Stranger At My Door

8. Old Secrets

Richard had tried to convince me to let him give me a lift home, but I needed the air. In the end, we agreed he'd drop me at the bottom of the hill.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but with everything going on, I just can't let you walk alone," he said as I stepped out of the car.

Amber and I had finished a bottle of wine earlier. I was slightly buzzed but far from drunk. Still, the alcohol had done nothing to quiet the thoughts swirling in my head.

Was I Casey? Had I been kidnapped as a baby?

The idea was absurd, and yet it clung to me. The more I tried to shake it off, the more it gnawed at me. What if it was true? Each step up the hill seemed to pull me deeper into doubt. The possibility loomed larger with every breath, like a shadow creeping over everything I thought I knew.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in my phone's camera as I trudged along. I'd never thought I looked much like Mum, but I'd always chalked it up to my dad's stronger genes. Maybe that was why. But now, every stray comment about my appearance, every whispered doubt about who I was, came flooding back. What if everything I've known is a lie?

The evening air was cool, sharp against my flushed skin. The breeze carried the damp scent of wet earth and pine, mingling with the lingering glow of the sunset. But as the shadows stretched and swallowed what little light remained, the darkness felt too close, too heavy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move. My heart skipped a beat, and I whipped around. Nothing—just the empty, quiet lane behind me. My pulse quickened as unease crawled over my skin. It's just the wine... or maybe something else entirely.

I shoved my phone into my pocket and carried on, trying to calm my nerves. But the further I walked, the quieter the world seemed to become. The distant hum of life faded, leaving me alone with the rustle of leaves and the creaking trees ahead. The forest loomed, tall and dark, closing in like a silent, watchful sentinel.

By the time I reached the top of the hill, my chest was tight, my lungs burning slightly from the effort. I really need to quit smoking, I reminded myself for the thousandth time. Just one more incline and I'd be home.

As I rounded the bend, I saw someone approaching from the opposite direction. The low sun made it hard to see clearly, so I squinted, raising a hand to block the glare. It was a man—tall, with a denim jacket and messy hair. My heart sank.

I gripped my bag tighter, lowering my head in the hope I'd pass him unnoticed. But as we drew closer, he stopped. His voice broke the eerie silence.

"Hey," he called out.

My breath hitched. Something about the way he spoke made my skin crawl. Keep walking. Don't stop.

But the road was too quiet, too isolating to ignore him outright. I forced myself to turn back, offering a tight smile despite the thudding in my chest.

"Oh... hello," I replied, my voice too thin, too tight.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his brow furrowing as if I were the strange one here.

"Yeah, just lost in thought," I said, my pulse quickening.

The air between us felt thick, suffocating. He lingered too long, his gaze making me uneasy.

"Thanks for helping me with my car the other day," he added casually, and my stomach dropped. He knows who I am.

I glanced quickly towards my house, then back at him. "No problem. Did you get it sorted?" I asked, trying to sound casual despite the rising panic.

"Yeah, gave it another go and got it running. It's an old heap, though." He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck as if embarrassed, but his eyes flicked over my face, lingering longer than they should.