“How are you holding up?” His tone is caressing, and a bit of it soothes me, a bit reminds me that so much is hurting.

“Not the best, not the worst,” I tell him and stand up from the stool, leaning against the counter and stretching my back a bit. “Slept like shit and feel even shittier now.”

My voice is deadpan but when Cody huffs a gruff laugh, the semblance of a smile tilts up my lips for a moment.

“Did you talk to the DA?”

“Yeah, she said I need to come in for counseling when I get back.” I’m not given a chance to wonder how or why Cody would know that as I straighten. He doesn’t give me the chance to wonder.

“There are some concerning thoughts from the PD back home too.”

“Thoughts? Do they have a lead?” My pulse races and it hurts, physically, to feel it pounding in my chest.

“Can we talk about it in person?” Cody asks and I glance over my shoulder to watch my mother, thinking only of her being here and how that could be problematic with Cody coming over, but she’s gone.

“Hold on,” I say without thinking into the phone, pushing back the stool. The sound of the legs scraping is so loud Cody can probably hear it on the other end.

“You all right?” he asks but I’m too focused on the wicker chair and the puddle of blanket that blows slightly in the wind.

Where did she go? With my brow pinched I open the sliding glass door and call out, the phone pressed to my shoulder so Cody can’t hear. “Mom?” I look around, searching to the left and to the right, but she’s nowhere in sight.

“You okay?” Cody asks, calling out my name on the other end.

“I don’t know,” I tell him as I pick up my pace to go inside and call up the stairs for my mother.

It’s quiet. Too quiet and my damned heart starts racing again.

“What’s going on?” Cody asks at the same time I feel someone or something behind me.

When I turn, I fully expect it to be Marcus.

I don’t have enough time to tell Cody who it is as the scream is ripped out of my throat and a bag thrown over my head.

With the dizziness, the clatter of my phone hitting the floor and the wind knocked out of me, I swear I try, but then there’s another bash to my head.

Marcus

There’s always a calm before the storm. Some may think there’s hope that it’s over when the gray skies clear and the harsh wind silences its angry cries. I’m more than aware that hope is nowhere in sight and that the quiet moment is for readying, for preparing for the violence that’s sure to come.

There’s a reason I paired them together years ago. They were the only two people outside of the chaos who needed to stay there, in the blur on the edge.