After a car accident leaves Riley Perez in a coma, she wakes up in the hospital a year later. With the absence of the memories of her loved ones, she continues to live her life, but nothing is ever the same again, especially with a gaping void in he...
Once I share with Kyle the image I've received from a stranger, he immediately goes into full protective mode and pulls me out of the arcade. We text Blaire and Ian that we are leaving first and skipping dinner.
On the way back home, I share a few pieces of the past I recalled—the threats which Mom and I had received in the past. As Kyle listens, his expression changes—from anger to surprise to joy, but back to anger. He grips the steering wheel tightly, his brows pinch together in a frown.
"You're telling me you went through all this on your own? With your mom?"
I gnaw on my bottom lip. I remember how Mom came up with the idea that we should leave Lakeshore. It wasn't just Kyle. We had feared that the people among us might get hurt. People like Aunt Abbie and her family, our friends and neighbors. "We didn't want to implicate others."
A sigh escapes him. His lips and knuckles have lost their colors. "Seriously, Riley, if you had asked for my help, I would have helped your family as much as I can."
"I'm sorry, Kyle. I wanted to keep you safe."
He opens his mouth to say something more, but he clamps his lips together quickly. "Never mind," he mutters. "It's all in the past. You're here and that's all that matters. This time, we'll work things out together."
"Of course. I'm with you on that." This time, I'm certain that I'm never stepping a foot out of Lakeshore again.
His face visibly relaxes. "Whoever this stalker is, we need to report him. It's late now, so let's do it tomorrow?"
"Yeap," I agree. And a shudder runs through me. I wish this person could stop whatever he's doing. What exactly does he want from me? I wish I could retrieve all my memories, but each time I think I'm getting there, the flow of images breaks off suddenly. Like a YouTube video that freezes and crashes when the internet connection gets cut off.
"And one more thing."
"Yes?"
"I think we may have located your dad's whereabouts."
My body freezes in surprise. "Really? You found him that fast?"
He shrugs. "It's easy. All you just have to do is to look into the nearby motels. He's living in one that's on the edge of the town. When's the date of departure? 28 August?"
"Yeap." That's next Saturday, and it's drawing closer. I wonder what would my father think if I didn't show up? Is he going to wait forever? Is he related to the person who's been stalking me? If he isn't, I'm going to feel terribly guilty for suspecting him.
"We'll look for him tomorrow," Kyle decides calmly.
Glancing out of the window, the street lamps flash past in a blur. I catch my reflection in the glass, noticing the growing Gucci bags under my eyes. Honestly, I haven't been sleeping well. Not since I've felt that I'm being watched.
The car slows to a stop before a red light and Kyle's head turns in my direction. "Riley?"
"Hm?"
"Thanks for trying to keep me safe."
My heart swells with several emotions at his words. "There's no need to thank me, Kyle. It would kill me to see you get hurt, especially because of me."
Placing one hand on the steering wheel, he reaches over to take my hand and gives it a light squeeze. "It's the same for me. Make sure that you'll stay safe at all times until we catch this psychotic bastard, okay?"
"I'll keep my eyes wide and alert always," I promise, but there's a note of mischief in my voice. "Even if I have to tape them open in my sleep."
Hearing this, Kyle smirks. "I would love to see how you manage that."
The rest of the ride remains fairly quiet as the car breezes through the almost empty road. Once I'm back at home and Kyle leaves, I bring out the box from my closet and place Mom's stuff all over my bed. There are so many of her items that are left behind for my keepsakes.
As always, I go straight for the photo albums. They arranged the pictures from my birth to teen years and Mom's almost in every picture of them. No Dad, but that's not surprising.
There are a couple of pictures that have Kyle and me in them, too. The beach. At a carnival. A birthday party.
His smile is everything.
I move on to the other things in the box, pulling out a beige jacket belonging to Mom. It was her favorite outerwear and now, it might be mine as well. It's so warm and comfortable. Perfect to be worn on a rainy day.
As I set it aside, I feel a strange bulge in the pocket. Surprised, I search and slip a hand inside, pulling out a lipstick. When I remove the glossy black cap, I see that the red lipstick is only half used. And Mom's name is engraved along the shiny, golden side at the bottom.
Ava Perez. It's a customized lipstick, I realized. Mom used to be an office worker, so it would make sense for her to buy such things, but that isn't what catches my attention. It's what I find when I'm twisting the lipstick and accidentally breaking it in two.
A thumb drive pops out, startling me. I inspect it and frown, wondering what files they saved inside it. Curiosity sparks within me. I rise to my feet, exit my bedroom and head towards Aunt Abbie's bedroom. She owns a desktop for her work and casual surfing on the internet, but she said that I'm allowed to use it whenever I want.
Powering on the PC, I plug in the thumb drive into the USB port. A white window appears with a message. "Access denied."
At the bottom right of the screen, another message pops up. "This drive is BitLocker-protected. Click to unlock with password."
I do as per the instructions, but now I'm stumped. I don't know the password and have absolutely no clue what Mom would have set it as. In the first place, why would she have encrypted her flash drive with a password? What confidential files are in there? Her bank account details? Her investment plans? Or something else?
"The password you entered is incorrect. Please try again."
I blow air out of my mouth in frustration, running my fingers through my hair. I key several passwords; Mom's birthday, my birthday, my old house unit number. Anything that comes to mind, but none of them, unfortunately, work. Why is this so hard?
Just as I'm running out of ideas, a crash comes from downstairs. I leap to my feet on instinct and bolt out of the room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. A glass of water shatters into pieces on the floor. Judy is crying in the corner, clutching onto her bunny toy. The noise has startled her as well.
Chest heaving, I ask my aunt as she picks up her daughter and pacifies her. "What's going on?"
Aunt Abbie doesn't answer. Instead, she's reading the mail in her hands. A couple of seconds later, she lifts her head with a furious look and I finally see what has gotten her worked up. A picture of me and my friends leaving school. Another picture of me at Happynest. And they are all marked in huge, red crosses.
Nostrils flaring, she crumbles the pictures in her hands. "T-this–"
I sigh. There's no point hiding it anymore. The secret's out.
"I know, Aunt Abbie. I know."
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