The Swallow Read online

  The Swallow

  Marie Snow

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  THE SWALLOW

  By Marie Snow

  VISIT MARIE HERE

  Copyright © August 2020 by Marie Snow

  First E-book August 2020

  Cover Designer: Hang Le

  Editor: Kayla Robichaux

  Proof Editor: All Encompassing Books

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental. Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  Sometimes, you have to embrace the darkness to find the light.

  There was a time when Michelle Landry thought she had the perfect life. Happiness, love, they were in her grasp. But then loss and despair had her waking up and realizing the only thing she was guaranteed in life was a broken heart.

  The city of Stillwake was the chance for a new beginning. With her problems behind her and a fresh start in front of her, Michelle felt like she had purpose again... like she could be happy once more.

  Like she could love.

  But Stillwake had its own evils lurking, and it surrounded Michelle. With a string of serial killings making headlines, Michelle felt her tentatively healed world crashing around her.

  She started to wonder if maybe that darkness was coming back, threatening to pull her down further. She either had to fight for the surface, or just accept her life and let it take her under.

  Prologue

  The air sawed in and out of my lungs, this burning, aching feeling.

  If I could just get farther, maybe I’d lose the person chasing me; maybe I’d have a chance.

  I kept my vision straight ahead, my bare feet landing on twigs, snapping them as if they were nothing more than baby sparrow bones. I was oblivious to the way the branches moved along my skin, tearing at my flesh, the feel of warm blood slipping down my arms as I pushed away the limbs that were in my way.

  I had one focus.

  Survival.

  Pumping my arms and legs faster and harder, I pushed vines out of my path, stumbled before righting myself. The sound of his footsteps coming closer ricocheted off the trees like bullets, having my heart pump so hard all I could hear was that for a second.

  All I could see were lights flashing before my eyes, the threat of passing out like a lover’s caress. But it wasn’t sweet and warm. It was cold and icy, wrapping its fingers around my throat, squeezing tighter until I gasped for air, my throat so tight I couldn’t even cry out for help.

  I looked over my shoulder, the darkness masking everything like a thick blanket, small pieces of silvery moonlight coming through the canopy of branches. I heard the person but couldn’t see them. And so I ran harder and faster. The pain from the debris dug into the bare soles of my feet, clawing its way up my legs.

  I kept telling myself over and over again I had to stay alive.

  I had to get away.

  And then I missed a step, my ankle twisting, a cry of pain finally spilling free from my mouth. I went down to my hands and knees, the steep decline having me roll down the hill, sticks and thorns scraping my bare arms and legs, my belly being revealed as my shirt rode up to my ribcage. I landed at the bottom, my head cracking on a rock, the sound of something breaking echoing in my ears, the rush and feel of water in my ears consuming every inch of me.

  But still, I tried to get up, to move.

  To survive.

  Movement was life. Movement was survival.

  I clawed at the ground, forcing myself to sit up, to keep going. The warm trickle of blood down my temple, the taste of it lining the crease of my mouth, was this coppery flavor that danced along my tongue, had the world spinning. And then I felt the person who’d finally caught up to me, their touch like the coldness that was promised right before death.

  They curled their fingers against my scalp, gripping my head back so my throat was bared. My mouth was open, my eyes wide. But no sound came out. Shadows concealed the person touching me, but then again, the very devil didn’t need to be seen to make his presence known.

  Hot tears leaked down my cheeks, the saltiness playing against my lips. “Please,” I whispered, holding out my arm, my fingers outstretched as if this person was a savior, as if pleading would give me mercy.

  But nothing was said. Instead, they leaned down so their face was close to mine. They reached out and ran a finger over the little hollow of my throat, down along the thin chain of my necklace, and finally lifted the little heart pendant at the end.

  As I gazed into eyes that seemed like black pools of death in this darkness, I stared at my own mortality. I saw my own death.

  They looked into my eyes, Satan watching me from the fiery pits of hell. They tore the chain easily from my neck, holding it up so it swung in front of my face like a pendulum. “I’m going to tear your heart from you, just like I did this pretty necklace.”

  And then their lips were on mine, forcing me to take their kiss. The acidic flavor of that kiss was more painful than anything I’d ever experienced in my life. And then there was agony, a feeling of a sharp blade moving across my throat, of my life spraying out, coating the forest floor. I knew my heart was next.

  And still, my killer kissed me, stole the last breath from my lungs. Stole my soul.

  1

  Michelle

  The scent of antiseptic, the kind that stings the nose and twists the stomach. The kind that is faux-clean, and you know it’s to hide death.

  The sound of air moving in and out from the ventilator, this noise that was never-ending, constant... the point of no return.

  Then there was the sight, that vision of lying in bed, ashen skin, sunken eyes... lifeless.

  It was those things playing on repeat, a broken record, a memory going around and around with no stop in sight. It consumed my every waking moment for the last six months.

  One hundred and eighty days since my mother passed away and the man I thought loved me left, because I was bringing him down.

  I couldn’t blame him. My despair and depression had gotten so bad I felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I was getting swallowed by the darkness. I knew he probably felt that way too. It was hard not to project that kind of negativity onto others in your life. So here I am now, moving into my new home. My new start.

  The scent of antiseptic, the kind that stings the nose and twists the stomach. The kind that is faux-clean, but you know it’s to hide inevitable death.

  I needed a change of scenery from the town of Creekside where I grew up.

  I needed something new.

  It would turn out for the best.

  The latter two were what everyone said when things tended to be different, when they wanted to assure you that everything would be okay. That’s what they told me after my mother died. That’s what I told myself when I decided I was going to move.

  And I told myself that over and over again, that I was doing the right thing, that I wasn’t running from my problems, when doubt creeps in and I let fear try to take hold.

  But deep down, I knew that’s exactly what I was doing. Running.

  But I couldn’t stay there, live in the house I shared with my mother, where I watched her deteriorate. I couldn’t stand to be there another moment, not when the scent of her illness still filled the air, not when every time I went out, I got sympathetic looks from the neighbors.

  So, I said fuck it and packed up my belongings. I left my old life behind and planned on starting a n
ew one, one where no one knew me, wouldn’t give me those sad eyes when they saw me or offer me useless words like my mother was in a better place now.

  I wanted to be ambiguous, anonymous. I guess it was exactly what I got moving to Stillwake. I’d be no one, unknown in this city, a fixture moving intimately amongst strangers.

  It would give me the privacy I needed amongst thousands of people. It would make me invisible surrounded by people who had no idea who I was. It would be like I was by myself. And that’s what I wanted. Because six months of wondering if this feeling would ever leave, if the darkness would ever subside, had taken up too much of my life.

  I wanted it to be erased. I wanted to erase who I was, who I used to be. I might still be Michelle Landry, but I wanted to be absolutely nobody.

  I made a few more trips out to the moving van to grab the boxes, and once inside, I set them down and looked around my new one-bedroom apartment. It was cheap rent, so therefore not the greatest condition, with outdated appliances, shag carpet, and water stains on the ceiling, but it was perfect. It was nothing for a nobody.

  And the air was different here, colder, almost as if it froze as soon as I inhaled. It felt good, as if a part of myself was being expelled every time I breathed it out.

  I grabbed my purse and sat down at the crappy table that had come with the apartment. In fact, this apartment had been fully furnished, albeit with shitty, stained, and peeling furniture. But it had been one less thing I had to worry about.

  I reached in my purse and took out my wallet, my phone and keys, the few gas receipts I collected along the way here. As I started marking down how much I spent so far versus how much was in my savings account, the sound of my cell phone vibrating across the table had me stopping to look at it.

  I contemplated not answering the phone, but I knew it would just keep ringing. That’s what they did.

  I picked up my cell and hit the Accept button, bringing the phone to my ear and licking my suddenly dry lips. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. “Hello?”

  “Michelle?” The sound of Dr. Pelfrey’s voice was deep and calming.

  He’d always had that effect on me. Maybe that’s why it had been easy to talk to him about everything. Maybe that’s why it was hard for me to leave and only tell him in the most basic way possible.

  He helped me a lot over the last year, after my mother got diagnosed with brain cancer, as I was dealing with taking care of her, watching her deteriorate. As I felt my life unraveling.

  He helped me cope, understand what was going on. He helped me come to terms with the reason Lane had broken up with me after my mother passed. Helped me see that it didn’t reflect on me but with his own commitment issues. Dr. Pelfrey made me realize I had to focus on the here and now, to move forward one day at a time.

  “Hello, Dr. Pelfrey,” I said and leaned back in the chair, picking at a piece of the laminate that was starting to peel up on the corner of the table.

  “How was the move, Michelle? Hopefully as stress-free as it could be?”

  I nodded even though I knew he couldn’t see me then cleared my throat and sat up a little straighter. “It went fine. Long, but I kind of liked the silence and the deserted backroads.” There was a moment of silence, and I wondered if he was writing all this down.

  Technically, I wasn’t his patient any longer. He was three states away, which might as well have been on another planet. But I also knew we’d formed a bond over the last six months, and him checking up on me wasn’t in a therapist/patient manner, but as a friend who knew how fucked up I’d been with my thoughts and emotions, and who’d helped me survive through them.

  “Glad things went smoothly. Have you looked up any therapists in the area?”

  I was silent for a moment. The truth was, I didn’t know if I wanted to see another therapist. It was probably a stupid move on my part, but I felt better. It was as if as soon as I’d gotten into that moving van, my little Honda Civic hooked to the trailer behind it, I’d felt this weight lift off my shoulders, this freedom surround me.

  “I’m working on it,” I said, not an outright lie, but not the truth either.

  For the next five minutes, I listened to Dr. Pelfrey talk about the latest study he read, some exercises he wanted me to try if things got too hard for me, and then I was getting off the phone. I disconnected the call and set my cell down, staring at it for long seconds.

  “If things start to get too chaotic, Michelle, and you feel the world spiraling out of control, call me. Talk to me. I’m here for you and want to help you get through it.”

  I played what he said to me right before the line was disconnected over and over again.

  If the world is spiraling out of control.

  Wasn’t that how it always was? Wasn’t that life?

  Or maybe it was just my life.

  2

  Johnny

  I checked the time on my watch as I breathed out, expelling the cool air from my lungs. I made mile three quicker today, but then I was on a tight schedule this morning. I had a packed day. It’s not unusual, and this time of year is pretty normal when you own a landscaping business—the only one in Stillwake, actually. High demand and all that.

  With everyone calling in and wanting their trees pruned and secured for the winter, amongst a hundred other things, my days were packed. Pruning definitely wasn’t my favorite thing to do. I preferred planting, creating retaining walls, anything that required manual labor and helped me zone out. That seemed to make the day go faster.

  But my daily runs weren’t something I was willing to give up, so that meant getting up before the sun rose and starting my long workday.

  I rounded the corner to make the loop and head back to my place when I noticed the small blue house that had been empty until now. A large moving van sat in the driveway, the back open to show the cargo bed. I found myself stopping and standing there for a second, breathing out heavily, my hands on my waist. That house was about as shitty as they came, and the fact that someone was actually going to live in it surprised the hell out of me. In fact, our housing authority tried to take the owners to court for over a year to get it fixed up, that or demolished, because it brought the whole neighborhood down, not to mention declined the real estate for all the other homes. Obviously with someone now living in it, they hadn’t been successful.

  I could only hope that whoever the new renter was, they would at least fix it up. The yard could be really nice with some work. The landscaper and designer in me woke up at the prospect of how it could look with a little TLC. I could look at neglected lawns and envision the beauty pulled out of them.

  I liked that. I liked taking something ugly and controlling it, twisting and turning it into something with meaning. Something with purpose.

  I was about to continue my run back home when I noticed her. She was curvy, with hair that was this curled mass of intense dark-red locks piled up on top of her head. Even from the distance, I could see how alabaster her skin was. It was almost hypnotic to watch. Her body was thick and womanly, and it stirred the very male part of me. But what I noticed right away was that she walked like a woman who’d been beaten down.

  She could be beautiful, but it would take work, the right touch to bring it out, and a lot of confidence on her end.