Chapter 2

Becca slipped her key into the lock, but the door clicked and eased open just a crack. Someone had forgotten to relock it, or never bothered to. The mid-afternoon sun drenched the single-story units of Venus Grove in a marigold glow.

Her blood ran cold, just for a second, until she remembered that Jake, the maintenance guy, might have been the perpetrator. She’d entered a ticket for a leaky faucet right before leaving for her trip to Toronto a few weeks ago. It’d slipped her mind, sure, but maybe the guy was still here. If he were she, she could scold him for not closing the door, for letting cold air out, and hot air into her apartment.

Her apartment sat at the far end of the complex, joined at the hip with its identical twin, just another product of modern design’s assembly line. At least the furnishings inside were decent.

The contradiction made her want to laugh, somewhere between manic and hollow. Cookie-cutter on the outside, but trying to pass as unique inside. It felt like a metaphor for her own life—stuck between two worlds, heaven and hell. But here, everyone seemed suspended between past and future, stuck between two lives.

She pushed the door open. Its loud groan as it creaked open made her jump. Once inside, the sharp scent of artificial lemon cleaner hit her at once. Something that made the nausea she’d been feeling all afternoon much worse.

“Jake, is that you?” she cried out. Nothing, just silence.

“Madeline?” Still nothing.

The aroma left behind suggested the housekeeper had stopped by rather than maintenance.

She noticed something odd in her trash: a lemon-flavored Arizona tea bottle, the exact kind Jeremy always drank at work. She hadn’t bought any. Had someone else been here? Had it been Jeremy instead of Jake or Madeline?

Either way, he wasn’t here now, so a hint of relief washed over her. But she’d bring it up to the front desk later. Perhaps security could review the footage and determine the cause. If Jeremy Powell was stalking her for nefarious reasons he’d have to deal with the police.

For now, there were numerous reports to review for work, which could be done from here today; that way, if a nap were needed later on, her bed was just a few feet away.

She’d barely been able to open Zoom and Outlook when she suddenly had to hurl. She bolted to the bathroom and left in the toilet the remnants of today’s lunch, which was the turkey sandwich and peanuts she’d eaten on the plane. This isn’t the first time she’d experienced this, but the bile came up faster than expected. No warning. No stomach clench. Just a sudden command from her body, like it had decided on its own that the food didn’t belong.

This was it, the last straw. The headache hadn’t gone away for days. Without hesitation, she grabbed her phone and dialed Doctor Celia Myles. The woman had been her primary care physician for the past five years. But what had Dr. Myles told her the last time she’d gotten a checkup? She couldn’t remember. But her hair stood on end anyway.

Is she even my physician? It was a strange, intrusive thought. In the middle of waiting for the other party to answer, Becca hung up.

Get a grip.

She dialed again. This time, the doctor picked up after two rings.

A smooth voice came onto the line.

“Becca, just thought of you. How do you feel? Any pain in your head this week? Any migraines?”

Becca gripped her head to help soothe the pain.

“Yes. Every day. And I just threw up. It feels like I’m getting worse.”

What did she tell me last time? I don’t remember.

“That’s unfortunate,” Dr. Myles replied. “But I can prescribe something. I’ll notify the pharmacy once it’s ready. We can schedule another CAT scan, although you’ve already had two. Both were completely clean.”

Becca sighed.

“Are you sure?” Becca asked. “What if it’s a bleed? I fell on the ice back in February, during that big nor’easter.”

Did I tell her that? Now she wasn’t sure.

“We’d see that. Trust me. These symptoms are likely tension-related, consistent with stress-induced migraines or a sleep deficit.”

“But I’ve been sleeping,” Becca muttered. Then immediately questioned herself. Had she? When was the last time she felt rested?

“I’ll get you something for the headaches and nausea,” the doctor said smoothly. “Get some rest. You’ll feel better soon.”

“Right. Thanks,” Becca said, though the words tasted like vinegar.

Becca managed to squeeze in a few more hours of work before crashing into a long mid-afternoon nap, hoping for a reset. The pain in her head had dulled, but the nausea had worsened.

Later on, Amara Coleman texted her asking if she’d seen Jeremy Powell. She denied seeing him since the reception. And since she hadn’t remembered being with him, it wasn’t a lie. Amara replied informing her that he hadn’t showed up to the office and he was unreachable. What had happened to him? She didn’t wish harm on him regardless of him being a creep towards her.

But there were the texts from him. If something had happened to him, would she be blamed? That was another problem she couldn’t worry about now. Too many other things going on. Her health. And there was also the presence of the other at Derek’s house. It couldn’t be her, but who was it?

A disturbing theory formed in her mind. Could Derek and her children be toying with her? Trying to make her look insane? Why would he do such a thing? To get sole custody of the kids? If she went over there to see what was going on, it’d be wise to do it while running other errands.

Later, just before dinnertime, she picked up the Phenergan prescription from the local pharmacy. The nap had cleared her head enough to make the drive. She considered grabbing takeout while she was out, but the thought made her stomach turn. She could stomach broth, but that’s it.

But now was her chance: To find out what was going on at Derek’s place.

Was he seeing someone else? If so, that was his business—technically. But why was everyone acting like she couldn’t handle the truth? And what about the missing time? The errands she supposedly ran, the things she said or did, but had no memory of? Surely others were in on this. Plotting against her.

She slipped into the driver’s seat of her Audi A4, turned the key, and headed toward the place she once called home.

Before going there, though, she had one stop to make.

She arrived at Curious Reflections not long after. Becca nodded with a polite smile at the clerk standing at the front counter and moved straight to the wig section. She didn’t plan to linger. One wig caught her eye—a shoulder-length, curly brown piece with streaks of purple highlights. She grabbed it, then picked out the cheapest pair of sunglasses she could find, paid in cash, and left.

Her former home sat at the bottom of a hill, tucked at the end of a dead-end street. Across from it, the land sloped back upward, broken by a patch of trees and a shallow creek that cut through the middle.

She drove along the opposite side, passing the old house without slowing, and continued toward a wooded area locals called The Hollow. Once she reached the road surrounded by trees, she pulled off the road and parked, checking the rearview mirror. A few neighbors were outside watering their gardens, chasing kids, and playing with their dogs. No one was looking her way.