Chapter 1

POV Coraline

The first death happened on the first Monday of July in 1987, on a night that was supposed to be a happy one. Maybe, if it had happened on another date, I wouldn't remember it so clearly, but that night was special, at first for a very good reason, and then for a completely different one. That Monday, a tragedy occurred; it was the first of many that would find their way to me.

It was a cold July night, and the streets were empty. In New Hope, very little happened at that time, especially on a Monday. That’s precisely why we held the bookstore opening that night: it was meant to be a date just for us, a special moment that nothing could overshadow. Also, I had a strong superstition about moments like that, which I shared with my friends after Mark opened the first beer.

"If a happy event can survive the tragedy of the ordinary, there is absolutely nothing that can destroy it."

"What does that mean?" Mark asked.

Our friends' gazes were fixed on me.

"Our bookstore was opened on the most uneventful day of the week. It not only survived this day, but it also received several customers, which means that now it will live forever."

After my little speech, I raised the beer bottle and toasted the air.

"I'm so proud of you guys," Lucy said, wrapping her arm around my neck. Her other arm was busy holding a beer. "We're finally going to destroy those damn leeches' reign."

Mark’s eyes widened.

"Lucy!"

"Right, right." Lucy raised her beer. "A toast to my friends, who opened the second biggest bookstore in town and will destroy the mercenaries from Miles & Books."

"Those sons of bitches sold me a book with a torn cover for fifty dollars last week," Vicky grumbled. "And they didn’t even refund me."

"Keep up the good advertising work, and maybe we can keep the bookstore open for the next few months," Mark said, in good spirits. He looked at me and winked. "My business partner is the most famous person in New Hope, that has to count for something."

"As if it’s that hard to be famous around here," I retorted.

"You’ll still be on the cover of every magazine in this country," Vicky said.

I smiled at her. Her faith in me charmed me.

I got distracted for a moment by the sound of the bell ringing. That’s when he entered. Tall, broad shoulders, bronzed skin. His steps were firm and confident. He didn’t look at any of us or greet us, and went straight to the shelves on the other side of the bookstore. I couldn’t see his face clearly, but I was somewhat impressed by his size.

I liked big men.

I noticed when Mark looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten o’clock at night. We had planned to close the bookstore at half-past nine, but we were never good at keeping schedules when we were together.

"You need to go home, don’t you?" I asked him, but I quickly realized my mistake, as the others exchanged glances. "You all need to."

Lucy was an elementary school teacher and woke up every day at five in the morning to get to work on time in Norfoll, which was about forty minutes from New Hope. Markus and Liam had another side business to the bookstore, a charming café that also opened early. Vicky was finishing her PhD in philosophy, which meant she almost had no social life. In short, I was the only one with a lot of free time in our group. It was one of the perks of working with art, though it wasn’t nearly as financially stable as I’d like.

"You can go," I said, reassuring them. "I’ll close the bookstore tonight."

I noticed the man who had entered was heading towards the counter, carrying some books. My friends stepped back a bit, making room for me to sit at one of the tables in front of the register and serve him. I kept writing down the last orders until he approached and greeted me.

"Good evening."

Oh. His voice was deliciously beautiful.

"Good evening."

When I finally looked at the customer, I had to make a monumental effort not to widen my eyes. He was a handsome man, very handsome, the type to attract attention wherever he went. The reason I was so shocked, however, was that he reminded me of someone. I couldn’t capture the sensation enough to identify who he resembled, but I was sure he was familiar. He was tall – huge, actually, about twenty centimeters taller than me – and his face was striking. There was nothing, nothing out of place. I made the mistake of exchanging a glance with him and simply couldn’t look away.

I reached out for him to hand me the books, but he didn’t move an inch. His eyes were dark, expressive, with thick lashes and heavy eyebrows. I didn’t say anything for a moment, and neither did he. Finally, he extended the books to me, and his fingers brushed against mine. It was quick and strange. We looked at each other at the same time, and I immediately turned my gaze away.

I placed the books on the counter and distracted myself by seeing which titles he had chosen. I loved guessing what kinds of books people liked when they came into a bookstore. I used to do that when I went to buy something elsewhere, but now that I had my own bookstore, I could do it with more authority. If I had seen his face when he entered, I would have bet he was buying exactly that kind of book.

The Shining.

Skeleton Crew.

The Woman in White.

The Haunting of Hill House.

Books that were a little scary and addictive.

"Good choices," I complimented.

I looked at him and found his mesmerizing eyes watching me. People’s eyes said a lot about them – whether they were kind, loving, rigid, or rude. This man was looking at me as if he was searching for something deep inside my head. It was unsettling.

"Do you like this type of book?" he asked.

His voice was indeed an event.

"The Shining is one of my favorites," I revealed, smiling as I looked at the cover. "I like suspense."

"So do I." He smiled in response. "Any recommendations?"

I bit my lips. Under other circumstances, if I hadn’t found him so attractive, I might have recommended my own books, but it was still difficult for me to hand something so important over so easily. When strangers read, it was just another normal read, but it was weird for close people to read my stories. It was so easy to lose the line between fiction and reality, and I didn’t like having to explain that, even though I could describe a dismemberment scene perfectly, I had no interest in trying to do that to someone. Or that, despite my ability to write from the perspective of killers, I wasn’t one, nor did I empathize with them. I just... liked to show that the world wasn’t black and white, and that there was a lot to learn from human suffering.

The first one, which I published in the second-to-last year of college with a very low budget, was far from as good as the books the handsome customer had chosen, and the others, based on the titles he was buying, might be too bloody for his taste. My books were more about horror than suspense itself, since they focused more on the violent nature of humans than on the investigative buildup of crimes. Serial killings were the focus of my books – from the details of how they happened to the repercussions they caused.

"It depends on how scared you want to get," I joked. "I think you already have some good books in hand."

"I’m not easily impressed," he retorted.

"That’s because you haven’t read the right books yet." I smiled. "What’s your favorite book?"

He didn’t hesitate.

"I’ll tell you if we meet again."

Was he flirting with me?

I bit my lip, surprised.

"I’ll be waiting for that."