Chapter 1

Chapter

One

PRUE

M y gut's screaming. But you know what? It can go to hell. No one's hunting me. There's nothing ominous waiting outside for me. The day's pristine, the sky clear and everything's normal at Andria's.

This is my anxiety, my brain ramping up into overdrive for no reason. Nothing dark's stirring. It's an ordinary day, unfolding exactly as expected. I tell myself that again, and again and again, but the hair on the back of my neck is still prickling. I check the time and relief hits me; my shift is finally over.

"You good to get home, Prue?"

I smile at Andria, her concern for me over the past two years has never faltered.

"All good. The last bus is still hours away. I'll see you guys tomorrow."

Over the counter, I hand her my apron, and she gives me my handbag. Before I can leave, she grabs my hand. "I so wish you would stay and have dinner with us."

"Maybe later in the week?" I lie. I always lie.

Andria scooped me from the bus stop I'm about to rush to. She gave me a job, found me a house to live in, put clothes on my back, never pushed me for too many details, and despite all of that, a part of me still keeps her at arm's length. The survival mode I live in is ingrained in me, so I never get fully attached.

"All right, hun. We'll see you tomorrow."

I take the exit Andria offers me, smile, and hurry out from their family-owned Italian restaurant.

I walk up the familiar streets lined with Haddlebrooke's quirky shops and cafes, paying little attention to my surroundings. My mind wanders as I make my way toward the bus, lost in thought about the conversation with Andria. A pang of guilt hits me, and at the same time, my neck tingles again—what a wonderful reminder not to let down my guard.

I turn the corner, and the blue bus stop comes into view. It's freshly painted, and it stands out against its surroundings. For a second, I think about the rusted blue it had been when I first got here, when I first appeared here . But there's no point in following that train of thought. It would make me feel unanchored, and I'd worked hard to carve out this peaceful existence of mine.

My timing's impeccable. I reach the stop when a small bus pulls up in front of me. The door squeaks as it opens, and the distant gaze of the bus driver meets me.

"Hey, George." I smile, noticing how he pauses, looking down with his forehead scrunched, as if he is trying to remember something.

"You okay?" He focuses on me and rubs his neck. "You'll think I'm crazy, but I got this weird sense of déjà vu, like I was here but wasn't at the same time."

"Nothing crazy about that." I smile at him again. "Thank you for fetching me." I always thank him, because sometimes it feels like George only comes to this bus stop for me.

"Anytime."

I find an open seat a few rows up and sink into the seat. My feet thank me for finally getting off of them. My little cottage is about a ten-minute ride from here. I take out my phone. There is only one message, as usual, it's from Andria asking me to let her know when I get home.

I lean back into my chair, about to close my eyes when the bus lurches. I swivel my gaze outside at my little green garden and red-brown cottage. How did these ten minutes go by so quickly? I stand up, heading to the front.

"I stopped here, figured since you were the only person on the bus, instead of driving down and making you walk back, you could get off here." George winks at me.

"Thanks, George." I don't know how I got so lucky and found all of these caring people that surround me. "I'll see you tomorrow with some pepperoni pizza."

He grins; it's his favorite, and I make a point of bringing him a freshly prepared one, once a week.

I climb down and grab my keys out of my pocket. While I stroll along the footpath, I shoot Andria a message to let her know I'm home safely. We live in such a small town, that her worry is unnecessary. The most scandalous thing to happen here in the last fifteen years is the pothole on Baker Street that appeared overnight. The town didn't have the equipment to fix it. It took two weeks to have it brought in. The residents were outraged. Imagine two weeks of having to maneuver your car to not hit the pothole. The horror.

I make my way inside, throw my keys in the little bowl by the door, and sigh in relief at being home. Stripping off my clothes, I head for the shower. I pause in front of the mirror, my red -brown hair is wavy again and a few strands are sticking up, I definitely look like I worked a shift. I lean into the shower, twist on the hot water, and step in. I let the water wash away all of the hard work from today and the underlying guilt of not staying for dinner. When I'm warm to the bone and smell like lavender, I jump out. I choose a pair of pink pajama shorts and a white T-shirt and move over to the kitchen. A cup of coffee is calling my name and so is watching an episode of my favorite series.

Five minutes later, I snuggle on my couch, coffee mug in hand. The scent of lavender lingers on my skin as I wrap myself in a soft blanket. Desperate Housewives plays quietly on the TV, but I half pay attention. My mind replays how quickly it took George to get me home. Something doesn't feel right. I sip my coffee, enjoying the warmth it spreads through me. My muscles relax after the long day and start to unwind. It strikes me how lucky I am that I managed to carve out this little existence for myself. I settle in for the evening as the sky grows darker around me.

Three episodes later, a big bowl of pasta, and a generous helping of chocolate mousse, I'm about ready to call it an evening. Throwing off my comforter and stretching like a cat, I start for my bedroom. But my gaze snags on something. I freeze, turning toward the window to the right of the couch. It's pitch-black outside, but the sky isn't speckled with the usual splattering of stars. It's blanketed with more stars than normal.

I squint, wondering if I've lost it. Truthfully, I've been wondering that since I pitched in Haddlebrooke, or I've watched so much TV that I have damaged my eyesight. There were a million stars out. Again, not thinking about it or stopping to put on shoes, I walk outside onto my little patch of grass surrounded by flower bushes. I look up, and as I do, things seem to get really weird. More than weird. Straight up world-ending, panic-inducing, anxiety inducing, crazy. The sky shifts, the stars seem to jiggle and in one cascade it's like every single star starts to fall. To earth. I spin, and everywhere, there are falling stars showering me in large burning balls. Streak after streak, it doesn't stop.

None of them hit the ground. I gape at the sky emptying and getting darker, but the cascade of blue, silver, and orange keeps going. It probably would've been a good time to run inside and call someone to find out what the hell was happening. But it was possibly the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen– the waterfall of stars and colors. It felt like it was for me , that they were waiting to fall until I stepped outside. Which was an odd thought. I was weirding myself out now.

The star's descent slows. There must be a scientific explanation for this. I'm about to head inside when one particular star catches my eye. It's starkly different in color to the rest. Almost purple and it isn't dissipating as it gets closer to Earth like the others had. It's positioned to land in front of my house. It shimmers with streaks of gray-silver in the purple. Its trajectory is still my front lawn, but for some reason, my feet won't move.

I count the seconds: one, two, three, four, five, six, then bam. Holy shit. The ground shakes. A heat washes over me. A literal star falls in front of me. No. It isn't a star... Is that a foot? What the hell? I step closer. My gaze lands on… No, not a foot. A penis.

I faint.