Kingdom Come (Book 1)

Chapter Five:

Alice jolted awake for the second time in two days, her head pounding and her thoughts tangled in a haze. This wasn't her bed, her room, or her house—at least not one she recognized. The space around her was weathered, walls aching for a fresh coat of paint. The sheets carried a mix of cigarette smoke and peppermint, an odd yet grounding scent.

Her gaze drifted to an old dresser topped with a radio and a family photo. In the frame, a tall man in an army uniform—medals gleaming—had his arm draped around a young blonde girl, whose hair hung like pale cornsilk. Not the brassy blonde from the night before. Alice's subconscious cackled with smug satisfaction.

In the corner of the photo, nearly an afterthought, a dark-haired woman stood with a shy smile. She linked arms with an older lady, her presence quiet yet indelibly part of the family. Alice returned the photo carefully, a pang of unease tightening her chest.

Her attention shifted to a large, cracked mirror propped in the corner, its fractured reflection showcasing the mess she'd become—makeup smudged, hair disheveled, regret heavy in her hollow eyes. A glass of water sat on the nightstand, a small mercy she eagerly accepted. The cold clarity of the water steadied her nerves, though not enough to quell the blinding brightness of her iPhone screen.

Fourteen missed calls. Eight texts from Celia. Four from June. Three from Kevin. Trouble brewed like a storm.

It was 9:30 a.m.—work loomed in two hours. A knot tightened in her stomach as she scanned her social media feeds. Mercifully, there was no evidence of her night. Relief was fleeting, though, as muffled voices drifted from behind the bedroom door.

Throwing on her jacket and hastily straightening her dress, Alice braced herself and stepped out. She was met by two towering men: one reclined in the lap of a red-haired woman, black roots peeking through; the other leaning casually against the kitchen counter, coffee in hand and a smirk on his face.

"Hi," Alice croaked, her voice raw.

The man on the couch offered a vague smile, acknowledgment without investment. "Alison, right? The neighbor's kid with that beat-up Yugo? Hell of a night you had. Brings me back."

Alice's stomach churned under his scrutiny, but her relief came in the form of the man with the coffee. "Don't mind them over there," he said with a teasing grin. "I'm Samuel. Daniel, and that's Ruth."

She knew him from somewhere...her thoughts swirled.

As Alice tried to absorb the introductions, the garage door creaked open. The air shifted. There he was—the man from the photo. Clayton. Exhaustion clung to him, his grey-blue eyes sharp as they honed in on her.

Samuel spoke again, but his tone had softened. "And you've kind of already met Clayton. He brought you here last night after..." A glance at Clayton. "Your little incident."

A muscle in Clayton's jaw tightened. "That boy was a fool," he muttered, his voice weighted with authority, the kind that demanded attention without raising itself.

Alice barely had time to process his words before her phone buzzed—Celia again. Her stomach flipped as she read the latest message. She couldn't stay here.

"You should head home," Clayton said, his tone quieter but no less commanding. "Your folks must be worried."

His words hit like a nudge and a shove, compelling her to move. Alice gathered her courage and made for the door. As she stepped outside, the familiarity of her surroundings hit her like a freight train. The Williams' house was just across the road.

Her hands trembled as she fumbled for the spare key, hyper-aware of eyes on her. A glance back confirmed it—Clayton and Ruth stood at the window, their stares cutting through the distance. Clayton's gaze lingered, unreadable yet telling her in no uncertain terms: this wasn't over.