don’t think even he’s good enough for you. But I fear no one will be. I can’t say how proud I am of you, my dear. When you graduate at the top of your class like I did at Darkmoor…”

But I stopped listening to her.

Because my gaze froze on the shadowy figure at the window.

He was a mere silhouette and I could barely make out his features but I knew it was him.

My skin prickled with that familiar awareness. A hot liquid pooled in my core.

My stalker was here .

He was real .

And I would prove it.

Tonight.

I’d stayed up for hours in my dark bedroom watching from my window for another sign of my stalker.

Minutes felt like hours. And every clanging of the old grandfather clock, announcing yet another hour had passed, felt like years.

But sure enough, just after midnight, there was a rustle of ivy.

The noise kick-started my heart into a thunderous drumbeat.

Was that him?

I’d been startled before by a hungry squirrel. I peered into the dark, clutching at my thick velvet curtain, barely daring to breathe.

Moments later, a dark figure slid over the railing and crept across my balcony .

His tall, wide figure all in black felt like it took up the whole door.

It was him.

He was here.

He reached down with his gloved hands and slid a lockpick into my balcony door.

Bastard. So that’s how he was getting in.

I shoved down the fury, the searing sense of violation, and stepped out from my hiding place nestled in my curtains.

I stood right in front of him, my mouth going dry, my mind short-circuiting as we locked eyes and stared at each other through the glass.

Up until now, my anger had overridden my fear of him. But standing here in front of him, bold as ever, my bones rattled.

What the hell was I doing baiting him?

Confronting him.

Announcing war with him.

Surprise flashed across his beautiful face before he hid it behind a smirk.

It was too late now. I had to see this through.

I lifted my hand and the heavy metal object in it I’d kept hidden behind my back until now.

He lifted his hand as if to reach back out for me.

The old-school SLR film camera in my hand let out a flash as I took his picture, lighting up his face.

Shock registered on his features before they disappeared into the swallowing darkness.

For a few seconds I couldn’t see anything as my eyes readjusted .

My mind went into overdrive, imagining him smashing through the glass to snatch away the camera, to grab me, to choke the life out of me.

Instead, he stumbled back from my balcony door, a look of betrayal on his face.

I smashed down the panic button on my wall and an alarm erupted all over the mansion.

He shot me one last scowl, like this isn’t over.

And apprehension filled my stomach. He was going to make me pay for this.

He leaped over the balcony and escaped down the ivy as footsteps thundered down the hall to my room.

I clutched the Nikon camera I’d borrowed from our newspaper to my chest.

Gotcha, you son of a bitch.

Lisa and I had fashioned a photography studio out of a large supply closet in our newspaper office.

The red glow made the hair that fell from my ponytail look drenched in blood. I tucked it back behind my ear and refocused on my work.

The chill in the air made me shiver as I agitated the developer liquid in the bath and it sloshed across a single sheet of photographic paper.

I liked watching the photographs develop. At first there was nothing, a blank page. But then a whole moment in time was there before your eyes.

Like a memory .

It made me believe that it was possible to one day bring my own missing memories back to the surface.

But this evening after classes, it seemed to take forever.

Impatience crawled under my skin, making it impossible to stand still.

My foot tapped against the uneven wood floor in a restless rhythm, and every second felt like an eternity stretching out before me.

Come on.

Then, like magic, his features began to appear on the paper.

My blood crystalized to ice.

There he was.

His sharp cheekbones, his dangerous stare, piercing eyes under dark hooded brows, the permanent snarl to his thick lips.

My intruder. My stalker.

Liath’s stalker.

Liath’s kidnapper .

The proof of his existence was lying right there at my fingertips.

With a shuddering breath, I picked up the image with my tongs and slid it into the stop bath, then the fixer bath before washing it.

I could take this to Dr. Vale. To Ebony. To the police… they couldn’t say I was crazy now.

I hung the print up to dry.

The blood rushed in my ears as I stared into his eyes, his printed face just above my eyeline like he was actually standing before me. My mouth went dry as I traced his dark features with my gaze .

He felt so familiar.

But how? And why?

He was a few years older than me I guessed. Perhaps he went to Darkmoor.

But surely, I would have noticed him if I’d walked past him in the hallway or spotted him lounging in the back of a lecture hall.

His intensity seemed to burn through the photo paper.

No, he wasn’t a Darkmoor student. He didn’t have that preppy entitled rich kid vibe. He felt too dangerous, too coiled with raw deadly power.

He got his hands bloody and he liked it.

Darkmoor kids hired people like him to do their dirty work.

So… maybe someone at Darkmoor hired him to spy on me?

Cormac?

I was so transfixed that I almost didn’t hear the door to the office opening outside the darkroom with a creak.

I froze. I’d locked that door.

I know I’d locked it. I double-checked it before I slipped into the darkroom.

It wasn’t Lisa. She was having dinner with her family. Which meant it was someone who wasn’t supposed to be here.

Someone who had broken in.

Someone looking for me.

Or for the evidence I had taken of his existence.

It was my stalker.