Laurie Strode, wearing nothing but a hospital gown and an ace bandage around her ankle, crept out of her hiding place just when Michael Myers gut-dropped the nurse.
Sophia was back on the couch again, binging on her horror movie marathon for the night. This time she went for the triple scoop of Rocky Road, Strawberry Cheesecake, and Mint and chips. Her emotions were all over the place, which meant only the classic horror movies would do, starting with the original Halloween.
"Don't just stand there, stupid! Ruuunnnn," Sophia yelled at the screen. "Or limp if you have to."
Michael was doing his supersonic slow-fast walk behind a limping Laurie, and the creepy music just hit high drive when Sophia's ears perked up at the distinct sound of jingling keys.
Only it wasn't coming from the TV.
Shit. At some point, I'm going to have to find a healthier way to lick my wounds.
Sophia froze and reached for the remote control to lower the volume. Those damn movies were making her skittish. Her heart raced and she could feel her eyes widening while she listened for the sound again.
Immediately her mind went to Austin's last visit. How he popped up out of nowhere to make sure he’d thoroughly ruined her life. Her skin blazed at the memory of his smug smile. How he seemed to revel in being the bearer of hope-crushing bad news. For his sake, she prayed it better not be him—there were still a few jagged bones she intended to pick with him.
She waited and listened, every nerve ending in her body standing at attention. With the TV on mute, she heard nothing but the chirp of crickets and the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. It was practically killing her not to say is anyone there? If not for Laurie being chased by her crazed psycho lunatic brother right then, Sophia might have called aloud, hello? Only an idiot would do something so stupid. She watched enough movie murders to know the rules of stupidity and inevitable death by maniacal sociopaths.
Instead, she swiped her phone off the table and crept toward the formal dining room beside the front door. Ninja-like, she peeked out the window toward the driveway. A red sedan was parked right in front of her house.
At the static silence, the hairs on her arms stood up.
Sophia glared skyward, shaking her head. "Really? We're doing this?" she whisper-yelled. "You're adding home invasion to my list of shitty luck?" She didn't know anyone who owned a red car. The number of people she knew in Portland was limited. Other than anyone related to Everett, it was her lawyer, and Kara, who Sophia barely spoke to on account of the time she’d spent buried under Everett.
She let loose a spate of curse words as she turned away from the window, searching the darkness for anything to use as a makeshift weapon. Her weekender tote was packed and sitting by the door with her purse. There was the broom she abandoned mid-sweep after spilling cereal, a metal lamp, and the dang black pump heel she'd been looking for since Monday.
The doorknob rattled and the keys jingled again.
Ducking down, she crept toward her purse, digging out the small Swiss Army knife clipped to her key chain—a gift from Mom during one of her super dramatic moments after Sophia told her about a guy following her in the grocery store. Rather than argue, she humored her mother by putting it on the chain.
Damn it, she hated when Mom was right.
As soon as she heard the sound of a key slide into the lock and turn, Sophia stilled herself on the other side of the half-wall facing the foyer. She held the sharpest edge of the knife upward and held her breath as the front door creaked open and muffled footsteps scuffed quietly along the tiled floor.
"Shit," she mumbled under her breath. There was more than one pair of footsteps.
"Where's the bedroom?" a hushed female voice asked.
"Upstairs. Should we—"
Of course her phone would vibrate at the worst possible moment, giving her no other choice but to charge at her intruders. She blasted around the corner with a vengeance, knife pointed straight ahead, crouched in a fighting stance.
By no more than a hair, she missed filleting her mother and Julie as they unleashed a hail of ear-piercing, blood-curdling shrieks and giving any B-movie scream queen a run for her money.
"What are you guys trying to do to me?" Sophia tossed the knife onto the entry table, holding her heart.
"Us? You almost stabbed us. I was like this close to dying before I make it down the aisle." Julie brought her thumb and forefinger within a millimeter of each other. "You're lucky, too, because Nico would have killed you."
"Both of you hush, now. I knew in my bones this thing would come in handy at some point. I just wish you knew how to use it." Mom put her large tote bag on the table and rolled her paisley suitcase next to her daughter's sensible black one by the door.
Sophia took one look at the two of them and burst out laughing. They were both wearing all black, from their expensive rain boots to their hooded coats and leggings. "You guys are a hot mess, you know? What were you doing, casing the place? Staking it out?" She shook her head, rolling her eyes as she bit back a grin. "And you rented a car?"
"Well, if you answered any of our calls, we would have told you we were coming. But since you shut us out the way you always do, we got worried and figured we would either rescue you or surprise you.”
“By the looks of things, seems like we were successful with both," Julie chimed in as she peered into the living room, where Sophia’s movie marathon was set.
“Whatever, Jules. You guys are so annoying.”
"Aunt Helen, don't let her fool you. She's happy to see us. She's just moping right now." Julie pursed her lips and gave Sophia a telling look. It screamed don't even try to deny it. "Anyway, I would be willing to make a sizable wager that your predictable daughter has been stewing in her own filth on the couch watching axe-murderers and eating Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream. Am I right, Soph?" She gave her a condescending double pat on the shoulder as she waltzed into the living room toward the aforementioned scene of the crime.
Sophia loudly sucked her teeth and folded her arms, but she didn't deny it. "Whatever, Jules. You should try it. It works."
God, Sophia loved the way a good gut-wrenching, blood-racing flick could help put things into perspective. Mere heartbreak and eviction weren’t even a blip on the radar compared to a murderer chasing you when it came to worries. Sure, she was going to have to uproot her life for the second time in less than two months, but she wasn't being hunted. She was alive and well.
Well, a shell of her old self, but alive with mostly regular vital signs.
"I know I'm right. And it's exactly why we're here. You're not going to shut down again." Her cousin was still talking from the other room. She could see her turning on lights and beginning to unravel the fluffy cloud of blankets Sophia was huddled in just a few minutes earlier.
"Oh, honey. Is this what you've been doing up here? Crying?"
"No." Yes.
From the living room, Julie cosigned, "Yes."
"Mind your own business, please." Sophia's perfunctory smile was there, etched in place. The only problem was, it only worked on people who’d never seen her in diapers or taken baths with her when they were toddlers.
Naturally Mom slapped on her mother mask, the one with the pointed stare and tilted head. The you came out of my womb, so I know you better than anyone else on this earth look. "Why don't we go sit down and talk about the hearing? You may not be ready now, but at some point"—she paused briefly for exaggerated emphasis, and to lift Sophia's chin so they were looking at each other eye-to-eye—"I'm going to need you to tell me about this fella who’s got you all bent out of shape."
It was one thing to talk about Everett with Julie, but Mom?
Her mother tended to be cautious, to say the least. When it came down to it, she was worse than the CIA, the way she could scrounge up insignificant minutia and drag out a man's demons. Every man Sophia ever dated was, for some period, accused of having some strange affliction Mom felt it necessary to comment upon. Stuff out of left field, like a womanizing male chauvinist look, or serial killer eyes. And not once did Mom ever explain any specific criteria that led to her conclusions. She all but attacked Evan Landers in high school, practically strip-searching him because she was dead set on the idea that he was hiding a gun in his pants. Heaven forbid he admit he just dry-humped her daughter on the porch, resulting in a rather sizable stiffy.
Given her mom’s tendency to jump the gun, Sophia was curious to see exactly which outlandish pigeonhole Everett would be shoved into. She almost laughed aloud at the idea, but then she remembered the reality of just how bad things were in the courtroom.
"There's really nothing left to tell." Sophia shrugged.
She didn't want to think about how it felt like a million miles and a lifetime were between her and Everett seated at opposite ends of the same table. How she felt the weight of his gaze crashing down on her the whole time. If they couldn't come to a meeting of the minds, she certainly couldn't meet his eyes.
"Oh, come on now, Strawberry Cheesecake and Halloween? He must really be something."
"He was. Past tense, meaning he isn't anymore, so can we drop it?"
Mom's chin fell to her chest, and when she looked up again a faint smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. "I know you didn't get this house. I can tell you're back there at the old house, and it feels like your father leaving all over again, but this is not the same. Your father was just selfish, but Julie says your guy did everything he could to do right by you in the courtroom."
Tears pricked at Sophia's eyes.
Everett did find every possible way to add in concessions, making sure the judge knew Austin willingly agreed on the divorce settlement with full knowledge his ownership was in question. Both with the move-out extension and his determination to point out the flaws in Austin's character, Everett brought everything to light. Together, he and Mike got the judge to amend the previous settlement and order Austin to pay Sophia the value of the property.
But the cherry on top of the rum raisin ice cream?
Based on the new documentation Mike presented regarding the Harman family's history of targeting elderly homeowners with financial difficulties, the judge reviewed the five other claims settled out of court, and the accusations of embezzlement in Austin's personal and business affairs, and he recommended initiating a new case against Austin.
It was good news.
Maybe even the best-case scenario.
"He did," Sophia whispered. "But how can I trust him now?"
Knowing her ex-husband was at the center of all this turmoil couldn't weld the rift ruptured between her and Everett. Every time Everett spoke, her throat closed in around the lump lodged there. Every time she felt her skin crawl with the undying need for him to touch her just once more, a shift traced the fault lines in her heart, and she knew it wouldn't be long before it caused irreparable damage.
He did what was right and maintained his loyalty to his family. And although Sophia knew she shouldn't fault him for something he was fighting before she came along, she couldn't shake the fact he did exactly what she was afraid he would do. He let their good thing come to an end. Like her father, he took away everything with any meaning to her and left her to rely on herself.
So, in two days, she'd be on the first-thing flying back to Vegas, heading out with Mom's realtor in search of a cocoon where she could start anew. Again.
Sophia bit the inside of her cheeks to steady her nerves. She was bent out of shape, and she couldn't imagine in a thousand years how she was going to untie the knots twisting in her gut. It was all the flipping and flopping back and forth about running to Everett and shoving him away. It was seeing her mother here in the flesh, in the house she’d condemned before ever stepping foot inside.
Not even a couple of months ago Mom foretold this ending. And once again, Mom was right, and it pissed Sophia off—just a teensy bit.
She slowly blew out a small breath and looked into her mother's smiling eyes. "You should be happy. Looks like you're getting exactly what you want," Sophia said, her voice low and shaky.
"Honey, what on earth are you talking about?"
"The bet, or the pact. Whatever you want to call it, I know it's why you're here. Well, guess what? You win. I'm going back to Vegas, where you can keep tabs on me, and you didn't even have to wait six months."
Out of the corner of his eye, Everett could see Mike sit up straighter as they parked next to the curb in front of Monroe Manor, his father's showpiece of an estate. As they got out of the truck and stood shoulder to shoulder at the edge of the sprawling green lawn, there was something freeing about seeing the sold sign staked in the ground.
The smell of flowers and freshly cut grass whirled in the open air, natural and sweet. In all shades of pink, red, and yellow, they were blossoming, almost like they were finally free to bloom without Joseph haunting them.
Everett stood taller, his shoulders squared instinctively.
"Man, the pictures do nothing for this place." Mike cocked his head, and Everett recognized the mesmerized light in his eyes. Like a moth to a flame—you want to look away, but you can't. He felt the same way once.
When he first tried his hand at real estate, the cookie-cutter home designs of suburbia wouldn't do for Everett. Not the closely-packed garage-mahals with their curb appeal suffering at the expense of gigantic garages almost as big as the homes themselves. No, no bungalow, colonial, or Craftsman could measure up in his mind back then. Like Joseph Monroe, he needed his own namesake Antilia or Biltmore to carry on a yet-to-be-determined legacy. It needed to be the same red brick Southern or Georgian style, with shuttered windows and pearly white columns sectioning the home into quadrants. He wanted the clout of owning an impressive eight- to ten-thousand-square-foot home, even if he had no intention of filling its rooms.
Everett was dead set on becoming a man Joseph could see fit to call his son. Since Babs died, and now knowing what it felt like to go home to Sophia, it wasn't about the square footage or the showpiece any longer. He wanted more than beautiful surfaces. He wanted to decorate and fill every room of a simply stated, loving home. He wanted to share Patton Place with Sophia.
Everett inhaled and waved his hand in front of Mike's entranced face. "It's only an illusion. Don't fall for it."
"That’s what you keep telling me." Mike's gaze was unblinking.
Everett watched him glide toward the glossy black door with the brass knocker centered below the peephole. He swallowed back the memories. "Go ahead and knock. I'm right behind you." But he hung back, thinking about how long it had taken him to get here.
By the year Everett turned eighteen, he was no longer the starry-eyed, scrawny kid waiting up for his dad to come back for him. A full-ride academic scholarship to State, a freshly-painted and rebuilt Mustang, and buzz about a promising football career later, he showed up at his father’s house with his chin held considerably higher. He figured if everyone else bought into the hype, maybe Joseph Monroe wasn't exempt.
He went there with an inflated chest, finally believing he was enough. Like the stamp of approval he received everywhere else would somehow translate to the acceptance and pride he so longed to see in his father’s eyes when he looked at him instead of his new family.
So naive he believed he was finally the son a parent couldn't reject.
He bounded up the steps to the only glossy black door in a scarce sea of sensible slate grey and navy blue ones, feeling invincible. He stood on the porch, careful not to rouse the sleepy neighborhood, brimming with eager anticipation. But before he could lift his hand to the knocker, Joseph swung the door open and jumped down his throat, letting him know just how much thinner blood was than water. This man, who happened to share the same bloodline, heavy brow, square jaw, and dusky skin, saw fit to twist the angular lines of his face in loathsome anger. He was the same man, the mirror image. But they weren't family.
At least, Everett wasn't included in his.
Not even close.
Stupidly, after the door shut with him alone on the outside, he made his way to the line in the sidewalk facing the house, plotting and planning what it would take to cross over—to belong there. From then on, until Babs instilled the importance of family and loyalty in him, he navigated his life around the same coordinate on the map.
You’re not him. You wouldn't do that to her, I know you.
"You coming, or what?" Mike asked.
Everett frowned down at his feet cemented on the pavement. There was the line drawn between the sidewalk and the first step to the house. It felt more like a gorge not so long ago. His shoes toed the edge of the line, almost as if he knew it was a point of no return. Like crossing it would have some undisclosed, significant meaning.
He balled and unballed his fists, cracking his knuckles as he shifted on his feet. Strangely, his heartbeat was steady at a comfortable rhythm. Everett couldn't get Mike's eye-rolling comment out of his mind.
He's been dead for two years. What's he going to do, call the cops? Babs?
The loud rap of metal on metal ripped him out of his thoughts. He lifted his chin to find his friend inspecting the structure up close and personal. Then Mike turned to look at him, his brows bobbing with excitement. "They don't even have a doorbell." He snickered. "Old school all the way."
Everett smiled back absently.
I knew you loved her. Now I know just how much.
He stifled a grin at Mike's amusement and remembered why he was there. He never replied to his half-brother, but assumed the invitation was still good. Along with taking all his own belongings, Joseph stole Everett's dreams. Or, at least the dreams Babs tucked away in a small wooden box for him. She said it wasn't fair for only girls to get hope chests. It was just how she was, fair and full of life and love. Babs called it the dream-catcher because she said boys needed a place to put their dreams too. He just hoped it would help him catch his new dream.
Right now he would give anything for some advice from his grandmother. She would know what he should do about Sophia. Babs would know how to unbreak Sophia’s heart. How to show her how much she meant to him. Somehow let her know crossed lines didn't always have to be about the end—it could be a new start.
With the thought firmly rooted in his mind, Everett crossed the line on the sidewalk. When the door opened, he almost staggered back. His muscles tightened and the sound of his heavy heartbeat thudded in his ears.
Mike's eyes moved back and forth between Everett and the man at the door, who could only be Joseph Jr.
The similarity was uncanny, as if time ticked backward. As if history was rewritten and he was eighteen again, standing in the same spot, waiting for his father's welcome. The man stepped out into the setting sun, and the glare highlighted the warm, dark brown lines of his arched brow and square jaw. If Everett didn't have a certified copy of his father's death certificate filed in his cabinet at home, he wouldn't believe his own eyes.
"Everett?" Joseph Jr. asked, with the same husky rasp to his voice as their father.
When Everett said nothing, the man moved in closer. "I'm Joseph. Joe junior," he clarified with a shrug. "You got my message, then. I'm so glad you finally came. And I know you're here for your grandmother's box, but you're welcome to stay for a while."
Welcome.
The word hung in the air, buoyant and shocking, an unassuming olive branch. Everett took a deep breath and nodded his thanks for Joe's invitation before he walked into the house.