June
Ilose myself in work.
It’s easy, tumbling headlong into planning a wedding. I love the thrill of bringing a
bunch of disparate pieces together, building moodboards and image binders,
growing a unique aesthetic out of nothing. It’s my favorite part, the way the wedding
looks and feels.
Nothing’s easier than a cookie-cutter ceremony. But that’s why people hire us: I go
above and beyond to make it unique. Even when the bride and groom have no idea
what they want, I find ways to tease it out, until I make the space come alive.
I don’t have any direction this time.
Left on my own, I build a wedding I think is perfect.
It’s not easy. Problems arise. Money gets spent. More money gets wasted. Beth
looks like a zombie every morning at our pr ep meeting. We agree never, ever to do
this again as we push forward.
One week turns to six days turns to five then four.
Marnie ke eps the house together. She cooks and cleans. She has whispered,
cursing, angry conversations with her lawyer in the basement.
Hattie doesn’t ask about her father again.
“Showtime,” Beth says on the evening before the event. We lucked out and the
mansion owners agreed to let us get pr epped earlier—for a massive fee, of course.
Normally, we’d do this all the morning of, but because of the timeline issues, we
didn’t hire outside help.
Flowers, ribbons, streamers, decorations. So many decorations. The mansion itself
is filled with charm and beauty but I bring it out, emphasizing the 1920 s. It’s a
period-piece come to life. Like a real robber baron’s party.
We work our asses off. Ten rolls around and we’re not close to finished, but Beth
decides to call it. “Meet here at six tomorrow?”
“Sounds good. Well, not good, but you know.”
“Get some sle ep.”
“I’m sure I’ll manage a solid five hours.”
Beth hugs me tight. “When this is done, we’ll take a week off, okay? Take Hattie to
Disney.”
“Marnie would love that.”
“Hell yeah, she would. Love you, girl.”
“You too.”
I swing by our storage unit before heading to the house. Marnie texts to confirm
Hattie’s fast asle ep and all’s good. I’m bone tired but dreaming about what life will
be like when this is all over.
A massive bonus. Financial wiggle-room for the first time in my life.
Running a business is de eply rewarding, but it’s also hard as hell.
We’ve been dumping all our extra cash into growing since the early days, and I’m
looking forward to having a few new zeroes tacked on to my savings account.
Rafe’s in the back of my mind like always when I park and head up my stoop. No
strangers, no cars. Nothing to suggest there are any problems at all. It’s like that
visit in my kitchen was a fever dream.
A nightmare.
I push open my door, st ep inside, lock it behind me—
And something feels wrong.
I take a second, looking around, listening intently. The hairs on the back of my
neck stand straight up.
The TV’s on but Marnie’s not lounging on the couch. A glass of wine is knocked
over on the rug. Nobody cleaned it up. Maybe she’s getting some paper towels?
“Marn? Hey, is everything alright?” No answer. I head into the kitchen and stare.
There’s a broken plate on the floor. The refrigerator door is open and the calendar
beside it is hanging askew like someone knocked it aside. This makes no sense.
Marnie texted me like a half hour ago that everything was fine.
“Marnie? I’m worried, please answer.” I turn and notice that the basement door is
standing open.
My stomach feels sick. I don’t want to go check. Fear grips me, the primal,
ancient, childish terror of the dark and everything down below.
But there are no monsters at the bottom of the st eps. Only mice and storage bins. I
cre ep closer, heart racing. “Marnie? Are you down there?”
I reach the landing and open my mouth.
Marnie’s at the bottom. She’s lying on her side, one leg twisted at a sickening
angle, her knee clearly broken.
Blood leaks around her head like a halo.
Her eyes are open. Her mouth is contorted.
“Marnie... oh god, Marnie!” I take a st ep forward.
But something stops me.
I twist, thrashing in a panic. Strong hands grip me harder and slam me back. I
scream until something nasty-tasting is shoved in my mouth. I catch glimpses of my
attacker: big, burly, in all black, with a ski-mask pulled over his face.
“Stop fighting, you fucking bitch, or I’ll do you like I did your dumb fucking
friend,” he hisses in my ear. His fist slams into my guts, doubling me over. He grabs
my hair and throws me to the floor and jams a knee into my chest, holding me down.
“Please,” I wheeze, mind reeling. Marnie twisted and broken. Hattie sle eping
upstairs. What’s going on?
Rafe in this kitchen. His words like a knife.
“Stop fucking struggling or I’ll make sure your cute little girl gets her head cut
off.”
That takes the fight out of me. I go limp, sobbing. “Please, don’t hurt her. Leave
her alone. Take me—“
“Plan on it,” he mumbles, wrenching my hands behind my back. “Hold still—“
Something dark looms behind my attacker. It’s enormous. Shoulders, arms, jeans.
Another man, this one in a black t-shirt. He grabs my attacker by the skull with one
huge palm, yanks his head back, and jabs his other fist into his throat. He gouges at
eyes, ripping one free. Blood sprays as my attacker falls sideways, screaming, and
the big man’s on top of him, hand wrapped around throat, squeezing hard, other fist
pummeling over and over.
More blood sprays, drenching this fresh nightmare.
I gasp, trying to scramble away, crying as my attacker goes limp.
And my savior stands to look at me.
Dark hair. Handsome jaw. Full lips.
Gray eyes like a stormy sea. Like Rafe.
Like Hattie.
“Time to come with me.”
I stare at him, too dumb and afraid and hurt to make sense of that. “My daughter.
Where’s my daughter?”
“Safe. I have people coming. But we have to go.”
“No, I have to see her. Hattie, I have to—“
The man strides over. He grabs me by the arm and drags me to my feet. I try to
struggle, but he’s like iron. I hit him in the chest and he doesn’t even flinch.
“Timeline’s been moved up. We have to go right now.”
“Marnie, oh god, Marnie. Please, you have to help her. And Hattie—“
“No more talking.” His hand tightens painfully. I gasp, bending sideways like I’m
trying to es cape.
“Who are you? What’s going on?” My dead attacker’s blood spreads from his
maimed eyes and his ruined mouth, a horrific death-mask. “Oh god, what did you
do?”
I’m dragged from the kitchen. I look back, thinking, Marnie, please, Marnie, don’t
be dead, until we reach the front door. He mutters something to himself, clearly
unhappy, pulls out a phone, and sends a quick text.
“You can’t leave my daughter alone. Please, don’t do this—“
He shoves me outside. I stagger and nearly fall down the stoop. I open my mouth
to scream for help but he’s on me, one big palm covering my lips.
“If you make this hard, I can’t guarantee your safety. I can’t promise your
daughter will live through the night, and I sure as fuck can’t ke ep your friend from
dying at the bottom of your basement st eps. So listen to me now, June. You will get in
my car. You will ke ep your mouth shut, or I will gag you. And you will do as you’re
told. Do you understand?”
I gaze into those familiar eyes, hating him and too scared to do anything about it.
“Just don’t hurt my daughter.”
“Like I’d ever touch a kid,” he grumbles, pulling me to a truck parked nearby. “In
the back.”
I do as I’m told. He gets behind the wheel.
“Who are you? Where are you taking me?”
He ignores my first question.
But the answer to my second is worse than I ever imagined.
“We’re headed to the wedding. Looks like the ceremony’s getting moved up.”