Chapter 22

22

Nora Archer

T he sun is starting to set as I tug on my gardening gloves with a determined sigh, surveying the small but bountiful garden in the dwindling light of a Briarwood evening.

The fall air is sharp with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and it's a reminder that another season is upon us. My favorite season, fall. My spring garden is quickly coming to a close, but the zucchini plants are still stubbornly producing.

A dry laugh exudes at the thought as I glance around the yard.

It's peaceful here in this small oasis I have nurtured for the last thirty years. The woods that border my property are overgrown with evergreens. I keep meaning to hire someone to thin the herd, but truthfully, no one has thinned those woods since Randall died.

Forty years of marriage, he's only been gone three years, and how I wish he were still here for me to nag. I'd like to think he'd like to be here for that, too.

I glance back at the garden and shake my head.

"I swear, these zucchini are trying to take over the world," I say with a laugh while plucking yet another plump green vegetable from the vine. The basket at my feet is already brimming with so many that they're practically spilling over the edges. "Looks like it's zucchini bread for the neighborhood. Again ." I practically sing the words.

That zucchini bread might be distributed far and wide, but baking it is just as much for me as it is them. Baking, gardening, and losing myself in just about anything has been how I've busied myself to help with the grief. But still, those never-ending waves tend to sneak up on me when I least expect them.

I get back to finishing up my work before I lose any more light.

Tomorrow, I have a full day that starts with my volunteer work at the hospital. I'm closing in on ten thousand hours, and I'm determined to get those numbers on my badge before the end of the year. That's almost ten years at twenty-plus hours a week.

I've made it. Those show-offs who have twice as many hours will balk and turn their nose up at me, but then if I spend the rest of my life at the place, I'll be able to be just as uppity to someone else someday.

Not that I would. I don't have it in me. But I do have it in me to wear that badge with pride.

Randall would have taken me to dinner to celebrate if he were still alive.

Going to the hospital is a routine I cherish, and it gives me time to chat with patients and staff. I like to think that I'm offering them both smiles and conversation where they're most needed.

Then Friday it's off to the animal shelter. There's a big adoption fair coming up in two weeks and there's still so much to do in preparation. Not to mention I get to cuddle with all the new rescues. How I love those furry darlings.

"I should probably pick up some more cat food on the way there," I think out loud. Something I'm more prone to do now that Randall is gone. The thinking out loud part, although the buying of the cat food isn't too far behind. "And maybe I'll pick up some of those treats the dogs love, too?" Can't leave the pooches out of the fun or out of my pocketbook.

"That's it," I say as I pat the dirt around the garden as far as I can reach before standing and stretching my back.

It's so quiet here now in the neighborhood. It's a stillness that's a little too silent for my liking. We need some young blood in this neighborhood, some true-blue children who scream from sun up 'til sun down.

But even the usual sounds of cars passing by are conspicuously absent at the moment. It's as if all of time has stood still.

A flicker of unease passes through me, but I'm quick to dismiss it.

"You're getting jumpy in your old age, Nora," I happily scold myself.

Randall used to laugh and agree with me when I said things like that, and call me crazy. Now I'm just crazy.

I glance back to the woods as the shadows begin to elongate in the early evening.

Damien and Lydia come to mind.

"Poor, poor Lydia." I shake my head.

I didn't know that other couple but how awful for them, too. Murdered in cold blood. And then Damien trying to chase the bad guy like some superhero. He's lucky all he got was a knock to the noggin and a bullet through his hand.

But where is Lydia? Poor thing was probably so frightened she took off in the night. She may have fallen and hit her head and some animal may have finished her off for all we know. And we may never know.

Oh dear. She was such a good friend, too. A best friend. I haven't had one of those in years. She's been my anchor since Randall died. She let me prattle on for hours during our walks about how much I missed him. No one else wants to even hear his name.

You'd think I was conducting a séance the way people get spooked if I dare bring him up. But not Lydia. She genuinely cared.

Of course, I returned the favor. I listened for hours about her troubles, too.

And oh my, did she have them.

If the world only knew what Damien was putting her through. What he was capable of and with whom. Well, the world wouldn't be too happy with him. It would hurt him financially. Lydia said it would be a career killer. I told her to forget about his career and cater to her own sanity.

She didn't deserve any of those things he was doing to her.

The man is a monster.

I'd never say this out loud, but I wish Lydia was the one shot in the hand and Damien was missing. Now that would be a bit of poetic justice. It's cruel of me to say. So I won't. But I can think it.

"The world's turned upside down since you left, Randall."

I'm about to collect my gardening tools when a shadow passes by the trees nearby and I startle.

That can't be right. Regardless, it's started my heart racing.

It could be a bear.

My muscles freeze as I strain my ears for any sound. The slight rustle of leaves and the soft tread of footsteps can be heard and I gasp.

It could be a hiker. We've had them trespass without knowing it, of course. Or it could be a neighbor looking for a lost pet. We've had that, too. Although they don't seem rushed. Whoever it is feels as if they're being sneaky.

"Who's there?" I call out as the sky grows murkier, quickly losing its light.

No answer comes, just another series of footsteps growing louder, more deliberate, the crunch of leaves giving them away.

I'm about to gather my tools, but the crunching sound from the nearby trees grows louder.

Forget the tools.

I'm about to turn for the house when I see a dark shadow not more than twenty feet in front of me. I squint into the thicket, but the shadow is quickly lost in the darkness.

Maybe it's my imagination.

I'm about to leave when a figure emerges from the woods. It moves this way against the backdrop of dark pines, moving at an unsettling pace toward me.

I'm frozen. I can't breathe. I've never been so frightened in all my life.

Then I see them for who they are.

"What are you doing here?" I call out. My heart races as I try to catch my breath. "You don't belong here." My eyes narrow as they quickly approach. Their movements are deliberate, almost predatory the way they're coming at me.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I demand, taking a tentative step forward as if to show them whose property they're trespassing on.

A thought occurs to me and my mind begins to race.

"Wait a minute. Has Lydia been found?" I ask as hope rises in my voice.

There's no response, just a chilling silence that fills the space between us.

I take another bold step forward because I can't find it in me to retreat. Randall warned me that my stubborn streak would get the better of me someday.

"Well? What do you want?" I try again with my voice louder this time.

The figure lunges toward me and something in their hand jabs in my direction. Instinctively, I try to grab it from them and my fingernails dig into their arm as I scrape their flesh.

They pull back before thrusting something just shy of my shoulder, and before I can react, a sharp crackle splits the air. Pain explodes through my body as an electrical jolt runs through me, sending me collapsing to the ground. I land flat on my back in the middle of my beloved plants.

The figure stands over me, here in my sweet, serene garden, and now it's the scene of my own personal nightmare.

Fear grips me in a whole new manner and my vision begins to blur. The garden feels as if it's spinning as I try to scream but can't seem to do it.

The figure approaches again, this time kneeling by my side.

"Help," I croak with all my might. "Please, don't hurt me."

A cold hand grips my arm, and they poke something sharp into my arm and another jolt rides through me. This time more severe than the last.

"Just a little more to help you relax," they murmur into the night.

"No." My voice is faint. I try to move, but my limbs are heavy, my thoughts quickly muddled by the rapid onset of whatever is coursing through my veins.

I feel faint. I'm so terrified, can't breathe.

The last thing I see before the world goes dark is another silhouette taking shape just beyond the wickedness before me. A new face, a happy smile just for me as they hold their hand out my way.

" Randall ." His name leaves my lips one last time.

The shadowy figure stands and blocks his light as they pick up one of the bricks from my border garden. They lift it over my head and the last thing I see is it coming down at an alarming speed.

A hard slap of pain ignites in me as this world fades to nothing and a new one shines bright.