I was raised on fairy tales: stories about poisonous apples, spindles, spinning wheels, and enchanted forests with gingerbread houses. I inherently knew it wasn't real, but I struggled to find any element of make-believe in what was happening now.

Paul's truck flew down the ocean highway, every bump in the road inconsequential. He hadn't uttered a word, afraid to confirm for a second time that the private thoughts in my head now had room for two. He tapped an erratic tune on the steering wheel. Hazel eyes studied me cautiously every few seconds, looking for signs I would run as soon as the car was parked.

Every time my mind took flight, I reeled it back. What Paul could do was a violation.

Paul ran a hand over his chin. "You can block it if you—"

I sensed the rise of heat in my cheeks the more he talked. He's in my head now, and everything that runs through it takes a leap straight into his. He's known every sordid thought I've ever had about him. Dusk painted the evening sky, streaking clouds with amber and pink. Ten minutes ago, he'd played my mouth intuitively as if it were a symphony he'd practiced his entire life.

I stunted my train of thought and refused to look at him. My thoughts were futile to regulate. My head buzzed with a gentle murmur setting a gentle pressure behind my eyes. Was he doing it again? Was this a sign of him forcing his way in? And if it was, why was his approach so much less invasive and subtle than Carlyle's?

"I said you can block it if you—"

Get OUT of my head! I can feel you in there!

"I am trying! Plus, you asked me to kiss you... Heck, you even kissed me back. To me, it's no different from hearing you out loud. I can't always discern the difference. I'll try harder. Will you try to leave town?"

"It's different now, isn't it? What you can do changes what we can be."

"Attentive, mind reader—it's a fine line. If it helps, I have never kept a single thought from you. Whatever runs through my head, I say. You're not at a disadvantage here. But honestly, you had no intention of us becoming anything more than what we are—you still want to leave once you sell."

I said nothing. I thought nothing because the truth stung like a bee in summer, and I was afraid I would trip myself up. This wasn't possible—but it was happening, regardless. This was beyond too much. The sheer scale of what this meant was unimaginable. He was in my head right now; all I wanted to do was hide.

"Why do you need to leave? I know a masters degree isn't what you want."

"And how would you know—." I stopped short. He had me at an impasse. There was no telling how often that thought drifted through my mind recently. I ignored the question, aware of how that would work. My secrets would stay buried if they allowed it. "How do you do it, Paul?" I turned to him for the first time since we got in the truck.

He sighed. "You're making this difficult. What you say and what you actually think are at complete odds. If you want to talk, I'll be here to listen. I'm trying my best to stay out of your head, but here, in this town, I've never needed to work so goddamn hard at at."

Until he backed up and got out of my mind, this wasn't a conversation I knew how to continue. The more I sensed the bubble of anger rising in my chest, the more prepared I was to unleash it on him. You don't drop a bomb only to shrug it off. This was massive.

"I may hate this about you," I said, risking one last glance at his face. In the car's darkness, I traced the curve of his lips over his Cupid's bow—shaking away the memory of his lips in vain.

"Stop it. I hear what you say, but I'll act on what you think instead. Test me again—think of my mouth."

My thoughts were silenced—mortified by his words. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of thinking that again if I could help it. My brain was ready to explode. The truck screeched up to Lucille's and braked, provoking a dust cloud. Paul didn't cut the engine or move to open the driver's door.

"Will you explain how you can do this?"

"There's a right time, and there's right now. You will get your answers. Luke says you aren't ready to hear them yet. But I want to tell you everything. I just need you to want to hear me out."

I opened the door and slammed it in his face.

He wound down his window and said almost too quietly. "You're making his point for him, and I know you're capable of so much more. Don't push me away. If you need me—call. No strings."

His eyes bore a hole in my back as I trudged to the front door. Who was he to decide when I was ready? I was ready; I had to be because what other revelation could trump what I'd already learned was possible tonight?

The night lasted longer than usual. I was hyper-alert with every toss and turn, recalling every interaction with Paul. I didn't know how he could do what he did. But I missed his presence on the couch, and I wanted to chastize myself for it. Having him here was the difference between night and day. With Paul, I slept better rather than figited until sunrise lost deep in my own thoughts.

Paul was right. I had questions, and I would get nowhere fast without having answers. When the sun rose the following day, exhaustion wrestled with every limb as I climbed out of bed. I ran the faucet in the kitchen and filled a glass, taking a long sip.

The water hit an empty stomach, making it gurgle. From the window behind the sink, the highway road to the forest sat across the driveway. The new paint job on my car sparkled in the early morning rays. Paul had worked on it while I slept and delivered it without knocking. I cursed him under my breath for giving me one more reason to run this morning.

Friday was here. Turning from the window, I called the office of Arthur Jenkins. I was more than prepared to tell him that three months would never work for me and that this mess needed sorting sooner.

Whatever had taken place last night was still beyond my comprehension. In my ignorance, Paul had come close to being a reason to stay. But then, where would I be? Five years down the line married to Paul with three screaming kids and never a private thought of my own.

Imaginary Paul: "Where are you going, Dana?"

Me: "You know where. Why even bother to ask?"

Imaginary Paul: "Fair point. What's his name?"

Me: "Same again."

Imaginary Paul: "Another good point. Punch Nick in the face for me when you see him— I want a divorce."

My phone pinged as it dialed. I already knew who it would be. Instead, I waited on the ringing line. Arthur's phone rang until a voicemail kicked in. I hung up after leaving a scathing message for him to call me back. The curiosity won over before I could swipe my cell off.

Paul: I fixed your car. Please don't leave town before you give me a chance to explain.

Ignoring his message, I took my car and its full tank of gas into town. If Arthur wouldn't take my calls, I'd force him to see me. The usual bustle in town was now a lone man walking his dog. The shutters hung low across the scattering of shops. I pulled into a parking spot.

Arthur Jenkins' office appeared shut. Baked goods from the patisserie no longer permeated the air. The only proof of life came from the blinking motel sign. Paul had said they were taking off for deliveries and a family event, but the whole goddamn town had gone on vacation.

The sun now kissed low on the horizon. Two sets of keys jangled in my pocket. I fished out the keys to the shop and flipped them over my fingers. With everyone gone, there would not be a better time to check Luke's back office. What was their deal, and how could they do what they do on God's green earth?

The shop was a five-minute walk. The shutters were down on all but the office door when I arrived. I twisted the key in the lock and nudged it with my arm until the door gave way, letting myself in.

The staff room was homely, with mismatched furniture that carried the weight of years gone by. The walls, once a vibrant shade of blue I imagined, now wore a tired hue, and the scent of coffee lingered in the air. An old wooden table, scarred with scratches and etchings, sat at the center of the room. A sagging couch nestled against one wall, its cushions stained with the memories of late-night discussions.

There was no music or hisses of air, no rattling of ball bearings as they mixed with spray paint propellant. Nothing, until a bang sounded on the shop floor.

My feet ground to a halt, scanning. I edged further around the side of the pit, and my mouth dropped open. Luke pinned Carlyle, who grimaced at the boot he had pressed to his chest. Paul stood, ready to move. I backed up until I was flush with the wall, unable to match this version of Luke with the one in my head. Any hope of this being a casual conversation between family died with Paul's next words.

"Running in front of her car like that... You could have killed her!" Paul said, frustration appearing to fray his patience. "And what was that shit you pulled last night?"

He did what? On instinct, I recoiled, reaching for my phone before realizing I'd left it in the car, and who was I going to call? The matter-of-fact way he asked threw me. It took me a moment to register his words and their meaning for me. My head shook once, replaying the scene in my head. They've all lied to me this entire time. I should have been more shocked, but for habitual liars, they should have been more convincing to begin with.

"Chill, Paul. I know what I did," Carlyle snapped, his wild hair falling into his eyes as he shifted on the floor. "It's not like I planned to get hit. She never swerved around me—I shifted just to avoid obliteration. Wouldn't it be better for all of us if she just left town?"

"Enough, both of you," Luke's voice boomed but strangely it wasn't just my ears that heard it. The command echoed deep in my bones and all I could do was cower.

After a moment of silence, his crossed his arms over his chest as though he were about to referee their petty squabble. "Arguing about it isn't going to change anything. What's done is done now. Paul, have you thought about how we will handle Dana?"

Handle me? Like I am an infant who totally dependant on them? My thoughts began to jump and spiral barely able to keep up with the conversation.

Carlyle and Paul shared a look. "I've been thinking, this doesn't have to be something that's done to her. If we explain, she could come around to the idea by herself. Wouldn't it be better if she consented?"

Consented to what! My guard was up after our last encounter, and I would not let it slip this time. If I wanted the truth, I needed to keep my mouth shut and listen—hardest mission yet.

"Is she ready for that?" Luke asked. "You told her she hit a fucking deer."

I gasped. MotherFu—

Paul's head dropped along with the projection of his voice. "I know I did. Do you not think I don't regret that every time I see her face, or every time I see how cut up and confused she is over it? I had no clue who she was until after the fact. Now I want to come clean. And are any of us ever ready?" Paul pointed as Carlyle rolled onto his side, away from their scrutiny. "Carlyle's never been ready a day in his life. First chance he has, he'll bolt out of Benton and never come back."

Luke was now the one to shake his head. "Then no," was all he said.

Paul groaned, running a hand through his thick hair, appearing to weigh up options. "Can't we ease Dana into this world and see what she does?"

"Sometimes, survival is the best teacher. She'll either sink or swim—that's not up to you to decide. She needs to learn about this world the hard way like we all did."

My hands clenched into fists. Standing idly by was becoming less and less of an option I wanted to take. It took every ounce of restrain not to run. With every word they uttered I reminded myself, I would only get the truth if I stayed silent. My rage would have a time and place, but now couldn't be it.

"Throwing her into the deep end could be disastrous," Paul said.

"Disastrous for you, you mean?" Luke countered, his voice low and dripping with accusation. The cold fluorescent light of the staff room cast stark shadows across their faces, highlighting the tension between them.

"This isn't about Paul," Carlyle spoke up. Her arrival has set things in motion that affect all of us. What if she's the one to end it all? Her actions could be tied to all our futures and Lucille's plans."

"Lucille needs this to happen," Luke replied, his words heavy with foreboding. "I need this to happen. And we're all connected this time, whether we like it or not."

My heart pounded in my chest. Lucille died, leaving a trail of secrets behind, and now they involved me. How could a dead woman be involved in whatever Paul and Luke where discussing. Did they need the money from her estate? Is that what this was? I'd have to fight them to give it to Antoine so he didn't fight me?

"Connected how?" Paul demanded. "You have never said what Lucille wants, and how any of this has to do with Dana?"

"Everything," Carlyle whispered, his eyes clouded. "Dana's presence here has set things in motion that could change our lives forever. Whatever Lucille has planned, Dana is the key to putting this one to bed. Then we move on."

Lucille? Lucille was dead but they way in which they all spoke about her it was as if she has a seat at the table for Sunday dinner.

"She needs protecting. We can't just throw her to the wolves and expect her to survive." Paul insisted.

The first lone tear slid down my cheek because they already had.

"Are you sure that is a good idea?" Carlyle asked, his voice laced with hesitation. He sat up. "Softening the blow you know is coming, Paul? Why bother? Won't that make it worse in the end?"

"You need to be careful with her. If you get too close, you might lose sight of your responsibilities to this town. Luke sighed. "You are my second in command, my brother, but if you question me again, I won't be able to help ripping your throat out."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, I can handle it." Paul replied, sounding more confident then he looked.

Luke continued, his gaze never wavering. "Remember what's at stake here."

"I'll be careful."

"Careful isn't enough," Luke retorted. "You need to keep your distance."

Paul scoffed, his temper rising. "Dana's not going to shatter. She deserves to know the truth about Benton and its secrets."

"Does she, though?" Luke challenged; his jaw clenched tight as he took a step closer. "Or are you trying to justify getting closer to her because of new feelings? Don't think you've been hiding them well. You haven't."

"Feelings don't matter when it comes to the safety of this town," Paul shot back. "Dana's involved now, whether she likes it or not, and we can't let her stumble blindly through Benton. And I have never once not done a single thing this town has asked of me."

"You know as well as I do that things are escalating. We all feel it. You knew it's coming. You've always known it was coming, and you can't stop a hurricane once it's started."

I backed up until I was flush with the wall, unable to match this version of Luke with the one in my head. I whimpered, clasping both hands over my mouth to muffle the sound. The shop keys dropped sounding on the concrete. All heads flicked up to where I stood, open-mouthed, with fresh tears streaming down my face.

Paul looked straight at me. His eyes contained their usual warmth but his whole posture was off. His brother bounded over behind him. I prayed Luke would explain this away, that the anger radiating in his eyes over the last few minutes would rescind.

Luke was the first to break the silence. "If you run, you'll learn the hard way fucking fast not to do so again."

If Luke was hoping for a near-miss, his words failed. The sword of his tongue landed with a clean blow, and like all head-on collisions, I never stood a fucking chance. My legs broke into a sprint as I bolted through the door. Paul's voice echoed after me followed by the pounding of his boots. I didn't give away precious seconds as I jumped back in the car, cranked the engine and floored the gas.

Back at Lucille's, I stuffed strewn clothes into a duffel bag. Every few items, I'd pause, giving in to the crushing weight in my chest. There was no way I could stay now. Alarm bells were ringing in my head at the same time as waving giant red flags.

Within ten minutes, I was back on the forest highway. A thick blanket of marine fog dwelled inches above the road's surface. My phone pinged in my pocket. If Paul thought for one second I would give him the time of day to explain, he was wrong. Pulling it out, I saw the worst name possible.

Antoine: You said weeks. If you've run, I have ways to force you back, baby. How is Carolyn, by the way? All alone? Want me to stop by and check on her? Second-floor apartment, right?

A photo proceeded his text. The winding staircase to our apartment was shadowed in darkness, with the exception of the muted stairwell light. With one hand on the wheel, I swallowed around a lump in my throat and speed-typed a message.

Me: I'll almost have it. Things were delayed, but they are progressing. Leave Carolyn alone. Your money is coming.

I dialed Carolyn. She needed a warning. After five rings, no one answered. Shit. I dialed again until it clicked to voicemail. Tossing the cell on the passenger seat, my chin trembled. There was no other choice. If I wanted money from the sale, I had to turn back. But I didn't want to.

Tall pitch and scrub pines lined either side of the intersection until the two-lane road merged into one. Where was I going? A gas station with a Starbucks sat a mile outside of the city limits. Having a moment to regroup my thoughts might provide clarity. I messed with the radio dial until I hit the smooth, docile tones of a late-night host. After entering Benton Ridge's deep valley, my radio signal crackled into fragments and blips.

For every perfect time with Paul, there were ten thousand questions. He alone was not a reason to stay. I knew this. I shook my head, forcing the feeling of his lips away. My nose was sore from wiping. My neck craned for a better view in the mirror, smoothing errant curls back into place.

I froze mid-movement, blinking several times at an object at the corner road. Silvery eyes glinted as they caught the glare of the headlights—a wolf.

I narrowed my eyes, leaned in further, and looked again until my head was besieged with an intense thrash of searing pain behind my eyes and a high pitch howl that made me want to claw my ears off.

The wolf's eyes crinkled in the corners the way Lucille's used to; the face looking back at me, albeit not wholly an animal, was of my grandmother for the first time in sixteen years.

A deep tug in my chest suddenly ripped the air from my lungs. It demanded that I stop the car. A curse caught in my throat. I jerked the wheel, but the second I did, an ear-splitting grind of metal on metal boomed as the rear side sagged.

The car fishtailed. Do I turn into it or out? Every sensible piece of advice on controlling a blowout was gone. I slammed the brake again and again with no effect.

Everything slowed to a heartbeat when the boundary line came into view at seventy miles an hour. Lucille's form looked back at me from road.

The glass cracked as the windshield imploded. Blistering shards showered over me as I plowed straight through the guardrail. The sky shifted with flashes of pine needles and the white of my airbag. My body jolted, locking the seat belt into place and crushing the air from my lungs, until the car death tumbled.