BREATHE.

By T.L Schick

Enter the shadowy realm of the supernatural as our heroine is faced with family secrets and self-discovery.

Follow the gripping story of a young girl who, after the tragic loss of her family, is forced to learn the lineage of witches coursing through

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.L.SCHICK
• Release date: Dec 1, 2023
• ISBN: 9781738200313

Book preview

Chapter 1

Breathe. That single word, that simple action, is one I have been told to do throughout my entire life. I guess I just assumed it was my mother’s way of soothing me. Little did I know it was the thing that kept me centered, in control, and everyone around me safe.

Life has dealt me a hand laden with tragedy and loss, and that instinctive reflex of breathing has gotten me through it all. Beginning with my mother’s untimely death in a tragic car accident when I was just fifteen, and then a few years later, my father succumbed to the clutches of cardiac arrest, leaving me bereft of his presence. And just last year, I endured the heart-wrenching blow of losing my little brother, leaving me as the sole survivor in a once tightly-knit family. Every moment had been etched with togetherness, for my parents revelled in our company, and we in theirs. A tower of solidarity, a sanctuary of completeness amidst a world of fractured connections.

My parents were very close to my brother and me; to say they were overprotective would be an understatement. We didn’t protest this. My brother and I adored our mother and father. Other children enjoyed sleepovers and extended visits with family, and we never had such things. However, I was never close enough to anyone to want an overnight stay, nor did we have any other family than just us four.

I have few friends, as my mother had always been my best friend, and I felt I needed nobody as much as I needed her. She and I did everything mothers and daughters do together: shopping, baking, and gardening. Looking back now, I was probably the only preteen who could identify a variety of herbs and know how to grow them. She taught me important life lessons and things irrelevant to my adult life, but they were great bonding experiences.

I think my mother would’ve liked my newest friend, Jess, who is also a private person, as I know very little about her. Like my mother, Jess is into internal energy forces and holistic healing, things that many people would consider airy-fairy shit. She says I have higher frequency energy, and that’s why people are drawn to me. I don’t know about all that stuff, but it’s as good a reason as any. Like my mother, Jess constantly tells me to take a deep breath whenever I’m out of sorts.

The earth heals all, my mother believed. She’d always make herbal DIY remedies for us if we ever got sick, and they seemed to work more effectively than my friends’ over-the-counter medicines. My father would always joke around about the pot she always used for the concoctions she’d make, saying it was her cauldron. My mother seemed a bit eccentric to the outside world, but to us, she was just our mother. The mother that made our happiness her number one priority, we never doubted how loved we were.

I have always been surrounded by people who love and care about me, no doubt about it, yet I still feel alone, like I’m missing something that everyone else has. A hole inside of me that nothing has been able to fill. I feel alone, it’s true, but I suppose we are all alone when we take our final breath, whether by choice or not. We don’t die with a buddy system, so being alone through all the breaths I take shouldn’t be so bad… right?

That thought forms a pit deep inside my stomach to reveal my longing to find passion and excitement. I hide behind my private life and calm personality often, and I have never shared with anyone, not even my best friend, that I long for a life full of adventure. I have always lacked excitement in my life, or maybe it’s that nothing excites me. I keep that feeling buried as deep as I can. I cling to the notion that the universe has a plan for us all… right? I will eventually find my purpose, but whenever I think about that, doubt settles in instantly. I can’t even settle into a career. Maybe it’s not my destiny to find… hmm, what’s the right word…desire? Yes, that’s the word. I sigh in defeat; my negative thoughts win again.

The only respite from this overwhelming feeling of isolation has been the feeling, or a premonition my mother called it, that something is coming, someone to save me from this lonely, monotonous, empty existence.

Here you are, Presly. I’m snapped back to the reality of sitting in a café. Ashley, one of the girls who works here, is holding the two drinks I ordered; she places them on the small round table in the corner where I often sit.

Thanks, Ashley. I force a smile, hoping she doesn’t notice just how down I am today.

She’s been here since I started coming a couple of years ago. I liked her immediately; her warm smile and bubbly personality, and not the annoying, over-the-top bubbly where you want to drown them in the nearest body of water. Plus, she knows my order, which makes me like her even more. I try to avoid conversations most of the time, especially in the morning, so her knowing what I want without telling her makes my life easier. Her memory of so many people’s orders never ceases to amaze me. I’m lucky if I remember to put on underwear half the time.

I come to the café practically every day because the vibe is chill, even when it’s bustling during lunch hour, and the staff are all friendly. The smell of fresh coffee in the air, two floor-to-ceiling glass walls that slide open in the summer to let in the warm breeze, and one wall is always covered in local artists’ work, mostly framed paintings. The best part is the opportunity to people watch, observing strangers’ day-to-day lives, wondering where they’re hurrying off to, and what gossip the women are sharing as they rush off to work. I especially like watching men, or should I say, trying to peer into their minds. I don’t know how their minds work; maybe that’s why I don’t trust them.

This distrust goes deeper than just men I know. I’m not sure why I don’t trust easily, but I have noted it many times. Maybe my upbringing had much to do with it. I often tell myself that I’ll work on it, and I genuinely mean to be more open to people, but a feeling inside me always stops me from letting people in.

I get this kind of flutter in my stomach that my mother would call intuition. I’m starting to think it’s paranoia. To make the paranoia worse, I’ve been… off lately. For weeks now, I feel as if I’m being watched, followed even. Seeing shadows out of the corner of my eye while walking alone or sitting on a park bench. A presence that I never felt until a few weeks ago, but now it’s becoming relentless.

I tell myself I’m just being crazy, and it’ll pass… deep down, I know I’m not being crazy; if I’m going to trust anyone, it’s myself. My gut tells me something isn’t as it was; I can see something following me, lurking around when I’m alone. I can’t see like a shadow, but I know something is there. Deep breath. Presly, focus on the good… this seems to be my mantra lately: focus on the good.

My thoughts are interrupted once more, this time by the sound of coffee cups clashing, the espresso machine whirring, and the man walking through the door. His attractiveness instantly strikes me, even though I only saw him briefly before he disappeared behind a line of people, leaving me searching the line of customers to get a better look at his face. The feeling my body is having in response to him is unnerving and new. My tummy fills with a fury of butterflies, ‘instincts. ‘ I hear my mother’s words echo through my mind… or anxiety as I begin to believe.

I turn back to my latte and refuse to allow myself another glimpse of him. The last thing I want is to be caught gawking. God, it’s been so long since I’ve been interested in even looking at a man; I wouldn’t know what to do if he looked back! I’d more than likely spill my latte in my lap.

Staring into my cup as if it held the world’s most interesting coffee, I feel an electric current pass through me, and it’s as if I know without a doubt that it’s his eyes on me and his gaze penetrating my very being. I pretend to survey the café, feigning interest in my surroundings while trying to find his face. Amongst a cluster of people waiting for their orders, he catches my eye and looks right at me. His icy blue orbs locked onto mine.

Feeling a surge of butterflies, their fluttering wings spread throughout my body, no longer confined to the pit of my stomach. I quickly avert my gaze back to my highly intriguing latte. Oh Presly, just look at him! My inner voice screams, urging me to steal another glance. But my self-consciousness holds me back; what if toothpaste residue is dried on my face or some other embarrassing flaw has caught his attention?

Desperate to catch any glimpse of him, I shift my attention to the window, hoping to catch his reflection, but it proves futile. Frustration wells up within me. This is absurd, I scold myself. I’m a grown-ass woman reduced to playing spy games. I shake my head in disbelief at my idiocy, only to witness him departing, his steps taking him past the window with a mischievous smirk on his impeccably handsome face, as if he’s just thought of something funny.

In that fleeting moment, as he almost disappears from view, I notice his suit, tailored to perfection and accentuating his incredibly fit physique. I find myself unconsciously gawking at his retreating figure. Yes, it’s clear—I desperately need a date. My inner self shakes her head at me.

As if sitting in a café with people standing around, waiting for you to leave your table, isn’t bad enough, but to be waiting for my perpetually late best friend is enough to make me scream. Sara is pushing my patience threshold today. Just as the thought enters my mind, Sara pushes the door open, her phone in hand, staring at her screen as usual. She’s in high-heeled knee-high boots; she wears heels a lot as she’s short, maybe 5‘3"if she’s lucky. She comes up just below my nose, and I tease her often about that.

She’s on her break and asked to meet for coffee, which means she needs to ask me something. She’s dressed perfectly for her office job as I sit here in yoga pants and a hoody. Her boots come to the bottom of her black pencil skirt, which is topped with an oversized thick cable knit cream-coloured sweater, and her hair is pulled into a low ponytail. She stands shaking the excess rain from her ... pink polka dot? Umbrella. I giggle, curious about that choice; she doesn’t usually wear bright colours, and polka dots seem a bit much for her.

Sara presents an image of professionalism during her work hours. However, on those cherished days of respite, she seamlessly mirrors my dishevelled aesthetic. Her hair, in unruly waves, nonchalantly gathered atop her head. Clad in a well-worn hoodie and adorned in snug-fitting yoga pants—ironically, neither of us partaking in the art of yoga—Sara and I prefer comfort over fashion. We both possess a keen sense of style but rarely awaken it, except for those rare occasions when the outside world beckons us to slip into a dress.

Sara and I have known each other since grade five, but we didn’t become close until after my mother’s passing; she’s like a sister to me, and I to her. We’ve been through a lot together; she was my rock when my parents were gone and when my brother died last year. She’s not convinced I’ve dealt with all the trauma that I’ve endured, but the truth is that I’ve been numb since the day my mom died.

Sara and I are viciously protective of each other, although I’m more the silent protector, where she can be vocal if someone is disrespectful. As strong as Sara is, she can be naïve regarding many things, like men. She’s too trusting and sees the best in everyone, even when the red flags are waving. Inevitably she ends up sucking back a bottle of vino on my couch as I tell her what an asshole he is and that she deserves better.

Sara casually makes her way to the table, knowing I’ve already ordered her a plain green tea.

Hey lady, what’s with the umbrella? Looking up at her quizzically, grinning at her bright pink polka dots.

Yeah, I know. I didn’t think it was going to rain, so I didn’t think to bring mine, and this was the only one I could find in the office. Don’t Laugh at me, she feigns anger, cheeks turning pink to match the umbrella.

Oh, I’m just teasing you. It’s a lovely pink to match your cheeks. I laugh. She scrunches her nose at me.

Sorry, I’m late, Presly. I opened an email before shutting down my computer, and you know how it goes some days. Anyways, how was your morning? I see that familiar look in her eyes, the one you give to people you think could possibly use a stay in the psychiatric ward.

Sara worries that I will go postal, insane… unhinged because I have so much free time. I spend more time alone than she deems healthy. The thing is, I enjoy my own company. I enjoy being in nature alone, letting my wandering feet loose. It is, after all, the best way to appreciate the great outdoors. Hard to hear the sounds of nature in the forest with someone chattering in your ear.

It’s fine, Sara. I’m way past used to your lack of punctuality. She clutches her heart dramatically.

My morning has been, as it always is, boring and quiet; I filled a couple of orders and walked them to the post office, I say, trying not to look so pitiful. As I tell her about my uneventful morning, she’s half-listening, glued to her phone. That’s another thing we don’t have in common: I lose my phone almost daily, or I should say, misplace it. I swear if she ever lost that thing, she’d need to go to detox for a month!

She sips her tea and stares at her screen, giving me the odd ‘mmhmm’ and ‘Oh ya.’ In Sara’s defence, I have nothing new to say or anything exciting to share. My life is quiet and noneventful …much like hers, with one difference, she’s confined to her nine-to-five.

On the other hand, I have no such thing. I Have a small online shop selling artisan soaps I make at home in my too-tiny kitchen. I do love making my own schedule. However, it doesn’t take up much of my time. I was also left with my parents’ estate after they passed, leaving me the privilege of not needing a conventional job and more money than I needed.

Sara, in her attempt to keep me sane, informs me whenever there’s a job opening in the building where she works. She thinks I won’t be so bored in life if I get a part-time job. The fact is, I’m not exactly bored. I’m just craving some excitement in my life, anything more exciting than what I do every single day—hiking in the woods or sitting on the park bench.

I’m in a rut where I don’t know what the hell I want out of life or what I want to do with it. I know one thing for certain, my heart and feet love to wander, and I wouldn’t be content behind a desk all day. For now, I’ll be content doing my own thing at my own pace, on my own time. Who knows what the future holds? Maybe one day, I’ll become a slave to the clock like almost everyone else. I shudder at the thought.

My attention is all over the place this morning, and I can’t keep my mind focused …I zone into Sara, who’s now rambling on about what we should do tomorrow night, which usually is just us going out for dinner or trying to find a live band we can see.

Well, what do you think? Hello? Earth to Presly. Sara’s irritated voice cuts through my thoughts.

Sorry, what were you saying? I manage to spit out.

What is going on with you? You seem so distracted… and not just today either, she says with deep concern. I sigh deeply; I don’t like the look of concern on her beautiful face. I hate it when she worries about me.

I don’t know, Sara. I… I feel as if I’m waiting for something to happen or… I don’t know. I trail off, not knowing how to explain this new feeling.

Have you tried what Jess suggested when you feel out of sorts? The meditation thing. She whispers like it’s something forbidden.

No, I haven’t, but maybe I’ll give it a shot. Trying to sound earnest. The truth is I have tried, and something feels off when I do. I know you’re supposed to be super relaxed and all that hippy-dippy stuff, but I almost feel like I have no control and hear… voices. I hear voices repeating the exact same phrase on a loop. I shake my head, trying to banish the residual voices that linger in my mind and shift my focus back on Sara. It sounds like I’m losing my mind, but I know I’m not.

So what were you saying? I ask, looking into Sara’s worried eyes.

The band… at Mixers? Sara sighs, widening her big blue eyes at me.

Oh, hmm, maybe. I try to sound interested.

Come on Pres, it’s a Friday night, and we need to get out! Have a life you know as adults do, she pleads with exaggerated puppy dog eyes. Oh boy, this girl makes me smile; I laugh at her shaking my head. There is no sense in arguing with Sara. She is tenacious. I have been a bit of a recluse. Lately, it’s this weather it’s so gloomy. Although I don’t mind the rain and cloud coverage, it’s been weeks that I have been living under an umbrella of dark clouds the mountains have trapped here.

Okay, you’re right, we should go out. Pick me up around seven? I say with the sweetest smile I can manage.

Perfect. Presly you’ll see we’ll have a good time! And maybe I’ll invite Jess and Mark to join. She glances up at me innocently.

Saaarraa, I whine, like a child, sagging in my chair.

Presly it’s been a while, I’m sure Mark is over it. She waves her hand absently.

Mark, an acquaintance and the roommate of our friend Jess, had apparently developed an infatuation with me. My attempts to gently convey my disinterest, even with his seductive smile and rugged good looks, did not go over well. He stubbornly clung to hope, refusing to heed my polite rejections. Frustration soon led me down the path of unambiguous honesty, where I bluntly expressed my lack of romantic inclination toward him. To my surprise, his response was far from graceful. Instead, it resembled the tantrums of a petulant child, complete with an uncomfortable and embarrassing display. What an asshat.

Ok, Sara, but if it gets awkward, I’m out, I say lightly. I don’t do drama, and she knows it.

Oh no, sweety, he’ll be leaving, not you, she says. With that, I’ll kick his ass look on her face.

Before I forget, have you talked to Mr. Grump about taking time off yet?

We’re planning a trip to a little oceanside town on Vancouver Island; we’d like to do a little storm-watching. I think it’s just what I need to get out of this rut I seem stuck in; ocean air brings me to life.

Dam it, no, not yet, but I will, she says, frustrated at herself. We know it won’t be a problem. He always says yes to Sara.

Ok, just make sure you do because I’m going with or without you, I say sternly, and I mean it. I need this getaway, the fresh ocean air, and new scenery—more for my sake than hers.

Are we going to try to get one of those beachfront cabins? The view of the storms would be freaking epic, she says excitedly.

Oh, absolutely we are. Only the best for us, I say with a wink.

Okay, I gotta get back to work. Enjoy the rest of your day, and Pres, get out of your head. She sounds concerned. She stands and leans to kiss my cheek.

Love you. I’ll text you later, I call as she walks away.

If you don’t lose your phone! she calls over her shoulder. She smiles softly and then rolls her eyes as she opens her pretty polka-dot umbrella.

I laugh out loud at her umbrella, and heads turn to me; I feel my cheeks flush with embarrassment. Real smooth Pres, way to avoid attention. Pulling my phone from my coat pocket, I bury my face in it to avoid eye contact for a moment. Perfect time to look up the cabins we want to stay in, and I’m pleased to see a couple left in our price range. Should I reserve now, just in case… yes, it’s probably best to get the cabin booked because I meant what I said; even if Sara can’t come, I’m going alone. Oh, how I love the ocean. It has such a calming effect on my soul. I imagine sitting curled up in a chair with a blanket and cup of cocoa, well, Irish cocoa, watching the rain and lightning light up the sky. I click the pay now button, and there we go. Everything is reserved for us to arrive in a couple of weeks; the thought washes over me, pure relaxation. I sigh.

Looking up from my phone, I notice the café‘s everyday low buzz of chatter is almost silent. The café is almost empty, except for a couple engrossed in a lovers spat in the far corner. The girl is pointing in his face, but her voice is low, his arms crossed as he leans back in the chair, looking not to care. Pfft, typical. Yep, I’m alone, but at least I’m not squabbling in public with a boyfriend. This is my feeble attempt to make myself feel good about being alone. Geez, how long have I been here? I wonder as I check my phone. I’ve been here for over an hour, hmm… I ponder if I should get another latte.

As I lean back in my chair, a cool breeze wash over me, causing a little shiver to run down my spine. But when I see who walks through the door, I forget all about the chill. Oh my Lord, this man is beyond gorgeous—the kind of man you see on the cover of magazines and dream about late at night. How have I seen two gorgeous men in one day? Is there some sort of hot man convention in town?

My jaw drops as I take in the amazing sight, my breath catching in my throat as my heart races. This man is tall, with an incredibly fit and toned body. He looks like he’s just come from a workout, and the sight of him sweaty and out of breath makes my stomach clench with desire. As I watch him, I can’t help but feel like I’m looking at a work of art - a masterpiece of masculinity and strength. His hair is tousled and damp, and that stubble on his jawline - it’s so sexy and rugged that I want to reach out and touch it.

I’m staring, but I can’t help myself; I feel like a lust-struck teenager. God, a little decorum, Presly… but this man is unlike anyone I’ve ever seen, and he completely captivates me. I can say with certainty that I’ve never been in lust before, but this man could change that. He’s from another planet; surely, no man is this perfect! I haven’t had any urges to satisfy myself lately, but sweet baby Jesus, this man makes me want to go home right now and do just that!

A simple grey-blue tee shirt clings to his muscular chest, straining around his perfectly defined biceps, grey shorts hang from his hips in that way that makes good girls have naughty thoughts, and there is a noticeable outline of his…I look up only to be met by his gaze, oh shit! I quickly avert my eyes… yep, he caught me, definitely caught me, of course, he did. I stared long enough like a pervert. I swallow hard, hoping he didn’t actually notice. I wish the earth would open up and swallow me right here, right now! Crash, the sound makes me almost jump out of my skin. A cup must have been dropped, but the sudden assault on my ears snaps me back to remind myself to keep calm, no big deal. Just the epitome of sexy, may or may not have caught me gawking.

I peek at him through my eyelashes, trying to be sly. His eyes meet mine with barely an acknowledgment of my existence … I think, but then there’s a brief smirk across his lips… his perfect lips.

I’m not surprised by his lack of acknowledgment, as I’m not noteworthy. Not to say I’m ugly or anything, self-love and all that crap, I’m pretty enough, I suppose. Better with makeup on point, but of course, I’m naked-faced this morning; why wouldn’t I be? The universe can’t let me look good on a day I see a man this… this… God-like. Ugh. Now, do I wait to leave or get out now? Yes, get out, my inner self shouts at me.

Mmmm, I can’t help but take another glance at him, sex on legs; I’m so weak. His brow is furrowed, and he shakes his head as if he heard something he couldn’t believe. He’s ordering a healthy smoothie as I suck back the rest of my sugar-filled latte, which is now cold. I notice Ashley trying to make polite conversation with Mr. Sex, and I can tell he’s not even trying to seem interested in the small talk; he appears to be very distracted. I realize I’m staring like a fool again when he glances over his shoulder at me, and I feel my face flush tomato red; oh my god, get me out of here.

I stand trying to put my jacket on as quickly as possible, and my phone falls, as if in slow motion, to the tiled floor and clatters so loudly that I think the arguing couple looks over. Why! Why! I scream at myself in my head. I’m staring at it, mortified, mad… like it was the phone’s fault for leaping out of my hand. I keep my eyes glued to my phone to keep from looking at him. I step towards it and see a hand reaching for it, a strong, slightly tan hand… no, no, no! I envision myself crawling under a rock somewhere dark and desolate where nobody can bear witness to my embarrassment.

I have no choice now but to face him, the man who could have caught me looking at his… his manhood. I look up to see him holding my phone out for me to grab; he barely even notices me. My inner self is laughing at me. Rude! Okay, Presly, you can do this; grab your phone. He glances at me almost impatiently, waiting for me to take my phone. I quickly take it from his hand, and his finger grazes mine. There is a very noticeable charge between us, almost electric. I flinch, and he yanks his hand away so fast I barely see it move; the flash across his face is that of utter annoyance.

Th- thank, thank you, I mutter as my throat threatens to close entirely. I sound like an idiot; why can’t I ever keep my cool? So awkward. Holy fuck, I’m flustered.

No problem. His tone is arctic, not looking me in the eye. He grabs his now-ready smoothie, turns, and walks out. Geez, what was his problem? It’s not like he had to pick it up. I’m very capable of retrieving my phone, and I feel annoyance wash over me. Ashley must have noticed the look of irritation on my face.

He’s not the friendliest man, Ashley says with a look of sympathy for me.

No shit. What’s his issue? I ask rhetorically. She chuckles as she wipes the counter.

"Well, Presly, you are a little… umm…" she looks up at me sheepishly.

Intimidating, Sandra calls out. Ashely and her laugh in harmony.

What? Me? I ask, astonished. How on earth am I intimidating? I keep to myself and am not exactly the confrontational type.

Sorry Presly, no offence intended; we thought that was… your thing, she says, grinning.

"Some people are just cowards, that’s all. It has nothing to do with me; they’re intimidated, I’m not intimidating," I say, flustered by this new information.

Sorry Presly, we stand corrected, Ashley says with an apologetic, slightly teasing smile.

Ya ya. I’ll see you, ladies, tomorrow.

Bye Presly, they sing in unison.

I wave with a smile to let them know I took no offence as I walk out into the cool, damp air and inhale deeply, tilting my head up to the mist falling from the sky, then looking around to see if I can see Mr. Sex anywhere. Nope, vanished into a nearby building, no doubt, never to be seen again. The thought of that makes my stomach turn, ugh, but why? I’ve seen hot men before; the man from earlier was almost as sexy. The memory of him flashes across my mind, giving me a slight shiver; something was off with that one, though, or so my instincts tell me. However, no man has come close to sex on legs. Why has this guy gotten under my skin? Maybe it’s because he barely noticed me…really? Am I that girl? Shaking my head, I scold myself. Geez, I need a long hike, I decide. That’s precisely what I’ll be doing after I walk back home. It’s not far from the café, and the walk will give me time to cool down.

That man was not only the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, but there was a quality I can’t put my finger on. I felt it when our fingers briefly touched. I wonder if he felt it, too? Is that why he pulled his hand back so fast? It was more than the electricity. I felt… more. The voice in my head tells me to let it go, but why? Is he dangerous? The thought makes my tummy react, fluttering away as it does often lately… intuition. Pushing it to the back of my mind, I focus on my prospective hike, smiling ear to ear at the thought of my feet hitting the forest floor.

Chapter 2

I’m a little more than damp by the time I reach the lobby of my building. I brush the raindrops off the sleeves of my raincoat, my half-assed attempt to dry myself off. I hadn’t thought to bring my umbrella this morning, so now I’m soaked head to toe, not that I noticed on the five-block walk home, still reeling from the encounter with this sexy man who barely took note of me.

Arrrg! I growl, checking my mailbox, scolding myself for getting so hung up on this. Why is it getting to me so much? I can’t reconcile this in my brain or my inner self, who is shaking her head at me with a mocking grin. I glare at her and shove her into the closet of my mind.

Just as I press the button to call the elevator, I hear footsteps approaching. They stop behind me, and I hear a noticeable throat clear. I turn to see Mrs. Stewart from the apartment down the hall, looking at the puddle at my feet. I let out a very noticeable sigh, turning back to the elevator, which is taking too long; the sooner I’m in, the sooner I’m rid of her.

Good morning, Mrs. Stewart, I say in my usual monotone when I’m forced to speak to her. Mrs. Stewart is a widower in her late 70s, I’d think, who has nothing better to do than bitch everyone out about anything and everything.

I forgot my umbrella this morning and incidentally got a bit wet on my trek home, I explain to the uppity cow.

Yes, I can see that. Tsk tsk, you must come back down and mop that up in case someone slips on it, she says haughtily.

We both enter the elevator, and she stabs at the giant glowing 4 with her perfectly manicured nail. Dark red nail polish adorns her nails, only highlighting her wrinkly, frail hands. I bet when she was younger, she was always well dressed, the kind of woman who did her hair and make-up before leaving the house… maybe that’s another reason she doesn’t like me. I’m usually an unkempt mess.

I wish I lived on the first floor right about now.

Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that on my way back out. I sigh, trying my best not to sound rude.

I’m sure you will, Miss Landry, she says oh so coolly as the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open. She exits and goes to the left, and I’m relieved to be turning right. Why must every exchange with this woman exhaust me? She’s never liked me; Mrs. Stewart thinks I do nothing with my time but ‘climb around in that forest’ as she puts it. It’s no secret to anyone who sees me around the building that I spend much time outdoors, and she believes I don’t work for a living. She’s on the board that runs our building, which means she knows who moves in and their background. The fact that I don’t fit into the conventional workforce somehow ruffles her feathers; I have no idea why. I pay my rent months in advance, which should be her only concern.

I’m relieved to get into my apartment without seeing another soul. My apartment is small but big enough for me to feel comfortable. It’s a 2-bedroom, one-bath, with a galley kitchen, which is fine by me as I’m not big on cooking, as evidenced by the stacked empty takeaway containers in the recycle bin. I have a large balcony off the living room, which is my favourite space in the apartment; I have a fantastic lake view that I can’t get enough of.

The décor flows seamlessly throughout the entire space, exuding a sense of tranquillity and sophistication. Every corner of the apartment seems to be touched by the sunlight.

The walls, painted in a pristine shade of white, create a canvas of purity, allowing the other elements in the room to shine. The white furniture, carefully selected for its comfort and clean lines, adds to the overall airiness and brightness.

Complementing the white palette, the pillows scattered tastefully across the furniture are adorned with delicate patterns and pale colours. Their subtle hues create a soothing visual, perfectly harmonizing with the overall ambiance. A touch of pale blue can be seen in the throws elegantly draped over the couch and chair. These gentle accents add a hint of serene colour to the otherwise predominantly white space, creating a tranquil oasis within the apartment. There’s an undeniable feeling of being wrapped in a fluffy, feminine cloud. The atmosphere is both inviting and calming, offering a respite from the chaos of the outside world.

Walking to the enormous glass sliding doors, I take in the view of the cloud-covered town and take a calming breath, and just like that, there he is, Mr. Sex invading my thoughts. Get out of my head! For fuck’s sake Presly, I scold myself before heading to change for my walk in the woods.

I slip into black fleece-lined yoga pants and a black hoody and pull on my light blue raincoat, my hiking uniform. I take a quick look at my reflection in the mirror. My blonde hair piled atop my head looks like I haven’t brushed it in a month, but that’s the fun of unruly hair. My cheeks are flushed a bright, rosy colour, and my eyes are more green than hazel today; they seem to change with my mood, I swear. Examining my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I guess this is as good as it gets today. I’m not even home ten minutes, and I’m back out the door; this isn’t usual for me. I find it hard to sit still, I guess.

Oh shit! The puddle, I remember. Just as I’m about to close the door, I dart into the kitchen, grab a pile of paper towels, and close the door behind me. Please don’t let me see anyone, I beg the universe.

Thank you, universe! I make it to the lobby to wipe up the puddle I left behind with no people in sight. I crumple the paper towel into a ball and make my best three-point shot into the trash bin by the door. Yes! I missed my calling as a basketball star; I laugh out loud at myself.

The rain has slowed to a steady soft drizzle, my favourite. I love this weather. Making my way to my car in the covered parkade, I think about my conversation with Sara. Yes, going out tomorrow night will be great. I haven’t seen Jess in a few weeks, catching up will be nice. Jess is always busy doing something for the community, volunteering at some place or another; she is a perpetual giver. I envy her dedication to people experiencing homelessness. She truly is a saint.

Hopping in my car, I make my way to the head of the trail I usually walk on. If someone wanted to kill me, it wouldn’t be hard. I’m a creature of habit, same walk, same café, same hiking trail. It’s not very unpredictable; yep, I’m definitely in a rut.

The trail is about a ten-minute drive from my apartment, and today, it seems a long drive—every light I hit turns red. I glance around as I wait at the seemingly never-ending traffic light, taking in my surroundings. And then, I see him - or at least I think I do. Is that Mr. Sex in the Jeep behind me? My heart skips a beat as I try to get a better look, but the drizzling rain makes it hard to see. I turn around in my seat, hoping for a better view through the back window, but my efforts are in vain. I can feel my heart racing, my palms becoming sweaty, and my mind racing with all sorts of wild fantasies.

I let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing my palms into my eyes to try and calm myself down. Why do I care so much? It’s not like I’d jump out of my car and say hello. And yet, the thought of him being so close, just a few feet away, is driving me insane. I try to shake off the feeling, but it’s no use. The anticipation is too much, and I can feel my body responding to the idea of him being so close. The light finally changes, and I hit the gas, eager to escape my thoughts and this mix of desire and confusion.

Finally, I see the trailhead and can’t wait to get out of my car; I feel claustrophobic here. I fling my door open, step out into the fresh, damp air, and let the cool raindrops calm my breathing. Tilting my face to the sky, I let out a deep, long sigh. Why the sudden panic? What is wrong with me? I really do need this hike today. I’m relieved that this trail is simple, and I’ve walked it so many times before that I could no doubt do it blindfolded. I check my pockets, ensuring I have everything from the car; locking it, I head out.

I’m relieved that there are few cars in the parking lot. This doesn’t surprise me as it’s a weekday, and most people are at work; man, I’m grateful for the freedom my business allows. Getting closer to the head of the trail, I see. Could it be the black jeep that was behind me at the light? Nah couldn’t be, could it? Huh, what would be the odds of that? I try and push the thought out of my mind, but Mr. Sex keeps popping in, taking over. What if that was him in the Jeep? I don’t want to run into him after he, more than likely, saw me noticing him and his … umm… package. I flush red and heat up at the memory. I ponder my options as I keep walking. I could return to my car and hit a different trail. Hmm, no, I’m fine here.

The ground is soft beneath my feet, wet and slightly slick. The sound of the rain dripping through the pine trees is one of my favourite sounds; the damp pine scent is heaven.

I’ve been walking for about an hour now and haven’t seen another person. I’m not complaining, but it’s strange as there were a couple cars in the lot. They may be way ahead of me, though, or lagging, as the conditions aren’t ideal for some.

I haven’t seen Mr. Sex, although I hadn’t really thought he was here. I’m startled out of my thoughts by a loud snap off to my right. Stopping, I look around. There aren’t any bears or anything around this area, maybe a deer? Or just a branch falling? A shiver runs down my spine. Stop being so jumpy for fuck’s sake, I tell myself angrily.

The fog is getting dense as I get higher up the mountain, making the trail up ahead all but disappear. Hmm, odd I still haven’t crossed paths with any hikers, and suddenly, that familiar feeling in my stomach is back like something is wrong. My logical mind tells me my gut feelings are nonsense and that I should ignore them, but my mother’s words are never far behind my doubt, ‘trust your gut, your instincts.’ If I’ve learned anything from my friend Jess, it’s that I shouldn’t ignore my gut, as it’s rarely wrong.

Suddenly, I feel like something is following too close, someone behind me, and I whip around to see… nothing… get a grip, Presly! There’s nothing following you out here. I’m being ridiculous.

I’m fine; breathe, just breathe. I inhale a long, deep breath. Oh, what is that smell? A powerful scent of… of I don’t know, it’s familiar…spicy? I’ve smelled this before. I’m certain of it. I inhale deeply once more, and my stomach tightens; I genuinely feel like I’m being followed… watched. Hunted. The voice in my head whispers, the voice I’ve come to believe is my mother’s. I should get the fuck out of here, and I’m not safe. I pick up my pace and feel something behind me; I know I’m not imagining this. ‘Run!’ My inner self screams, scaring the crap out of me. I bound forward as fast as my thick thighs will go, and within seconds, I violently slam into what feels like a rock wall and fall back on my ass.

Owe. I flinch at the literal pain in my ass. Preparing to hoist myself off the cold, wet ground, I feel something at my fingertips; yanking my hand back, I search for what it is.

Oh my gosh, are you ok? A concerned female’s voice asks from the fog; she kneels beside me.

Uh umm ya, yes. I sputter; I’m shaken. This tiny woman couldn’t weigh more than one hundred pounds. What the fuck did I run into?

Yes, I’m fine; I’m so sorry. I can hear how shaky my voice is.

Sorry for falling? The woman says with a little laugh. Don’t be silly.

For running into you? I say as I scramble to get up. She reaches for my hand, helping me to my shaky feet.

You didn’t. You were on the ground when I walked up, she says, confused.

Oh yes, sorry, just a bit shaken. I appreciate your help, I mutter, giving a little wave and nod as I start