It had been a week since I'd stormed out on Atticus, and a couple of days since his last attempt at getting me to talk to him. He'd tried using a cup of americano from my favourite café as a lure: some futile attempt at persuading me to answer my kitchen door. The cold cup of coffee was still sitting untouched on the concrete yard, even now.

I'd heard his apologies and his excuses, and maybe on some level I'd accepted them. I knew why Olivia had done what she did. The pragmatist in me understood that their world had certain rules and allowing a human to witness what I had would be a huge violation. But despite understanding her actions, I couldn't shake the discomfort surrounding their involvement in my life and what future it might bring.

Still, there was this voice in my head which reasoned there was more to the situation than what was on the surface. It all stemmed from Atticus, and his books, and the bookshelf nestled in the alcove of his living room. It had been stuffed with books, but the key difference between the two memories in my head was the condition of those books. One remembered them as pristine and untouched, while the other saw how each spine had creases from frequent use. That transition said a lot, but did it say enough to risk falling deeper down into this rabbit hole I'd stumbled into?

As I thought of the bizarro world I'd fallen into, I looked around the bustling bar. For once the scene reflected the muddle of paranormal creatures and reality in my head. It was the first Saturday night since Halloween, so —as it had every year— the bar had been transformed into a den of disguise and desire. Black satin and red velvet billowed from the ceiling and draped down the walls, shifting the earthy, warm atmosphere of the bar into something sinister and seductive. Hovering over the bar, watching over Callum and Max as they served the masses, was a tribute to Pennywise. With yellow maniacal eyes that watched you wherever you walked, and hair that glowed red from the lighting Kelly had hidden in the rafters, it was chilling enough to send a shiver down any spine.

Just as the bar was decked out to the nines, so were we. Most of the others had embraced the chance to go all out with their costumes, taking the opportunity to let their imagination run wild. Emma was a real life china doll, and Callum had channelled Columbia from Rocky Horror with fishnets and an entire spray can of red hair dye. I, however, had hoped Kelly would be too busy to notice my low effort attempt. I'd tried to get away with a feeble set of devil horns, but Kelly had other ideas.

Now, as I meandered through the crowd, I shifted the full tray of empty glasses onto my hip and tried to rearrange the tinsel halo buried amongst my hair. Whether it was just a coincidence, or Kelly's idea of a joke, I found myself in a white, corseted angel costume more suited to the strip club next door. If not for my heavy black boots and kohl-lined scowl, I would have fit in perfectly with the other provocative costumes around me.

I moved with the crowd as it ebbed and flowed to the music, navigating the sea of mythical monsters. From vampires with plastic fangs to werewolves caked in fake fur, I counted off each of the cult classics. No matter the choice of costume, each one of them was just a way to escape reality. A way to forget who they were for the night and play the role of something deadly and dangerous instead. If only they knew that there was already a creature out there that could make them forget whenever they wanted. To me, that fact was scarier than any ghost or ghoul.

I knew the Watchers could kill me in an instant if the orders came, but what truly scared me was the idea that my mind wasn't safe with them. At any moment they could make me a different person, take my memories, my experiences, and mould them into someone else. For me that was more terrifying than any physical pain, because without my mind, who was I?

My body was just a shell made of limbs and flesh. It could be sliced and diced and rendered nothing more than blood and bones, but despite that I would still be me. The idea that the Watchers could mess with my head was more unnerving than any threat of physical harm. At least to me. My mind may have been fragile and twisted from past mistakes, but it was still mine. And despite what Mr R put me through, I hadn't lost it. Not yet at least.

With my tray laden with stacked empty glasses, I headed to the refuge of the bar. The second I left the crowd, and entered the safe space behind the counter, I felt the claustrophobic heat dissipate. It was like the bar had two different climates: one of hot cloying heat amid the dancefloor, and another with a damp but cool breeze generated by the fan behind the till.

Max met me at the end of the bar to ferry the glasses to the dishwasher. We hadn't worked together in a while, but he was the kind of person that just made talking easy. Maybe it was his short five-foot-seven stature, or his round face and cheeky smile, but there was something about him that could bring a smile to the sourest of faces.

"Of all the things I thought you would have dressed up as, angel is definitely not one of them," he teased. He was dressed as a low effort zombie with a blood-spattered white t-shirt and one eerie, white contact obscuring his grey eyes.

"Kelly's idea of a joke," I said as I stole a swig from a bleary-eyed bystander's beer. I didn't often drink on the job but tonight I needed a boost. I swallowed the amber nectar down and continued, "Believe me, if I could I'd like to slip into something more comfortable, like a coma."

Max laughed as he tossed the empty bottles into the bin behind us. The clink of glass was just about audible above the scream of electric guitars. "How is it out there? Do you want me or Cal to switch?"

"Nah, I'm alright. Just assholes being assholes. Nothing I can't handle."

"I saw," he chuckled. "That pirate earlier looked like someone had killed his puppy."

"Urgh, I swear he was so dense, light could literally bend around him."

I took a deep breath and picked up the now empty tray, mustering the energy to march back into the crowd. Any Saturday night shift was hard work, but Halloween was always worse. It wasn't just how busy the bar got, or how the work seemed to grow exponentially throughout the night, it was the fact that as soon as people put a mask on, they somehow thought they were untouchable. So far I'd had my ass groped by enough people to fill a Sunday morning football team and the night wasn't even close to over yet.

I stole another swig of beer as its owner snoozed against the bar.

"Wish me luck!" I called over my shoulder to Max and Callum.

Like a ghost I slid through the crowd, weaving around the rowdy groups with superhero themed costumes, and averting my gaze while a witch shoved her tongue down a dead policeman's throat.

"Ah, fuck," I muttered as my wings lost another feather and gained another snag while bending down to pick up an empty beer bottle. After a couple of hours dodging drunk zombies and stumbling sexy cats the gauzy fabric now looked more like cobwebs than something used for heavenly flight.

I twisted to see what had caught the fabric, battling with the way the wings got buffeted by the crowd.

"Trick or treat?"

I felt the heat of the words whisper against my hair, the deep timbre tickling against my eardrums. The familiarity of its closeness brought flashes of Atticus to my mind and with them my stomach flipped. My mind hadn't yet decided what I wanted to do about the Watchers, but my body seemed to have other ideas.

I spun towards the voice, stifling the smile that twitched at my cheeks.

My chest clenched the second I saw him watching me.

Mr R.

His dark eyes flashed with surprise before a glint settled in them. It was a look I'd seen a thousand times before, but unlike then I hated it more than anything now.

"Annabelle Fray, my beautiful Belle." His voice caressed my name, the way it always had. I used to love that sound, but now I felt like I could be sick. My stomach clenched, desperately trying to find something solid to stop the nausea.

I wanted to run, to scream, to smack the smug smirk off his face, but my body had shut down. Instead, I stood exposed and stunned, a deer caught in the headlights of a ten-tonne truck.

"Your halo's wonky," he said with a sly smile as his hand brushed across my cheek to straighten it. In those brief seconds, the deafening thud of drums and dancing disappeared into silence and all I could hear was my heartbeat thundering in my chest.

"Do you work here?" he asked and for a moment he seemed genuinely interested. He was always good at pretending.

"Yes," I ground out, trying to keep my cool. I had never wanted to see him again. Or if I had, I had wanted it to be when I looked ten times better than I did now and was so far above him I could crush him like an ant under my shoe. Now, I had never felt so low.

He wasn't much taller than me now, but it felt like he towered above me as his aging face smiled a smug smirk. Perfectly preened dark stubble outlined his jawline and forbidden memories filled my head of what it had felt like to feel that stubble against my skin.

"I would have thought you would be at university by now. You were always such a talented girl."

I clenched my fist at my side as he emphasised the term talented. If someone didn't come break the tension soon, he wouldn't leave here with the perfect face he walked in with.

"What do you want?" I asked as my eyes flit around the bar, looking for my escape route.

"I've been watching you, my little dark angel. I couldn't resist saying hello." He played with the jagged edge of my skirt, his fingers brushing the bare skin of my thigh. My stomach shivered at the touch, and the acrid taste of bile lingered at the back of my throat. I needed to leave but my legs wouldn't move.

He fingers travelled north, dancing on my hip, winding their way around my waist as he inched closer. He was so close now, I could almost taste the stale cigarette smoke on his breath. When I didn't retreat, his lips twitched into a lopsided grin of victory, flashing his yellowing teeth. The past 4 years of tobacco had started to take its toll.

Hungry obsidian eyes raked over my skin, devouring any piece of flesh they could.

Rakish, ravenous, ruthless. The words chanted through my head, faster and faster the closer he got, until finally another joined them.

Run.

My body twitched into action, jolted back to life by the adrenaline coursing through my veins. With it the precarious tray balanced atop my hip tumbled to the floor.

The clash of shattering glass pierced the thrum of rock music and drunken chatter. A chorus of condescending cheers volleyed around us and with it I took my chance to flee.

"I have to clean that up," I mumbled before pushing through the crowd. With each step I felt my fear-frozen muscles start to thaw. By the time I reached the storage room I was aware of every inch of skin, every limb that tingled, and the vomit jumping up my throat.

I spun towards the sink and emptied whatever remnants of breakfast was left in my stomach. Each heave was like an exorcism, cleansing me of his touch. Years ago, I would have basked in the way his fingers danced over my skin, but now all I felt was a cold sweat of fear and disgust.

I ran the tap on the sink and rinsed away the evidence as Kelly dashed into the room.

She scanned my face, her concerned hazel eyes hidden under blood red contacts. "Are you OK?"

I swiped my hand across my slick forehead. "I'm fine. I was just getting a dustpan and brush to clean up."

I leant against the stainless-steel sink, trying to ignore the way my legs shook.

Kelly's plush lips flattened into a line, and I could see she had more questions bubbling under surface. To my relief she swallowed them down. Instead, she reached for the brush behind the door.

"I'll clean up. You're due your break."

She left before I had a chance to argue, although for once I couldn't find it in me to complain. The thought of going back out there scared me more than any hack and slash horror flick ever could. I'd been so focused on the monsters which surrounded me, that I'd forgotten to look out for the one person who was so much worse.