“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”

Jessica Abello looked up from her folder of writer’s conference material. The grey-haired gentleman waiting for her response certainly looked the part. He was even wearing a corduroy jacket with patches on both elbows, which she found amusing and rather quaint, “Go on. No one’s taken it.”

The man slid the chair back and took a seat. He placed his own folder on the table before reaching his hand out for her to shake, “Name’s Warren Wilson, by the way.”

She took his hand, briefly, “I’m Jess Abello. Very nice to meet you.”

“First time here?” Warren asked, as his eyes swept the crowded room.

“First time here, or any conference for that matter,” Jess answered, “You?”

“Oh, I’ve been here many times,” Warren winked, “Can’t say it’s helped me sell any books though.”

A slow chuckle slipped from Jess’s lips, and she checked to see if she was offending him. She wasn’t, if his smile counted for anything. She consulted the itinerary and suppressed a shudder of excitement upon seeing the name, Adora Atlas, listed as the speaker for that morning.

“Must be a romance writer.” Warren said.

Jess glanced at him, curious.

“I saw you twitch a little when you read it,” he moved to explain, “What can I say… I’m a writer. People, and their reactions, are my specialty.”

“What do you write?” she asked him.

“Oh, this and that. Mainly mysteries, I suppose.”

“I tried my hand at a mystery once, but romance is where my heart is, so I just decided to focus on that.”

Warren suddenly straightened his chair and nodded towards the stage, “There’s Ms. Atlas. Looks like it’s about to begin.”

*

“Damn it,” Jess whispered to herself as she approached the room where the writer’s workshop was being held. The double doors had already been closed, which meant that it must have started. For a brief moment she debated going back upstairs to her room and just ordering breakfast, which she’d missed, but then she thought about how she had already paid for this workshop, and that compelled her forward.

Every eye turned her way as she stepped through the door. A table had been set up right beside the door and there was one lone glazed donut sitting on a platter. Acting braver than she felt, Jess picked it up, plopped it on a napkin and turned around to search the room for an empty chair.

From across the room, her eyes caught the waving hand of Warren Wilson. There was an empty space beside him. She dropped her eyes and quickly marched over, settling into the seat with relief, eager to get out of the spotlight.

“Thank you.” she whispered to Warren.

“Glad to be of service.” he whispered back.

After the workshop, as Jess was pushing back her chair, Warren said, “A group of us are heading over to Harry’s to grab some drinks. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Harry’s?” she asked.

“It’s a bar just down the street. Quite a few years back, a couple of us went for a drink. The next year, a few more joined us. Now, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the conference ends up there.”

Jess hesitated. She wasn’t exactly a social butterfly, preferring solitude over company. Then she silently reminded herself that she had come to the conference to be with like-minded people, and to network and try to get her writing on their radar, not to hide herself in her room.

“Alright, that sounds fun. I need to go freshen up and drop my things off.”

Warren nodded, “I’m happy to hear that. We plan on meeting down in the lobby in,” he checked his watch, “About twenty minutes. Oh, and come hungry. They’ve got damn good bar pizza that you won’t want to miss.”

*

Jess’s pizza arrived at the table gleaming with oil and scattered with crushed red pepper flakes, “You were right,” she told Warren, “This smells delicious.”

“Best you’ll ever have.” Warren boasted, as he tucked into his own sausage strewn pie.

While she ate, Jess listened to the other people that shared the tables that had been lined up together in the middle of the bar. Every now and then, she let her eyes wander to the handsome man that sat at the far end. He didn’t look like a writer. He looked like someone who fished in streams and slept in tents propped on the side of mountains. The juxtaposition intrigued her.

“So, tell me, what did you think of the speaker yesterday, the one with the three kids always underfoot?” Warren interrupted her thoughts.

She slid her eyes back to him, “Oh, the one that wished for a bolthole?” she smiled in remembrance of the poor woman’s plight, “Yes, though I can’t say that I have it as rough as her, I sometimes wish that I could get away from everything for long enough to finish my novel.”

The man of her musings suddenly stood up and headed for the bar. She stood up as well, suddenly and uncharacteristically, “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

As she approached the bar, Jess came up with and discarded several conversational topics, but as she drew closer and saw that he was even more ruggedly handsome up close, the most she could come up with was, “Hey.”

He turned and looked at her with a dazzling smile, “Hello. How are you?”

“Good. I’m good.” Jess felt like an idiot. What was wrong with her? She was supposed to sound sophisticated, but she couldn’t seem to find any sophisticated words in her repertoire now that she was standing right beside him.

“I just ordered a mojito. Would you like one?” he asked her, as her heart sped up.

“Would Hemingway?” she finally found her wits once again, thankfully.

He smiled approvingly, “Can I get another please?” he directed the bartender.

While they waited, Jess stole a glance at her table; an older woman had approached Warren and, judging by the way he was smiling and nodding, she didn’t need to worry about hurrying back to keep him company.

The bartender approached and threw a cocktail napkin down in front of her before placing her mojito on it, “Enjoy.” he said.

As Jess picked it up, the man beside her held his towards her, “Cheers.” he said.

“Cheers,” Jess tapped her glass against his, and then took a good, solid drink. It hit just right. She took another, and said, “You never told me your name.”

“Ezra Nash, and you are?”

“Jessica Abello, but you can call me Jess.”

“So, what do you write, Jess Abello?”

“All sorts of things, but mostly romance.” she watched for his reaction. Would he be one of those writers that looked down on romance, thinking it wasn’t ‘real’ writing?”

Ezra nodded, appreciatively, “I’ve heard that’s a tough crowd to please. You have my respect.”

Jess glowed. Could be the rum, she supposed, but it was probably him, “And you, what do you write?”

“Actually, I don’t…”

Jess raised her brows in shock.

“Books, I mean. I don’t write books. Yet. I want to. I just haven’t actually started.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Inspiration, I guess.”

Jess chuckled, “Did you find it here at the conference?”

“Maybe,” his eyes found hers, “Maybe I have.”

Feeling warm, Jess put her glass to her lips, her eyes never leaving his. She took a sip, enjoying the way he watched her, and then she asked, “So, Ezra, what do you do while you’re waiting for inspiration?”

“I’m a paramedic up in New Haven.”

“Can you get any more perfect?” The words shot out of her mouth before she could stop them. Horrified, all she could do was watch his perfect jaw drop open in shock at her forwardness. Hell, she might as well have jumped right in his arms and asked him to take her up to his room to ravish her immediately.

He recovered quickly and gifted her with a breathtaking smile. As he leaned in to say something, though, a woman rushed up and grabbed him by the arm and started dragging him off, saying, “Ezra, Ezra come on, they’re starting trivia and we need you to help us win.”

As he got swept off, he turned and gave her a bemused shrug.

It was just as well, Jess decided as she finished her drink, and then, for good measure, finished Ezra’s too.

*

“Thank you so much for attending, folks, and we’ll see you next year.”

Jess clapped along for a moment, feeling wistful, now that the conference was over. She looked around the room, her eyes stopping every now and then on a familiar face, silently hoping that they would finish whatever novel they were working on and find publishers.

She startled when she felt a hand touch her elbow and turned around, smack into Ezra’s decidedly muscular chest.

“Well, hello there.” she left her hand resting against said, firm, chest, and grinned up at his handsome face.

Ezra’s face lit up, “I want you to know that I couldn’t leave until I gave you this,” he handed her a slip of paper, “My number. I’d love to hear from you whenever you take a break from writing your bestseller.”

Jess tried not to snatch the paper from his hands too quickly, lest he think she was desperate, but of course she was over the moon. She looked down at the number and then back up to his face, “I’m sure it won’t be a bestseller, but yeah, I’d love to talk more. I’ll call. When is the best time?”

“Anytime. If I’m on shift, I won’t answer but just leave a message…”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Warren Wilson suddenly stopped right next to them, “But I just had to say goodbye…” he looked meaningfully at Jess, and then pointedly at Ezra.

Ezra took his cue, “No, not at all. I was just leaving. Got a plane to catch,” his hand wrapped around Jess’s, folding around her fingers, enveloping the slip of paper inside of her fist. He leaned down and whispered into her hair, “Call me.”

Jess followed him with her eyes as he walked away. She shoved the slip of paper deep into her pocket, feeling like she was floating on air. Suddenly, Warren’s voice managed to break through her dream fugue, and she looked at him as if he were a fly at a picnic, “What were you saying?” she managed to stammer.

“I was offering you use of a bolthole…”

“Did you say bolthole?” Jess immediately came to attention.

“I did, indeed,” Warren seemed happy to have her focus back on him, “Earlier, you mentioned that you would love a bolthole, and just so it happens, I have one.”

Jess’s eyes widened appreciatively, “Wow. I mean, wait, where is it, and how much would it cost me?”

“On the outskirts of Mystic, and I won’t charge you a dime. You can stay as long as you’d like.”

“Are you serious? Warren, I can’t even believe this.” Jess was beside herself. No one had ever done something so nice for her before.

Warren was smiling and nodding, clearly enjoying her reaction, “Believe it, Jess, because it’s true. The house belonged to my mother. It passed down to me when she died, years ago. I don’t need it, but I couldn’t let it go, so it’s sitting empty. It’s right on the beach, even. A perfect bolthole.”

Stunned silent, Jess considered the offer while simultaneously trying to figure out if the medical supply company that she worked for would allow her to take remote calls from Connecticut instead of Massachusetts.

Warren pulled his hands from his pocket and handed her a set of keys, “Let me write down the address for you really quick,” he grabbed a pencil off a nearby table and looked for a piece of paper, finally settling for a napkin by the picked over pastry box. He scribbled the address and proudly handed it to her, “There it is. I’ve kept the electricity and water on, so it should be all set for you. Oh, I should give you my phone number,” he reached for the napkin back and wrote out the number, then handed it back, “Just give me a call if you need anything.”

Flabbergasted, Jess tried to form a sentence, or even a word, but all she could manage was a series of strange animalistic sounds.

“I have to run,” Warren patted her shoulder, “Like I said, just give me a call if you need anything and I’ll be happy to help. Enjoy the place and finish that novel.”

As he rushed off, leaving her in a now, nearly empty, conference room, Jess collapsed into a chair wondering just what she’d done to deserve so many good things all happening at once.

*

It was pouring down rain as Jess turned the key and opened the door of Warren’s beach house. The interior was dark and gloomy from the clouds outside, so her hand immediately felt along the wall for the switch. She flicked it on and was rewarded with yellow light from a small chandelier in the center of the small room’s ceiling.

“Okay,” Jess’s voice seemed loud in the silence, “Small, but definitely cozy.” She dropped her bag down on the tufted beige sofa and wandered around, noting the old-fashioned console television that sat on the opposite wall from the sofa, and the end tables that could have come straight from the 1976 Sears catalog.

That room done, Jess walked into the kitchen, stopping to check that the fridge was cold, it was, and that there were dishes in the cupboard and pots and pans in which to cook in, and there were. Satisfied, she mentally made a note to google a nearby grocery store to put in a delivery order for supplies.

She spotted a back door whose small window was covered with a charming little curtain sewn out of fabric that was covered in small, pink roses. Curious, Jess opened the door and looked out. Unlike the front of the house, which opened onto the beach, the back of the house led onto scrub dotted dunes. Through the downpour, she could just make out another house far off in the distance, “Talk about peace and quiet, huh?” she whispered, happily.

She meandered into the hallway and up the creaky stairs. The upper floor had two bedrooms and a full bathroom.

“Tiny, but utterly charming,” Jess spoke into the stillness as she walked down the hall to the lone window that faced the ocean, “Thank you, Warren.”

*

Three days later, Jess had settled into her routine. She would take business calls during the morning, work on her novel during her lunch hour, go back to work calls for the afternoon, and then focus solely on writing for most of the evening. It wasn’t ideal; in a dream world, she would be able to write all day, but such was the life of a working woman.

At 4:30 p.m. on the dot, she took her headphones off and threw them on the desk. The desk was perfect for a writer, honestly, sitting right beneath a large window that faced an incredible view of the sea. She unplugged her work computer and moved her laptop front and center, but then her stomach growled, reminding her that the peanut butter and jelly sandwich she’d had for lunch wasn’t going to hold her over for long.

With a growl of annoyance, Jess went into the kitchen and stopped short; the back door was standing open. Suddenly nervous, she scanned the kitchen but didn’t see anything amiss. Had she accidentally forgotten to close it earlier, when she’d taken the trash out?

She sighed and stepped over to the door and closed it, this time making sure to turn the lock.

“Now, what should I have for dinner?” she spoke to herself, as she searched the fridge and then the cupboards. She finally settled on whipping up a quick tuna salad and having it with crackers along with a large glass of iced tea. Basic needs taken care of, Jess went back to her laptop and the ever-important task of moving her two main characters from bickering acquaintances to lovers.

Hours later, she finally lifted her tired eyes from the screen, surprised to see moonlit white caps on the ocean swells outside the window.

Her characters had finally come together in a blaze of passion, and she was feeling a bit hot under the collar herself, honestly. She picked up her phone, her fingers circling the screen as she contemplated calling Ezra. It was late. Was it too late?

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, Jess, it’s not that late,” she admonished herself, “Just call him already, damnit.”

Before she talked herself out of it, she tapped out the number he had given her and waited anxiously.

“Hello?”

“Ezra? Hi, it’s me, Jess Abello.” she felt like she was back in high school all of a sudden.

“Jess, I’m glad you called.”

His voice was warm and rich, and honestly, she could listen to it night long.

“It’s not too late?”

“No, of course not. You can call me any time at all.”

Well now, Jess thought, he was definitely saying all the right things.

“I just finished getting my two characters together…”

“Together as in together?” he asked, in a way that made her squirm.

“Yes.” she said, in a way that she had hoped was soft and sexy, but actually came out like she had a frog in her throat.

Thankfully, he chose to ignore it, “So you’re back home in … wait, I don’t think I ever actually asked where you’re from.”

“Boston, but I’m not in Boston right now. Warren Wilson, the older gentleman that you met, he kindly offered me use of a bolthole…”

“Oh yeah? That’s crazy cool of him. Do you mind if I ask where this bolthole is?”

“It’s practically right on the beach…” Jess rattled off the address, and then paused as her senses suddenly kicked into high gear, “Hold on,” she spoke into the phone as she stood up and started walking towards the kitchen. A blast of cool night air touched the bare skin of her arms as she drew closer. She rounded the corner and frowned; the window above the kitchen sink was open and the wind was blowing the stiff white curtains like a flag, “That’s strange.” she whispered.

“What’s strange?” a tinny voice asked.

Jess jumped and then stared down at the phone still in her hand; she’d been so caught up that she’d forgotten that Ezra was still on the line. She brought the phone up to her ear, “The kitchen window is wide open, but I could’ve sworn that I never opened it.”

“Do you feel safe?” Ezra’s voice held a touch of concern.

Jess took a moment to look around the kitchen. Nothing was out of place. Maybe she had opened the window this morning when she’d been cleaning up and making her coffee for the day and just didn’t remember? She put the phone down on the counter and closed the window, making sure to twist the lock into place before she pulled the curtains closed.

She picked the phone back up, “Sorry about that. Everything’s fine,” she declared, eager to get back to their conversation.

“Forgot you opened it, is that it?” Ezra chuckled, “I can commiserate with you on that.”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been trying to write since I got back home, and honestly I get so caught up in it that I forget to eat.”

“Ah, look at you, already turning into a real writer.”

They didn’t get off the phone until well after midnight. Jess knew that she would pay for it later, but she was so enthralled with Ezra that she didn’t even care. She turned off the lights and floated up the stairs on cloud nine. She was halfway down the hall before she realized that the lights were on in her bedroom. Her forehead settled into a confused grimace.

She charged quickly down the hall and stopped short at the doorway, “What the hell?” she whispered, as she immediately spotted the window thrown open, the night breezes blowing the gauzy white curtains into the room like ghosts. Her eyes fearfully darted around the room, but everything else seemed benign. Had she left the window open this morning? No, she was certain that she hadn’t even opened it, ever, since being in the house.

Jess crossed the room and reached over the small antique writing desk and shoved the window closed, decisively. She was getting scared but felt ridiculous for feeling that way because it was entirely plausible that she had opened the windows and had just forgotten about doing it. After all, she’d been living in writing mode lately, and was easily distracted. That had to be it. Nothing else made sense.

She hurried through her ablutions and climbed into bed, determined not to let anxiety get the best of her, but it was a long, restless night for her.

*

“How’s the book coming along?” Ezra asked, almost a week later.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” Jess took a sip of tea, “And you, have you had any luck?”

“Chapter five…”

“Chapter five!” Jess exclaimed, “Ezra, that’s incredible!”

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“Maybe I’m going too fast. Maybe it’s awful because I’m rushing it…”

“Stop,” Jess laughed, “You’re really starting to sound like a writer now.”

“What? All angsty and uncertain?”

“Exactly,” Jess shut her laptop and stood up to stretch, “Let’s just say it’s in the job description.”

She curled up on the sofa, sipping her tea, while he bemoaned the particular neurosis that all writers seemed to share. Outside, the light rain that had been coming down all day suddenly turned into a downpour that lashed against the windowpane, and she reached for the fluffy throw and burrowed beneath it.

Nearly an hour later, Ezra suddenly said, “Wait, what time is it?”

She glanced up at the clock on the mantel, “It’s nearing 7 o’clock. Why?”

“I promised my niece that I’d come to her dance recital. Jess, I gotta go…”

“No, no that’s okay. You promised.”

“I’ll try to call you later, if it’s not too late.”

As she finished the call, Jess wandered into the kitchen. She grabbed a few eggs and a block of medium cheddar from the fridge, along with some roasted asparagus left over from last night and set about making herself a quick omelet. While she waited to flip it, her eyes suddenly fell on the floor; dark smudges in a footprint pattern traced a line on the tile floor all the way to where the hardwood began at the doorway to the living room.

Jess dropped the spatula on the counter as she went to investigate. The hairs on the back of her arm stood up as she knelt down and saw the, still damp, dirt mixed with sand. She stood up, her eyes immediately going to the back door where the footsteps began. It was unlocked. Someone had come in. Someone had come into the house and had stood just feet away from where she had been working, and she’d never even known they were there. She was certain that she’d locked the door. Or had she? She’d taken to walking along the beach every morning before breakfast. She must have left the door unlocked, but that didn’t explain who had come in, and why.

“I’m calling Warren,” Jess said out loud, as if warning someone of her intentions. She found his number in her phone and tapped it, then waited for him to pick up, “Come on, Warren, answer your damn phone.”

The line rang and rang until finally she hung up. Should she call the police? They could come do a search, but honestly, with the way the rain was coming down, all of the tracks would surely be washed away by now.

The smell of burning egg finally brought her back to the moment. Frazzled, Jess took the pan off the stove, turned off the burner, and searched in the drawer for the longest, most terrifying knife she could find. She would keep it with her, just in case. Feeling marginally better, she locked the back door and then made a complete circuit around the entire bottom floor, checking that every window and door was locked, before starting up the stairs to the do the top floor. When she got to the bedroom, she double checked that the windows were locked before dropping onto the bed with the knife still clutched tightly in her hand.

“I should leave,” she spoke into the quiet room, “I should book a flight right now and get the hell out of here.”

Jess closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to feel defeated as she decided that she would book a flight, pack her things, and try to get a hold of Warren one last time. If he still wouldn’t answer the phone, then she would just leave him a voicemail. Decision made; she opened her eyes as she fished in her pocket for her phone. She was staring straight up at a worn wooden beam on the ceiling, and, for the first time, she noticed what looked like a thin arrow scratched into it.

Jess squinted as she tried to figure out if the mark seemed deliberately made. She stood up on the bed so that she could get closer to the mark. From this close, it was easy to see that it had been scratched into the wooden beam. She looked over at the wall that the arrow pointed at and frowned. Two, dark walnut, floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanked a matching, ornately carved, wardrobe.

“Don’t.” Jess warned herself, even as she jumped down off of the bed and approached the right bookcase. She’d never thought to look at the selection, having been too busy with her own writing. Now, she quickly scanned the titles. It was a bookstore collection, certainly, with romance, travel, self-help, cookbooks, history, and mysteries. Jess stepped over to the next bookcase and saw that it held the same. Flummoxed, she was about to open the wardrobe, which she knew to contain her clothes, when her eyes landed on a book that stood out from all the rest. It was a children’s book, one that she knew well. She slid the book out and carried it over to the bed, intending to just page through it quickly, but when she opened it, she saw that the interior pages had been cut into, leaving a cavity in the middle. A flash drive rested neatly inside the cavity.

“Ok, that’s weird,” Jess whispered, as she took the flash drive out and set the book down on the bed. For a few moments she considered putting everything back and doing what she was supposed to be doing, but curiosity got the better of her and she reached for her laptop. Minutes later, a manuscript of a memoir filled her screen. It was called, My Mother, Gone Away, by Katherine Wilson. Jess’s brows knitted together as she considered the name. Related to Warren then, she thought. Had to be. She started skimming, stopping periodically whenever something interesting came up. When she reached a section of black and white photographs, Jess smiled at several photos of a much younger, Warren Wilson. One was clearly a wedding day photo. Warren’s arm was slung around the shoulder of a beautiful young bride, and his expression was proud and hopeful. Another showed the young woman, now heavily pregnant, posing in front of a house. Jess leaned in and studied the picture closely. She was certain that the house was the very one that she was in right now. The next photo was Warren and his wife, now with a baby proudly held between them.

“Sweet,” Jess murmured, as she continued flipping through the pages, watching as the baby grew into a young teenager. Somewhere around that time, Jess realized that the mother had disappeared from the pictures, “Divorce?” she mused.

She continued scrolling through the manuscript, half- heartedly, until she came across the chapter titled, My Mother Was Murdered.

Jess’s eyebrows shot up, “Now this is interesting,” she said, as she rearranged the pillows and sat back against them, propping the laptop against her knees. She read quickly, and as she neared the end of the manuscript, her eyes flew over to the wardrobe, “No way,” she hissed, “No fucking way.”

A powerful fear swept over her. If what the manuscript said was true, then she should get out of the house immediately, only now she had to know. She just had to. She would never rest until she knew for sure.

Jess slid the laptop off onto the bed and stood up. She opened the wardrobe revealing her clothes hanging from a rod. On top of the rod was a small shelf where she had stored her luggage, and down below her clothes was where she had placed the few pairs of shoes she had brought. Now she pulled everything out and tossed it all haphazardly onto the bed. When it was empty, she stepped closer, looking into the shadowy interior, but there appeared to be nothing but a solid panel in the back. Jess leaned further inside and began to run her hand across the panel.

“Looking for something?” a familiar voice suddenly asked from behind her.

With a shriek of alarm, Jess stood upright and slammed her head hard against the inside of the wardrobe.

Before she could back out of the wardrobe, Jess’s arms were grabbed, and she was yanked out and tossed roughly onto the bed. Her eyes caught sight of the gun that Warren Wilson held pointed in her direction.

“I see you’ve been doing some snooping,” Warren chuckled, menacingly, “But why in there, my dear?”

Jess’s eyes automatically went to her computer, but it was hidden under the pile of clothes that she’d thrown on the bed. He couldn’t know about the flash drive then. Maybe she could bluff her way out. She attempted a welcoming smile, “Warren, I didn’t know you were coming. I… I was uh, I was just sorting through my uh, my things and you know… rearranging them…”

Warren scowled, “My wife was a writer. Did I mention that?”

Jess slowly shook her head, as she considered the stupidity of attempting to make a move for the door.

“Well, she was. An awful one at that. Filling page after page with lies about me. I stopped her though. I stopped her good.”

Alarmed by the crazed look in Warren’s eyes, Jess tried to feel around for her phone. If she could just find it, maybe she could press the side buttons and contact the police. She sat upright, “I never even knew you were married, Warren.” she tried to keep her tone conversational as she took the opportunity to move a pile of pants from under her leg, whilst also feeling for her phone or the knife.

“My daughter, unfortunately, decided to follow in her mother’s footsteps,” Warren momentarily looked sad, but then he shrugged, “Of course I had no choice but to put a stop to her lies as well.”

“You never mentioned her. I’m sure I would have remembered, Warren.” Jess wiggled a bit, sliding her hand under the mound of shirts on hangers.

“I know what you’re doing, Jess.” Warren suddenly lunged forward and grabbed her arm.

Jess yelped as his fingers bit into her arm. He yanked her upright and jabbed the gun into her ribcage as he came up behind her, encircling her neck with his other arm.

“You women always think you’re so smart, don’t you?” he hissed into her ear, “Thought you could pull one over on me.”

Gasping for breath, Jess reached up and tried to lower his arm away from her throat, but her movement only served to make him clench his arm even more. She tried to kick him, but he shoved the gun barrel forcefully into her side until she cried out from the pain.

Ignoring her, Warren shoved her forward as he moved them both towards the wardrobe. When they were standing right in front of it, he pulled the gun away but tightened his grip around her throat as he used his knuckles to rap against the side of the cabinet. The back panel suddenly slid off to the left, revealing a hidden room.

“Looking for that, weren’t you?” Warren growled into her ear.

Jess shook her head as best she could.

“Liar,” he snarled, “Why were you snooping, huh? Tell me!”

“I… I wasn’t,” Jess could barely get the words out, “I told you, I was just re…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Warren shoved her forward, into the small room. She fell to the floor as he came up behind her, “You’re a liar just like them.”

He reached down and pulled her head up, forcing her to look at the nearly decomposed body that was chained to a rail right in front of her.

Jess shrieked as she tried in vain to escape his grip, but he was surprisingly strong.

He hauled her to her feet, grabbed her by her hair and forced her to look at the other three skeletons chained around the room, “See what happens to liars, Jess?”

“No, no,” Jess tried to twist out of his arms as he moved her towards the rail, “Warren stop. Don’t do this…”

He lifted his arm and brought the gun down against the back of her head hard enough to make her see stars.

Jess blinked furiously as she tried to keep from passing out. If she did, she would surely wake up chained to the rail like the others. She wanted to cry, she wanted to beg for her life, but she had to stay calm and think. It was the only way she could save herself.

She had made herself a dead weight and Jess could hear Warren grunt from exertion as he fought to get her closer to the rail. Though her vision was blurry, she could see the length of chain and a handcuff hanging down. She knew he had prepared it for her, just as he’d obviously prepared for the ones that had come before her.

It was now or never. Jess steeled herself, and, with a burst of movement, she thrust upwards. As her entire body made contact, Warren released her as he slid off to the side and went down to his knees. Adrenaline pumped through Jess’s body, helping her to ignore the pain that exploded through the back of her head and all along her shoulders as she rounded on him. The gun had dropped out of his hand and she kicked at it, missed, and kicked at it again. It slid across the room just as he came to his senses and started to move.

Peripherally, Jess became aware of a clatter of noise coming from somewhere inside of the house, as she rushed Warren, intending to knock him back down, but in the scuffle, he managed to grab her legs and yank her down to the floor.

She flailed, pummeling him with her hands and legs, finally managing to free herself enough to crawl away, but she didn’t get far before him lunged after her. His weight dropped across the back of her legs but she could see the length of chain just in front of her and it drove her forward, pulling him right along with her as she drew closer.

Suddenly, she felt his weight lift off of her and she knew what he was about to do, but she didn’t turn around to try to fight him off. Instead, she grabbed the handcuff and the moment that she felt his hand grab her shoulder, Jess brought her hand up and slammed the cuff down on his wrist.

“Stop right there and raise your hands above your head!” a commanding voice suddenly boomed from behind them.

Warren lifted his hands and Jess fell away from him. She looked at the doorway where several police officers were rushing into the room. As they parted, a man stopped at the door, his face a mixture of outright fear, and hope.

“Ezra?” Jess whispered.

*

“But I don’t understand,” Jess lifted her eyes away from the paramedic long enough to glance at Ezra, standing at the door of the ambulance where she was getting checked over, “How did you know that I needed help?”

“Well, after you kept mentioning all of the weird things that kept happening here, I got worried, and I started doing some research. It wasn’t too difficult honestly. I put in the address here and it led to a five-year-old article about a writer that had disappeared in the area. Her name was Lara Montgomery.”

A tear slowly slid down Jess’s cheek as she thought of the women that had been chained in the room in the house behind them.

“She’d apparently told her father that she’d been offered a place to write by a friend at a writer’s conference…”

“Warren Wilson.”

“Obviously,” he agreed, “However, when his daughter failed to ever come home, the man finally decided to go to the police, but he didn’t have much to go on. He didn’t know what conference she had attended, or where the place that had been offered was located, so the police weren’t much help. It’s still an active missing person case.”

“Five years ago, so it had to have happened again more recently.” Jess scowled, remembering the decomposing body.

“There was another missing person case filed at the end of last year. A woman by the name of Avery Polantz. Another writer. Reported missing by a neighbor who lived in the apartment next door. She told the police that Avery had went to a writer’s conference in Connecticut, but it was never connected to Mystic, or, to Warren Wilson.”

“The other two are his wife and daughter,” Jess said, and then, “Wait,” she pushed the paramedic aside and stood up quickly, “The flash drive. I have to give it to the police. Warren’s daughter, Katherine, she found out that her dad had killed her mother. She’d been told her whole life that her mother had taken a lover and had abandoned them to go off with him. But she figured it out. She must have found the room and the… the skeleton of her mother. It’s all there on the flash drive.”

Ezra enveloped her in his arms, providing a safe harbor against the cold sea spray, and, even more importantly, her growing realization that she had nearly joined those poor women in the long, agonizing death that Warren had forced them to endure.

Through tears, Jess watched as the police brought Warren Wilson in handcuffs, out of the house and put him into the back of a patrol car.

She trembled and felt Ezra’s arms tighten soothingly around her, “I almost died.” she said.

“You did.” he said.

“But I stopped him.” she proclaimed, with a touch of pride straightening her spine.

“Damn straight you did.” Ezra affirmed, with a proud nod of his own.

Jess reached for his hand. She didn’t want to go back into that house of horrors again, but Katherine’s words deserved to be heard, and Warren Wilson deserved to die the same way that he’d forced those women to die, locked in a prison cell. He would too. She would make sure of it.

“