Crimson E-Book

Kirsten Farris

• Herausgeber: Spines
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

"Crimson" unveils a tempestuous visit home where hidden tensions in a family's seemingly perfect world unravel. Sisters Sarah and Margaret confront their desires and fears, while young Charlie contends with his lineage's shadow. Betrayal, forbidden love, and the spectre of past decisions loom, forcing each character to face the darkness within themselves. This narrative intricately explores raw human emotion, the power of love, the darkness within us, the struggle for identity and redemption amidst life's chaos, entangling with an unexpected otherworldly presence looming in the shadows.

Leseprobe

Crimson

KIRSTEN FARRIS

Crimson

Kirsten Farris

Crimson

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2024 by Kirsten Farris

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,

is entirely coincidental.

Published by Spines

ISBN: 979-8-89383-635-6

Dedicated to Evan and Luke Farris

Kirsten Farris

Kirsten Farris is a talented artist, a painter for almost 20 years and an author in the drama/thriller genre. She is a champion for women artists/authors. With a background in Interior Design and motherhood, she discovered a passion for painting. Now, she is ready to share her novel "Crimson" that she wrote on train rides to and from college in Manhattan.

Prologue

Woken from a deep sleep she was sure she heard something loud coming from outside. The incoming gusting wind was banging something on the rooftop of the house. Was that the sound she heard?

The window was slightly open, and papers flickered up and down on the desk as the wind pushed air into the room. The silvery blue drapes rippled as gusts of wind blew forward. The wind whistled and howled as it whipped through the space. She felt nervous, and she clenched her blanket. She lifted her head above the blanket and peered out to quickly scan the room. Her sister lay silently in her bed.

Her sister's breathing was steady, undisturbed by the chaotic symphony playing outside their window. But she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of unseen eyes peering through the darkness. Every gust of wind seemed to carry a message, a warning that she couldn't quite understand.

The creaking of the old house intensified as the eerie wind continued to batter the walls. Shadows danced across the room, flickering ominously in the dim light. It was as if the house itself was alive, whispering secrets that she could not decipher. A sense of unease crept over her as she strained to hear what she thought was a heated commotion.

As the shadows deepened and the wind grew more frenzied, she knew that sleep would elude her tonight. A loud crashing sound echoed up the stairs.

She sat straight up in her bed. Out the window, she could see the long gravel driveway beneath the house, which stretched across the field, giving way to blackness. The trees were swaying heavily in the wind, whistling and cracking. Gusts of wind twisted the long, overgrown grass back and forth, bending and swaying it, almost as if they were going to break free. A horse was whining in the distance. "Is it only the storm that's making those sounds?" she thought to herself. Tension filled the air, mingling with the fear that crept up her spine like icy fingers in the night, as she strained to hear any other mysterious sounds that may be lurking in the darkness.

Her breath seemed to fill the room, her chest rising and falling with each heartbeat. Her sister, frozen in place, didn't even flinch as more loud noises erupted from below. The distant yelling grew more urgent, more menacing, yet remained incomprehensible to her ears. Who could it be shouting like that? The forceful wind outside howled mercilessly, rattling the window panes with increasing intensity.

Then, in a sudden burst of light, the sky illuminated as if struck by lightning. BANG! She sat up on her knees, stretching her body to see. She looked out the window again. A blinding silver glow enveloped the scene. The trees were swaying back and forth. The room felt suddenly suffocating, the air heavy with an unspoken threat. She wondered where all the oxygen had gone.

Bang! A deafening boom followed, its reverberations rippling through the night with a savage intensity that made her heart skip a beat. She was now breathing hard. Still, no rain fell from the ominous black clouds that now loomed threateningly in the moonlit sky, their edges tinged with a ghostly iridescence.

It was as if the heavens themselves were bracing for something foreboding, something unknown but undeniably sinister. At that moment, a shiver ran down her spine as a sense of dread settled in, casting a long shadow over her already uneasy heart.

Large clouds had now enveloped the moon, and she could no longer see the outline of the driveway. She could hardly make out the contours of the flowered wallpaper. The wind was still pumping through the window. The drapes seemed ghostly, swaying back and forth. A bright light filled the room, and then darkness. Intense booming sounds engulfed the black sky. Her heart raced with a mixture of fear and curiosity as she struggled to piece together the strange occurrences happening around her.

Screaming. She heard screaming. What should she do? The front door slammed against its frame. Again, yelling. Noises were coming from the front porch — stomping noises and then the crackling of thunder. With a sense of urgency, she threw the covers off, her heart racing as she ran towards the window. Desperation gnawed at her, compelling her to witness the unfolding commotion outside. Why had the clouds gathered so quickly? She saw a figure standing outside. The figure was illuminated by dim moonlight. She gasped in terror as she realized the figure was staring directly at her. Goosebumps erupted on her skin as she instinctively dropped her head, her hands trembling with fear. Was the figure pointing at her?

She turned around and looked behind her. What she saw made her blood run cold. The red object hanging in the closet was a tattered dress stained with what looked like dried blood. She blinked and realized it was just clothes. What? Panic gripped her as she noticed that she was sweating with fear. Her mind raced as she struggled to comprehend the sinister feelings enveloping her.

With a sudden burst of courage, she turned back to the window, ready to confront the mysterious figure outside. But to her horror, the figure was now lying on the ground. What should I do?

Before she could make sense of it all, she found herself on the floor, her elbow throbbing in pain. Blood trickled down from a deep cut just behind her elbow. Her sister had pulled her down, her eyes filled with fear and uncertainty. The atmosphere was charged with suspense, leaving her bewildered and on edge, unsure of what would happen next.

"You might be seen. Don't look out the window,"

She whispered urgently to her sister, her voice speaking in a hushed tone.

She struggled to pull herself free from her sister's grasp. Her sister was strong and determined, refusing to let her peek outside.

"Why won't you let me see?"

She questioned. Her curiosity mingling with trepidation.

Sounds from below were muffled, drowned out by the ominous drumming of the darkened sky.

"We should be careful. It's not safe,"

Her sister replied, her tone intense.

Then, in a moment of fleeting defiance, she managed to break free. As she did, a bolt of lightning tore through the darkness, illuminating the scene below for a brief instant.

As the woman lay on the muddy ground, limp, the woman’s eyes closed, a figure emerged from the side of the house. A tall, menacing silhouette stood motionless, obscured by darkness and the pounding rain. The sound of heavy footsteps approached her, echoing ominously in the stormy night.

The suspense hung heavy in the air. She looked with a final glance mingling with the rain and thunder, as the figure vanished into thin air. All she could say for sure was that she knew deep down that the nightmare haunting them was far from over.

CHAPTER1

Coming Home

"You seem upset."

"Yeah?" Her voice sounded unsettled.

"Tell me why you're feeling upset."

"I don't know why really." She shifted slightly.

"Try putting your finger on it."

"I don't know. I keep having more weird dreams."

"Ah."

"I keep having this really strange dream. I had it again last night," her body shivered as she thought about it.

"Unfortunately, I usually can't remember mine."

"Well, you will remember this dream."

"Tell me about it. Everything you can remember."

She paused for several seconds, trying to adjust to the light, while her eyes gazed around the dimly lit room. The room was filled with what seemed like grand furniture, nostalgia, and a hint of mystery. She slowly walked through the shadows to a desk that sat in the middle of the room. With a sense of curiosity, she picked up a notebook from the desk and tried to read the handwriting. Barely able to read the words, she placed the notebook back onto the desk, she tried to jog her memory as to why she was in this room, and why a rush of familiarity washed over her? The details remained just out of reach.

The dim glow made it hard to see the room's surroundings. The barely smoldering flames cast eerie shadows on the walls. She turned to the fireplace, determined to reignite the logs. Searching for a piece of paper to aid in lighting the fire, she rummaged through a stack of old letters on a nearby shelf. With a sense of excitement, she found a large, dusty envelope and tore off pieces to use as kindling.

Returning to the fireplace, she carefully held the paper near the simmering logs, watching as the paper and logs slowly reignited into a bustling flame. A warm glow spread throughout the room as the fire crackled to life, casting a comforting light around her. The room seemed to come alive with the dancing flames, illuminating the forgotten corners of the familiar yet eerie space.

There, in the gleaming light, was an old cognac leather chair. It looked comfortable. She felt tired, as if she had journeyed a long distance to get here. As she settled back into the cozy armchair by the fire, enveloped in its gentle warmth, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this room than meets the eye. Allowed herself to sink deeper into the inviting surroundings, eager to unravel the mysteries that lay hidden within its walls.

Sensing something familiar, she glanced around the room, trying to make sense of the situation. Had she been there before?

She couldn't help but wonder if she was imagining things. Wasn’t there a wood door there before? Maybe it was just a trick of the light, or perhaps she was more tired than she realized? But no, the door was now gone. Her heart started to race as a chill crept down her spine. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. After all, there must be a logical explanation for this...

Then she realizes that every time she blinks, something else disappears. She tries not to blink, but she can't stop herself. It was like a twisted game of hide-and-seek where everything she looks at fades away, leaving her with a growing sense of unease. She needs to

  find a way out of this before it's too late. Everything had now vanished except for the single light bulb hanging in the middle of the room. It cast long shadows on the bare walls, creating a surreal atmosphere. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves It's like something out of a horror movie.

This room did not resemble the one it was just a few moments ago. It stood barren now, except for a small wooden chair also in the middle of the room. She walks over and sits down, trying to gather her thoughts.

This chair was far less comfortable than the previous leather armchair. What is happening? How did I end up here? She tries to remember, but the memories are fuzzy, like a dream just out of reach.

Outside, she can hear muffled sounds, a stark contrast to the eerie quiet of this strange room. She wonders if anyone else is out there, if anyone even knows she's trapped in this doorless room. Her mind races with a million questions, but no answers seem to come.

She shifts in her seat, the wooden chair creaking beneath her. The light bulb above her swings gently, casting flickering shadows.It's mesmerizing in a way, the way the light plays against the darkness.

She closes her eyes, trying to block out the uncertainty that surrounds her.

She focuses on the soft hum of the light bulb, letting it lure her into a strange sense of calm. Maybe, just maybe, there is a way out of this?

Then the light goes out.

The woman leaned back in her chair. She looked puzzled.

"What do you think it means?"

"I don't know. You're the doctor."

The doctor smiled. She placed her hands on her lap on top of her notebook.

"Why do you think the dream bothers you so much?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe because I felt trapped, and I couldn't get out."

"Do you think you had another one of your panic attacks?"

"No."

"Are you still taking your medication?"

"Yes."

“Good. How have your headaches been lately?”

“Better.”

“Dreams are your subconscious way of dealing with day-to-day stress. Is there something recently that has made you feel trapped?”

“Nothing I can think of.”

“Okay. I'm sure this will work itself out. You're doing great. You should be proud of yourself.”

The doctor wrote something down in her notebook. Then she looked at her watch.

"Time is up. See you next time."

* * *

The water felt smooth and cool against her body as she sliced through the pool with elegant strokes. Gliding effortlessly, she moved quickly through its mass. Her mind focused on the rhythm of her breathing and the sound of water splashing around her.

She had been swimming since the age of seven. She was like a fish in water. It was a great stress reliever for her, and she was good at it, which was a bonus. She had earned a partial scholarship, which made her parents proud. Her father practically drooled all over himself when she got the acceptance letter.

Her heart was pounding in her chest as she neared the end of her swim. She had been swimming for almost an hour, and she only had a few more laps to go. As she propelled herself forward, her thoughts drifted to her upcoming trip home.

The semester had been long and tough, and she dreaded the thought of having to make up incomplete classes over the summer. Her visit home wasn't going to be a long visit, but she was determined to make the best of it. She knew she would have to deal with her father, who always had a way of pushing her buttons. It was his way or the highway.

Charlie, her boyfriend, only added to an already difficult situation. A few days of seeing him were better than nothing, she thought to herself. She felt like she could never make everyone happy. It felt like nothing she did was ever good enough. She seemed to always make someone mad.

She wanted to be excited to go home, to see her family, especially Charlie. Maybe things would go better than she was anticipating.

Pushing those nagging thoughts aside, she focused on the sensation of flowing through the water. The coolness of her skin was a welcome distraction from her worries. As she reached the end of her final lap, a sense of understanding washed over her. She would have to deal with whatever came her way. She emerged from the pool, the water dripping from her body, a smile playing on her lips. She was going to make the best of it no matter what happened.

* * *

“You ready?" Sarah asked, glancing over at her best friend, Lou, who was busy packing her bags in the trunk of her car.

"I think so," Lou replied. "I can't believe I'm not coming back."

Sarah chuckled, shaking her head. "I wish I could say the same thing. But hey, I'll be out of here soon enough."

Lou nodded. "Nothing like another few months of not working a real job."

"Well, at least I'll finally get to be with Charlie for a few days," Sarah cheered out loud. The anticipation had been building up for months, and now the moment had finally come. After eight months of being apart, she was on her way to reunite with her boyfriend, Charlie.

As they neared the airport, Sarah couldn't contain her excitement. Lou glanced over at her with a knowing smile, understanding the mixed emotions that Sarah was feeling. With the windows partially down, the wind ruffled through their hair, carrying with it a sense of freedom and adventure.

The airport parking lot was bustling with activity as they found a space and unloaded Sarah's belongings.

"What am I going to do without you, Lou?

"You might fall apart," Lou joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Sarah smiled, a mix of nostalgia and excitement crossing her face.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll find a way to survive without me." Lou poked Sarah in the arm.

Hugging Lou tightly, Sarah expressed her gratitude for all the support and friendship she had received throughout the year.

"Call me."

"I will."

With a last hug, she grabbed her luggage and headed towards the entrance.

Inside the airport, the sound of chatter and footsteps echoed around her. Sarah's heart hastened with anticipation as she navigated her way through the terminal. Finally, she reached the arrival gate. As the passengers began to disembark the plane at the gate, Sarah scanned the crowd eagerly, waiting to reunite with her loved ones and get home already. She also wanted to take a long, much-needed nap. She hadn't gotten much sleep these past few months. She was surprised that she hadn't gotten sick. Usually, when she didn't get enough sleep, she would end up in bed for a week.

Time seemed to slow down as they boarded the plane. So many people. The plane was much too crowded for her liking. People bumped into each other at every turn. She had unfortunately gotten a middle seat. She hoped that the people sitting next to her would leave her alone.

The only thing holding her together was knowing that she was going to see Charlie. She imagined herself giving him a big hug and a sloppy wet kiss. The long distance had only made their relationship weaker, and now she was ready to try to embark on a new chapter together with only one more obstacle to get over. Charlie wasn't happy about her having to go back to summer school. Neither were her parents.

As the plane was ready to take off, the pilot announced there was a slight delay. Sarah could already feel her impatience growing. The delay was frustrating enough, but the stifling heat inside the aircraft made it nearly unbearable. The promised quick fix had somehow spiraled into a seemingly endless wait, and Sarah found herself stuck next to an elderly man who seemed intent on sharing stories from his past.

"Almost there," the captain's voice crackled over the intercom, but Sarah doubted the veracity of that statement. The old man next to her had already shared a handful of anecdotes, each one more random than the last.

"You look like my granddaughter," he said, his eyes twinkling with nostalgia. "I would guess you are almost the same age."

Sarah, exhausted from the day's events, forced a smile. "I'm about to turn 21," she replied, hoping to steer the conversation towards a rapid conclusion.

The man chuckled, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "Ah, the legal drinking age," he mused. "I remember those days..."

Sarah felt her eyelids grow heavier with each passing second. She tried to focus on the man's words, but all she could think about was finding a way to escape the conversation and slip into a much-needed nap.

Suddenly, the man produced a faded photograph from his wallet, his wrinkled fingers tracing the outline of a young girl's face. "This is my sweet Cindy," he said wistfully.

Sarah couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man, despite her own fatigue.

“Do you see what I mean?” The old man said with a big smile.

Sarah didn’t see the resemblance except maybe for the color and length of their hair. “Yes, I do see it.” Sarah lied but didn’t want to hurt his feelings.

“Yes, yes.” He nodded. “Are you from Portland?”

Sarah smiled. "Yes, I am. Well...a small town outside Portland. It's where I grew up."

The man nodded. His curiosity was piqued. "So, you're going home?”

"Yes, for a short while. I have a few days off from college until I have to start summer school," Sarah explained.

"Oh, I see," the man replied, an understanding glint in his eyes. "I bet your parents can't wait to see you," he added.

Sarah's face lit up with a genuine smile. "Yes, they are excited to have me back."

The man leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "My brother lives in Portland. It's a beautiful place, Portland."

Sarah reminisces about her childhood in the small community of Gatewood, just a short drive away from the beautiful city of Portland. Nestled east of the Cascades, Gatewood was a picturesque town with a charm all its own. The air was moist, and the scent of Ponderosa pines lingered in the breeze, painting a serene backdrop for daily life.

One couldn't help but be awestruck by the vast forests that blanketed half the state, creating a peaceful and natural oasis. The majestic presence of Mount Hood, its snowy peak visible from afar, added a touch of magic to the landscape. It was a sight that never failed to captivate visitors and locals alike.

In Gatewood, simplicity reigns supreme. The residents, with their rustic charm and laid-back demeanor, lived a life connected to nature. The town's economy thrived on timber logging and wood products, fueling a sense of camaraderie among its hardworking community.

The architecture of Gatewood mirrored its surroundings, with wooden three-story buildings dotting the streets. Each structure stood as a testament to the town's reliance on the land and its resources, a homage to the beauty of craftsmanship rooted in tradition.

As Sarah continued to reminisce, she couldn't help but smile at the memories of her childhood in Gatewood. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, where the simple pleasures of life were cherished, and where the beauty of nature was an ever-present companion. And as she thought about the possibility of living in the vibrant city of Portland one day, she couldn't help but feel grateful for the contrast of their worlds - one steeped in tranquility, the other alive with urban energy.

Yes, Portland was a beautiful place, no doubt about it. But for Sarah, Gatewood would always hold a special place in her heart, a reminder of a simpler time and a slower pace of life that she cherished more than anything.

"My brother and his wife have lived there for almost thirty years. Have you ever heard of Lake Chinook?"

"Yes, I've been there many times with my family."

"Oh, my brother wants us to take a drive up there and stay overnight in a cabin."

"It's a beautiful lake."

She thought about the lake. A number of lakes that are fed from the mountain snow-tops in the spring are only a short drive away. The winding road to Lake Chinook twisted through the large pine forests until a blue, shimmery oasis appeared. Lake Chinook was her family's favorite spot when she was a young girl. Many of her childhood memories were formed there. She and her family always looked forward to camping at Lake Chinook every year.

The day had finally come. Her body was flooded with joy as their family's car made its way up the winding road towards Lake Chinook. She couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia creeping in. The familiar scent of pine trees filled the air, and the sound of birds chirping echoed through the forest. It was as if her youth had been preserved in this serene place.

When they arrived at the cabin by the lake, a rush of emotions overwhelmed her. Her whole family seemed happy. The sight of the crystal-clear waters reflecting the golden hues of the setting sun brought back a flood of memories. She could hear the laughter of her family, the crackling of the campfire, roasting marshmallows, catching lightning bugs in mason jars, and the soft lapping of the waves against the shore.

As quickly as they arrived, the time to leave came too soon. The following morning, as her family packed up to leave. She knew that lake would still be there in all its beauty when they came back the following year. It was more than just a beautiful lake. It was a repository of memories and a reminder of the joy and simplicity of her childhood. Those were good times, she thought.

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

"I have one sister."

"Are you the oldest?"

"No, I'm not. Margaret is sixteen months older than me."

"The two of you are close in age."

"Yes."

"It's nice to be close in age. My brother is almost five years younger, and I never got the chance to grow up with him. We try to stay close, but it's not the same." The old man sighed.

“Yes, I guess you’re right, but my sister and I fought a lot when we were younger. That was hard," Sarah said softly.

“Oh, I guess all brothers and sisters fight with each other, especially when it comes to getting their parents' attention. I was older so it wasn’t a big deal.”

“At least you are going to visit him. I’m sure he’s excited to see you.”

“Yes indeed.” His eyes lit up.

“Is your sister as pretty as you?”

Sarah blushed. “We really don’t look much alike.”

If he had met Margaret, she thought to herself, he would not have asked such a question. Why couldn’t she just be happy with his compliment? It made her mad. He probably wouldn’t think she was as pretty like Margaret.

Margaret has always been the epitome of beauty. She was the kind of girl who made heads turn wherever she went. With her long, straight blond hair and deep blue eyes, she resembled their mother so much that people often mistaken her for her. Her tall, slender figure and soft, natural features only added to her allure.

Sarah, on the other hand, took after her father. She had his pronounced features but inherited his friendly smile that softened her appearance. Her dark blonde hair was a stark contrast to her mother’s, yet she carried herself with a unique grace that was all her own. At least that’s what she told herself.

Sarah couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy whenever Margaret effortlessly stole the spotlight. Whether it was at school, family gatherings, or even just walking down the street, Margaret had a way of shining brighter than anyone else. Sarah admired her sister's talents and beauty, but deep down, she longed to be seen and appreciated for who she was.

Despite their differences, Sarah and Margaret shared a deep bond that transcended their rivalry. They laughed together, cried together, and stood by each other's side through thick and thin. As they navigated the trials and tribulations of life, Sarah realized that her sister's light only served to illuminate her own path.

One day, as the two sisters sat beneath the old oak in their front yard, Sarah mustered up the courage to voice her feelings for Margaret. "I've always admired you, sis," she began tentatively. "But sometimes, it's hard not to feel overshadowed by your brilliance."

Margaret's eyes softened as she listened to her sister's words. "Sarah, I never meant to make you feel that way," she replied gently. "You have your own unique gifts and strengths that make you shine in your own way. You don't need to compete with me or anyone else."

Sarah never truly believed that. It always felt like a competition.

"It's annoying," Sarah said out loud.

"What's annoying, dear?" the old man asked with concern.

Sarah laughed. "I was just talking to myself." She couldn't believe she had said that out loud, she thought to herself.

"Good to know that other people do the same thing."

Sarah smirked, slightly embarrassed.

* * *

When the plane finally took off, Sarah closed her eyes, grateful for the chance to escape into silence. The old man's voice faded into the background, replaced by the gentle hum of the engines. Despite the delay and the stuffy air, her thoughts drifted to Charlie.

She put her headphones on to deter anyone else from talking to her. She remembered a conversation she had with Lou several months back.

Sarah and Lou were sitting in a cozy café on a lazy Sunday afternoon, sipping their iced coffees. The sun was shining brightly outside, but a cloud seemed to hang over Sarah's head.

"Do you think you and Charlie will work things out?" Lou asked, concern etched on her face.

Sarah sighed, stirring her drink absentmindedly. "I don't know. He's been acting so weird lately."

"I thought you were going to talk to him about it," Lou prodded gently.

"I know, I was, but he always cuts the conversation short. Every time I start to bring it up, he says he needs to go," Sarah explained, frustration evident in her voice.

"That does seem weird," Lou mused, trying to wrap her head around Charlie's behavior.

"Yeah, it's been bothering me a lot. I can't seem to concentrate on my work. No wonder I'm doing so badly at school," Sarah confessed, looking down at her notebook filled with half-finished assignments. "I just keep thinking about what I might have done to cause him to be so distant. Come to think of it, he never calls me anymore."

Lou reached out and squeezed Sarah's hand in a comforting gesture. "Maybe he's just busy with his job."

Sarah raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Maybe. Maybe he's mad about me having to go to summer school."

"What did he say when you told him?" Lou inquired, curious to know Charlie's reaction.

"Nothing. That's just it, he didn't say a thing," Sarah admitted, feeling a sense of heaviness settle in her chest.

As the friends sat there, pondering the mystery of Charlie's strange behavior, a sense of unease lingered in the air. Sarah couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right in their relationship.

* * *

Sarah has been with Charlie for almost four and a half years now. They met when she was eighteen, and Charlie was twenty-two. From that moment, she felt like she had found her soulmate. They would spend hours talking about their future, dreaming of a life together. But there were always two obstacles standing in their way - her education and her dad.

Sarah's father insisted that she prioritize school above all else. As much as she loved Charlie, she knew that finishing her studies was important. Charlie understood this too. He knew that Sarah's father would never approve of their relationship if she neglected her education. So, he supported her decision to focus on school first.

However, when Sarah told Charlie that she had to attend summer school, he reacted differently than she expected. Instead of getting angry or causing a fight like he usually did when she had other commitments, Charlie simply said he couldn't talk any more. Sarah was taken aback by his response. She knew he struggled with sharing her time with anyone else besides him, especially because she was mostly gone during their four-and-a-half year courtship.

Sarah would somehow need to juggle her summer classes and her relationship with Charlie. She knew that something was off. She needed to have a serious conversation with him, but she was afraid of what his reaction would be this time.

The last hurdle they had turned out to be a complete disaster.

"What, you're not coming home?" Charlie's voice quivered with anger.

Sarah sighed, feeling the weight of guilt pressing down on her chest. "You know that old lady I always talk about? Well, she died last week. Lou is going to the funeral with me, and then we are going to drive down to her only daughter's house on Thanksgiving day. I volunteered to help her out with her mother's belongings."

"There's always an excuse. I'm sick and tired of this." "Please, Charlie. It's only one Thanksgiving."

Charlie's frustration was palpable over the phone. "Just one Thanksgiving," he muttered, his voice now strained with disappointment.

"I feel bad, but I think I should go. It's the right thing to do."

"So, coming home to see me isn't the right thing to do?"

"Of course, seeing you is the right thing to do, but this is different." Sarah stammered.

"This is different? I haven't seen you in months, and this is different?"

"Well, she died."

"Whatever?" Charlie hung up the phone.

Sarah snapped back to reality as she heard the old man sitting next to her speak out loud.

"Who designed these seats anyway? They never think of us old people. It's like we just don't exist."

"Well, I can see you clearly."

"I appreciate that."

The old man reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. He wiped his forehead and shoved the cloth back into his pocket.

“This is the captain speaking. We will land in approximately fifteen minutes. It’s a real nice day here in Portland, Oregon. It’s 72 degrees and sunny. Again, we want to thank you for choosing American Airlines. Hope you enjoy your stay. Flight attendants please prepare for arrival.”

The old man sat quietly with his eyes shut in his seat for the next fifteen minutes until it landed safely. His tense body finally relaxed.

"Hey, that wasn't so bad," Sarah said positively.

His irritated mood had suddenly changed. She smiled at him.

"No, not so bad."

"Don't like coming down."

"You don't like flying?"

"Flying is the easy part. Thinking about stopping a plane going at 350 mph kind of makes me a bit nervous."

Sarah nodded as she understood the impossibility of that. She was glad she wasn't the person designing the plane.

"You have a nice time visiting with your family. What is your name again, young lady?" he inquired.

"Sarah, Sarah Paige," she replied with a friendly smile.

"Sarah Paige? Oh... are you by any chance related to that fellow Robert Paige?" the man asked. His tone filled with intrigue.

Sarah's heart skipped a beat. She always felt a mix of pride and discomfort when others mentioned her father. Being the daughter of a successful businessman comes with its own set of challenges.

"Yes, he's my father," she replied, her voice soft.

"He is the owner of Paige Incorporated?" the man pressed on, his interest piqued.

"Yes, that's correct," Sarah confirmed, her gaze drifting downward.

The old man nodded thoughtfully, a look of admiration in his eyes.

"Your father is mighty impressive. I've read many articles about him and his company. "He knows his business," the man remarked, his voice filled with respect.

Sarah offered a shy smile, her cheeks flushing slightly at the unexpected praise.

"I suppose he does," she replied modestly.

"Well, it's been a pleasure talking to you, Sarah," the old man said, tipping his hat before turning to walk away.

As Sarah watched him leave, a sense of gratitude washed over her. Despite the assumptions and preconceptions that often came with her family’s name, she knew that at the end of the day, what truly mattered was that her father had worked hard to achieve his reputation.

CHAPTER2

Arrival

“Shit, it's an hour late."

Margaret knew she should have checked Sarah's flight status before she came to pick her up at the airport. Now she would have to kill time. She walked along the airport's corridor, going in and out of each shop. She hated airports. She hated the food, she hated the shops, and she hated all the people.

She picked up a magazine from the bookstore and studied the cover. The girl on the cover had barely anything on. She was pencil-thin, and her dark hair was long and straight. Margaret tried to imagine herself with dark hair. She closed her eyes. No, her skin would look too pale beneath its dark mass. Anyway, people would kill her for her natural blonde hair. What was she worried about anyway? As she placed the magazine back on the shelf, she noticed an art magazine. She walked toward it. "Le Art" was cleverly written on the cover, with a picture of a middle-aged woman. Margaret opened the magazine.

The article titled "The Woman of Many Palettes" caught Margaret's attention. "Emily Martin had found her true calling as a painter," the national magazine ran, praising her for coming into her own. Little did they know the journey that led her to this point.

As a little girl, Emily's heart was set on becoming a great painter. Her father, a talented artist who devoted his life to sharing his passion for art, was her greatest inspiration. He taught her everything he knew about color, brush strokes, and the magic of transforming a blank canvas into a masterpiece.

Emily would sit in awe for hours, watching her father work his magic. His hands created symphonies of color that danced across the canvas. She soaked in every lesson he imparted, every technique he shared, determined to follow in his footsteps and make her mark on the world.

Years passed, and life took Emily on a winding path with twists and turns. She embraced different careers, dabbled in various hobbies, and faced challenges that tested her strength and resilience. But deep down, the flicker of her childhood dream never faded. It beckoned her, urging her to pick up the brush and paint the world as she saw it in her soul.

And so, at sixty-one years of age, Emily Martin stood in her studio, surrounded by a palette of colors, her heart brimming with joy and gratitude. With each brushstroke, she poured her emotions onto the canvas, creating images that spoke of love, loss, hope, and the beauty of imperfection.

In a world that often overlooked the wisdom and creativity of those past their prime, Emily proved that true art knows no age. She was a living testament to the power of perseverance, passion, and the unyielding spirit of the human soul.

Margaret walked to the cashier and paid for the magazine.

* * *

As Margaret sat on the bench at the gate, tapping her foot impatiently, Sarah finally made her grand entrance. Despite the slight frown on her face, Margaret couldn't help but smirk - it was just so Sarah made an entrance like that. With her blue jeans and chunky black shoes, Sarah looked like she had just stepped out of a retro movie. Margaret couldn't help but appreciate her sister's unique style.

"Finally decided to join the living, huh?" Margaret teased, giving Sarah a playful nudge.

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh, spare me the dramatics, Marg. You act like I'm always late."

Margaret chuckled. "Well, let's just say punctuality isn't exactly your strong suit."

Sarah shot her a look before sitting down beside her, adjusting her red tank top and cardigan. "Hey, at least I made it, right?"

Margaret nodded. "True, true. Mom would be proud. You're lucky I didn't leave."

Sarah stood up after adjusting herself. She knew Margaret would do that. She was thankful that she didn't show up much later.

“You look tired?” Margaret stated, her voice filled with exhaustion as she dragged Sarah's suitcase behind her.

“You look tired too.”

"What do you have in this bag anyway?"

"Just a dead body."

"Gross. You carry your own bag." The bag dropped to the floor.

Sarah leaned over and picked up her bag, groaning as she lifted it.

"So, how was the flight?"

"The flight wasn't bad… well,it was long and crowded. I met this really nice old man. He said I reminded him of his granddaughter."

"Huh...the only person you look like is dad.”

"How are Mom and Dad?" Sarah asked nonchalantly, fiddling with her bag.

"Pretty much the same. Dad is as busy as usual. Mom's always off riding. I usually have the house to myself," Margaret said, scanning the airport for the right exit.

"Have you seen Charlie?" Sarah inquired, trying to catch up on the latest gossip from back home.

"Yeah, just the other day," Margaret replied.

"Did you talk to him?" Sarah asked nervously.

"No, I didn't get a chance. I just waved. I was in a hurry," Margaret replied.

"What was he doing?" Sarah probed, leaning in with curiosity.

"Sarah, how should I know?" Margaret retorted with a hint of annoyance, her impatience showing. Margaret was walking faster.

Sarah knew she wouldn't get any real answers. She felt like she was sprinting just to keep up with Margaret.

"So, have you been waiting long?" Sarah asked, breathing hard as she realized her bag was heavy.

"What do you think? Your plane was late," Margaret pointed out, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry," Sarah mumbled, guilt creeping into her voice.

"What are sisters for?" Margaret said with a wry smile.

CHAPTER3

Margaret

“It's always so pretty here, don't you think, Margaret?" said Sarah with a dreamy look in her eyes.

Margaret, who was lost in thought, replied, "What?"

"Pretty! The trees, the grass... you should paint this," Sarah exclaimed, nudging Margaret with a mischievous grin.

Margaret rolled her eyes and retorted, "Oh, please. Don't start that."

As they drove out onto the interstate from the airport, Sarah marveled at the lush countryside, while Margaret focused on the winding road ahead, covered in shades of pine trees. The hills rose majestically, and the trees seemed to touch the sky.

Sarah turned to Margaret, her tone light and witty, "You know, Margaret, if we ever get lost in these woods, we can just follow the scent of pine and find our way back."

Margaret chuckled, "Or we can just use Google Maps like normal people."

Sarah looked around. Margaret's once pristine white Beemer had transformed into a chaotic wasteland of clutter, a true reflection of the disarray in her life. As she navigated through the maze of magazines, coffee cups, and candy wrappers in her car, Sarah couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

Her dad, always the optimist, praised her for her dedication to her studies, blissfully unaware of the messy reality that resided within Margaret's car. He affectionately referred to it as her "reward," a humorous contrast to the chaos that Margaret had created.

The CDs and crumpled papers that littered her center console seemed to mock her past self - the vigilant guardian of her beloved car's squeaky-clean splendor. No longer did she forbid anyone from feasting or imbibing within, nor did she stand guard against any potential unauthorized drivers. Her once meticulous routine of weekly car washes and vacuuming had been replaced by an apathetic acceptance of the accumulating dirt and grime that now adorned her once pristine chariot.

As Margaret drove through the city streets, her car now a mobile monument to "I live in my car," she couldn't help but smile at the irony of it all. Perhaps, in the midst of her cluttered car and cluttered life, she had found a new kind of freedom - a freedom to embrace the chaos, to revel in the messiness of it all, and to find humor in the absurdity of her once meticulously orderly existence.

"So, you want me to help you clean your car while I'm home?" Margaret gave Sarah the evil eye.

"What's that?" Sarah asked, feigning innocence.

"What's what?" Margaret replied, playing along.

"That magazine? It's a picture of Emily." Sarah pointed out, a hint of excitement in her voice.

"No duh." Margaret retorted, rolling her eyes.

Sarah's excitement continued. "This is great. It talks about her life. Where did you find this? I've never heard of this magazine."

"I bought it at the airport," Margaret explained, a mischievous grin creeping across her face.

“When?”

“Just now when I was waiting for you.”

“I didn’t see it.”

“I had it under my jacket.”

“So, you were hiding it?”

“No.” Margaret said it sarcastically.

"Are you going to tell mom and dad about this?" Sarah asked, her tone dripping with false concern.

Margaret's face was red from boiling frustration. She shot a sharp glance at Sarah, who was sitting next to her, oblivious to the storm brewing inside Margaret.

“Absolutely not, and you’re not going to say anything about it. Is that clear? I don’t need them nagging me any more than they already are.”

"Your secret is safe with me."

"It better be."

"Geez," Margaret muttered under her breath, struggling to keep her cool.

"It's still impressive. I'm glad for Emily. You don't seem happy for her."

"So, I should be happy?"

Sarah, always the instigator, had somehow managed to steer the conversation towards Emily's recent art exhibition – a topic that Margaret had been avoiding like the plague. As the conversation veered towards discussing Emily's success, Margaret felt a pang of inadequacy creeping in. Emily's recent achievements had cast a long shadow over Margaret's own artistic journey.

Attempting to distract herself from the overwhelming wave of emotions, Margaret reached over and cranked up the music playing in the background. The loud beats filled the small car space, momentarily drowning out the noise in her head.

"Sorry, Margaret. I wasn't trying to make you mad."

"Yeah, whatever."

"I was just surprised. Why did you buy the magazine if it made you so mad?"

"I don't know.”

“Do we have to talk about this?"

Sarah shifted her body and changed the subject: "No... So, what was Charlie doing when you saw him?"

"Um... I think he was in his truck."

"You think?"

"No, he was in his truck."

"Oh."

"Don't you talk to Charlie? He is your boyfriend?"

"Yeah, we talked. I'm just excited to see him."

Sarah suddenly felt nervous. She hoped that he was looking forward to seeing her, but she doubted it after the way he had been acting towards her.

"Are you seeing Charlie tonight after Dad gives you one of his lectures?"

"Is Dad pissed?"

"I try not to talk to him. He's always mad at me."

"Really?"

"You and Charlie should go out so you don't have to deal with him."

"I know, but I really just feel like staying home. I thought I'd invite him over after dinner. If he calls."

"If he calls?"

Sarah couldn't help but smirk as she remembered the buzz that had surrounded Charlie when he first arrived at Gatewood. It was as if a tornado of curiosity had swept through the small town, leaving everyone gossiping about the enigmatic new boy with a charming smile.

Margaret and Sarah, being the curious souls that they were, had made it their mission to find out everything they could about Charlie. They had scoped him out from a distance, observing his every move with a mixture of fascination and amusement.

"I mean, when he calls..." Sarah trailed off, her tone tinged with a hint of frustration.

Margaret raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she echoed Sarah's words, "Oh, when he calls, indeed."

* * *

One day, Margaret and Sarah took their mom's car to the shop to get the brakes fixed. Their mom noticed that, when she tried to stop the other night in the rain, the brakes had slipped, and for a moment, she lost control. The girls had volunteered to take the car in to get the brakes checked out. This would be the perfect time to get a closer view of Charlie.

Once Charlie Parker straightened up and turned to face Margaret and Sarah, a sly grin played across his lips. His eyes twinkled mischievously, as if he knew a secret that he was dying to share.

"Hey there ladies. What can I do for you today? Brakes feeling a little wonky?" he quipped in a smooth, confident voice that made them both blush.

Margaret, always quick-witted, replied, "Wow, you must be some kind of brake whisperer to have sensed that just by the sound of our arrival. Or are you just psychic?"

Charlie chuckled, a deep, melodious sound that seemed to fill the garage with warmth. "Well, I do have a knack for foreseeing car troubles, but my psychic abilities might be pushing it. Let's see what's going on with that trusty old chariot, shall we?"

Margaret got straight to the point. "So, you're working for Mitch Connors?"

"Yeah, I just started here a few weeks ago," he said.

"How did you get the job?" she asked.

"He's my uncle," he replied.

"I see. Are you staying in town for a while?"

"You could say that. I have nowhere else to go."

"What about the two of you?" Charlie asked nonchalantly.

"We live up the street, at the Paige house. You know... the house with all the horses," she explained.

"Oh yeah. Nice house. My uncle pointed it out to me," he said.

As he inspected the car with expert precision, Margaret and Sarah couldn't help but be captivated by his easy charm and rugged good looks. There was something undeniably magnetic about him.

After a few moments of tinkering and testing, Charlie straightened up and flashed them a winning smile. "All fixed and good to go. You can trust me, I'm practically a car magician,” he boasted, his tone playful and laced with a hint of flirtation.

Margaret and Sarah exchanged knowing glances, unable to deny the sparks of attraction that Charlie had ignited within them. As they drove away from the shop, the image of the mysterious mechanic lingered in Sarah's mind, leaving her to wonder if this chance encounter was just the beginning of an unexpected and thrilling adventure.

When Sarah and Margaret got home, Sarah had a mischievous glint in her eye. "I swear, Margaret, Charlie was staring at me the whole time," she exclaimed with a coy smile.

Margaret rolled her eyes, not bothering to look up from her phone. "Oh, please, Sarah. Not everything revolves around you and your fanciful crushes," she scoffed playfully.

Sarah pouted, feeling slightly deflated. She had hoped that Charlie would notice her, but it seemed like he was more interested in his tools than in her.

Two days later, Sarah, Margaret, and their mother were gathered in the kitchen, enjoying a delicious snack of strawberries and cream. Their mom was washing the dishes in the sink when the doorbell rang. Their mom excused herself to answer the door, expecting a long-awaited package. But to everyone's surprise, standing on the doorstep was none other than Charlie, with a sheepish smile playing on his lips.

"Well, well, if it isn't the tool-tinkering mechanic himself," their mom chimed, a mischievous glint in her eye. "To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure, Charlie?"

"Uh, hello there," he said, scratching the back of his head nervously. "I, uh, was wondering if Sarah was around."

Sarah's mom laughed. "Follow me."

Sarah's eyes widened in disbelief as Charlie entered the kitchen, while Margaret smirked knowingly from the corner by the refrigerator.

"What are you doing here?" Margaret asked inquisitively.

"Nice place," he replied.

"You came by to check out the kitchen?" Margaret retorted.

"I'm here to see her," he said, his finger pointing at Sarah.

Margaret went silent.

"Would you like to go to the movies sometime?" he asked.

It seemed that fate had a way of turning the tables when you least expected it. But it was too much for Margaret, and she stomped out of the room.

“What’s up with her?” Charlie snickered.

“Usually, the guys come over for her.”

“Nah, she’s way too uptight for me.”

As they sat down to enjoy their strawberries and cream once more, Sarah couldn't help but feel a spark of nervous excitement in her heart. And so, in a twist of fate, Sarah learned that sometimes, the best things in life come when you least expected it.

* * *

As Margaret's car navigated the long and winding driveway toward their house in Gatewood, Sarah couldn't help but feel as though she was entering a magical realm straight out of a fairy tale. The afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the landscape, painting the skies with hues of mango and orange, as if the heavens themselves were putting on a show just for her.

"Ah, what a splendid sight!" Sarah exclaimed, leaning back in her seat and taking in the beauty that surrounded her. The crackling of gravel beneath the tires added a rhythmic beat to the peaceful atmosphere, while the gentle slope of the driveway seemed to beckon her closer to the enchanting house perched atop the hill.

As they pulled up to the house, their stunningly grand rustic cabin-meets- contemporary abode, Sarah couldn't help but marvel at the sight before her. The facade, a beautiful blend of wood in a rich golden tan hue, was accented with ivory stones and large floor-to-ceiling windows.

Their house stood in stark contrast to the simplicity of the nearby barn - each structure a testament to the unique personalities of their parents. Their father's car was already parked nearby, blending in seamlessly with the overall picturesque scene.

Sarah glanced over at Margaret, her usually chatty sister, who had been surprisingly quiet throughout the journey. It seemed like her thoughts were miles away, lost in some deep pondering. Sarah couldn't help but wonder what could be bothering her usually chatty sibling.

As Margaret and Sarah parked next to their father's car, the tension between them was as thick as fog. Their mother had mentioned that Margaret had been acting strange lately, always lost in her thoughts and constantly keeping to herself.

"Wow, Margaret, it's like we're not even related anymore. Are you training to become a hermit or something?" Sarah teased, trying to break the ice.

Margaret shot her a look that could freeze boiling water. "Very funny, Sarah. Maybe I just enjoy the peace and quiet away from your constant chatter."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Well, excuse me for trying to be a loving sister. Unlike someone here who's been MIA in the family drama."

Margaret sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I've just been dealing with a lot lately. You know, adulting and all that jazz. I promise I'm still the fabulous sister you once knew."

Margaret opened her trunk and took out Sarah's heavy bag. "I'm pretty sure there's a dead body in your bag."

Sarah laughed. "No, just a bunch of textbooks for summer." Sarah quickly remembered she would have to face her father. "Ugh, I don't want a lecture from dad. Maybe this is good therapy for Mom and Dad. Keeping them in constant fear of their daughter not graduating."

Margaret laughed. "Yeah, they probably can't sleep at night knowing you just might be the next child not to graduate. Two deadbeat kids. Oh, what will the neighbors think?"

"I guess Mom and Dad are really mad at me."

"Don't worry about it. What can they do to you anyway?"

"Disown me?"

"Maybe that wouldn't be so bad," Margaret said quietly under her breath.

They walked up to the grand door and Margaret punched in the passcode. Sarah was trying to lift her heavy bag over the threshold.

"Mom, we're home."

"I'm in the kitchen."

Their mom rolled meatballs in her hands. She looked up as they entered the room. Her eyes twinkled as she looked at Sarah.

"Hey, sweetie. Glad you're home."

"Me too, Mom.”

She walked over and hugged Sarah with her greasy hands. Maybe she's not mad at me, Sarah thought.

“Where's Dad?"

"He's in the study finishing up a business call."

"How was your flight?"

"Good. Except for the delay."

"What are you cooking? I'm starving?"

"Swedish meatballs," her mom said excitedly.

Her mom always made the best Swedish meatballs. Sarah was determined to whip up some delectable Swedish meatballs for her father's birthday a few years back. As she mixed the ingredients with determination and a dash of optimism, Sarah couldn't help but feel a twinge of doubt. Her mom made it look so effortless, gliding around the kitchen with the finesse of a master chef. Meanwhile, Sarah was battling to keep the meatballs round and her apron pristine.

After hours of slaving away and a few trips to the grocery store for forgotten items (parsley, where did you hide?), Sarah presented her culinary creation to her dad with a hopeful smile. His face lit up with enthusiasm as he took a bite, but she couldn't help but notice the slight twitch in his eyebrows - a telltale sign that her masterpiece might not be as flawless as she'd hoped.

"Dad, do you like it?" she asked, trying to gauge his reaction.

Her dad, ever the diplomat, nodded and said, "It's...interesting." The dreaded "interesting," the polite code for "bless your heart, but this tastes like a shoe."

"Sarah," her mom broke her trance, "why don't you go and unpack? Your father should be off the phone shortly, and we can all eat and catch up on everything."

"I'm not eating here tonight. I already have plans."

Her mom looked at Margaret with disappointment.

"Look, Margaret, I'm sick of your selfishness. Sarah just got home, and..."

"Mom, it's okay."

"See, Mom? Sarah is fine with it. You always make such a big deal of everything."

"It's not okay, Margaret. You knew Sarah was coming home tonight."

"I forgot when I made the plans, and I'm not breaking them."

"Your father is going to be mad."

"Whatever. He'll get over it."

"Just leave, Margaret, before I say something I'll regret."

Margaret snatched up her keys and strode out the kitchen door, leaving behind a bewildered Sarah who watched her in utter confusion. Her mom, wearing a deadpan expression, simply stared at the glass pot of meatballs, as if trying to calm her internal frustration before saying something she might regret.

CHAPTER4

Charlie

Sarah glanced at her wristwatch. It was nearing eight o'clock. The trio had just finished their meal. Her parents were debating Margaret's conduct.

"Gwen, you should have informed her that she couldn't go out."

"And pray tell, Robert, how do you suggest I do that? She refuses to listen to me."

"You cave in far too easily, my dear."

Gwen's face was flushed crimson.

"I'm utterly exasperated with her impudence. Something simply must be done," Robert huffed.

"We've discussed this a million times, and nothing seems to work. I'm tired of thinking about it. Perhaps we should give her some space."

“Really Gwen. You amaze me. She is our daughter, and she needs to be taught a lesson or two."