Chapter 2

He didn't answer, but gave a subtle smile, the kind that tugged at one side of his mouth, a charming and somewhat dangerous smile for a man like him, who already had a series of other delightful traits, such as his appearance and literary taste.

"Twenty dollars," he finally said.

I wasn't usually intimidated in the presence of men, which only made my reaction to him more strange. My heart raced a little when his fingers brushed mine again as he handed me the money. I placed the books in a paper bag and left it on the counter, eliminating the possibility of touching him again. Before grabbing the books, he ran his hands through his dark, straight hair. His large arms, which barely fit in the black overcoat, flexed with the movement, giving me a brief glimpse of what was beneath his black shirt.

I became slightly obsessed for a moment.

Stop looking, Coraline. It's getting weird.

He quietly thanked me as he took the bag, and before turning his back to leave, he said,

"Have a good week, Coraline."

How the hell did he know my name?

"I don't remember introducing myself," I said.

Another smile.

"You didn't introduce yourself."

He offered no explanation or seemed bothered by the obvious discomfort in my voice. Instead, he stepped away from the counter and left. I didn't come to my senses until the bell rang, and my friends started talking loudly, all at once, with somewhat bizarre enthusiasm.

"One at a time!"

"Who was that?" Liam asked first.

I looked up and found them walking toward me.

"A customer?"

Vicky laughed.

"You two were kind of hypnotized by each other."

"You need glasses, Lucy."

She shook her head, vehemently denying.

"Tell me you got his phone number."

I smiled.

"I got his phone number."

Her eyes widened.

"Really?"

"No," I said. "I'm just repeating what you told me."

Lucy raised her hand and showed me the middle finger.

I ignored it.

"I know this conversation could go on for hours if I let it, so I'm sending you guys home now."

"We're not leaving you here alone," Liam protested. "We'll stay to help."

"I don't need help locking doors," I retorted. "A friend is picking me up today. He should be here soon."

Vicky gave a small smile.

"You still don't get it? That's why she didn't get the dangerous guy's phone number. Our friend is involved in a new romance, and I'm not talking about books."

Why were they like this?

"That's it. Cora wants to be alone when her new boyfriend arrives!"

Boyfriend.

Oh my God.

"We've been dating for less than a month," I retorted. "We're not boyfriend and girlfriend."

They didn't even bother to pretend they believed me.

"He offered me a ride because my car is at the mechanic's. That's all."

"How thoughtful."

All four of them smiled almost at the same time. Their looks made me feel like an impostor, because despite their assumptions, my romantic life was quite depressing. I knew Andrew planned to ask me to be his girlfriend any moment now, but I also knew our good relationship would end as soon as he did, because I had no intention of accepting.

That's how my relationships always ended.

"We're spending some time together. That's all."

My rationality overshadowed their fun, and their smiles faded.

"You're an old soul, Cora. You should smile more."

I ignored the teasing.

"Time to go," I warned. "Go home already."

Mark rolled his eyes but pressed Liam's shoulders and called him to leave. Vicky and Lucy were already standing when they made a move toward the door.

"I'm closing next time, got it?" Mark asked.

I gave a final wave before they opened the loud door of the bookstore, and the bells rang. The wind rushed in, overshadowing the warmth inside the store. Outside, there wasn't a single person. In a way, it was peaceful if I could ignore the complete absence of life. Unfortunately, being a very creative person was both a blessing and a curse; as I got better at what I did, my paranoia levels rose. I could imagine a million catastrophic scenarios on a street as dark as that.

My job, in essence, was to get into the minds of killers and think like them, feel like them. It wasn't much different from being an actor, depending on your ability to abstract. I dated an actor in college. When he played a difficult role, one of those emotionally demanding ones, even though his conscious mind knew it was acting, his body didn't. After a scene, he'd arrive at my house with trembling hands, a racing heart, and sometimes crying. Physiologically, our bodies don't care whether we're performing or not. If we feel anguish, pain, or fear, it doesn't matter if it's abstraction; the body reacts. Writing is the same, except there’s no performance, because everything, the beautiful and the horrendous, comes from the writer.

I hurried to clean the counter and get everything organized, threw the beer bottles in the trash, and grabbed my purse. I was searching for the keys in the back of the bookstore when the doorbell rang, indicating someone had entered. For a moment, I thought one of them had forgotten something, but when I got to the counter, I didn't see anyone, nor did I hear anything that would suggest the presence of a customer. A strange feeling crossed my stomach as I inspected the bookstore.

Maybe it was a kitten, I thought at that moment, because it would be impossible for someone to have entered so quickly that I didn't notice. Maybe it was the wind.

In hindsight, I admit it was very naïve of me not to grab the revolver hidden under the counter and call Mark—as he had instructed me to do if anything strange happened. New Hope was a very peaceful town, so no one worried too much about security. Having a gun in the bookstore was a strong suggestion from Liam, who had spent a long time in New York and had been robbed three times while living there.

One action, one consequence.

I thought it would be wise to check more carefully when I heard a thud from the other side of the store. I walked around the counter and headed toward the aisles, which was the only part of the bookstore I couldn’t see from the checkout area. We had built the bookstore to be a complete space. Upon entering, there was direct access to a set of tables, and parallel to them was the counter for paying for books. We had also installed a coffee maker and a cold case to store some quick snacks. Apart from that, the only other part of the store was in the room next door, where the books and vinyls were.

There, at the back, behind the last shelf, was a turntable playing two hours of all my favorite songs. It was there for customers to listen to and test the records available for purchase. When I approached, I heard it playing. It was so quiet that I only remembered I should turn it off when I reached the first aisle—the record section. Deep down, in that part of the mind that keeps repeating things we want to ignore, I knew someone was in the aisle, I knew it, but I pretended everything was under control.

I was in the paranormal romance section when the music volume increased, and I could hear what was playing. It was a soft, romantic melody, contrasting with all the horror that awaited me downstairs.

I recognized it almost immediately. Stand By Me was one of my favorite songs, but I had never felt so terrified when I heard it before this moment.

*When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only light we'll see*

I took a deep breath and kept walking, my steps slower and more discreet with each meter I advanced, my eyes alert to every little detail in the room, and my skin crawling.

*No, I won’t be afraid

Oh, I won’t be afraid

Just as long as you stand

Stand by me*