Prologue: Stalked

That was The Day, the first time I felt it; the very first day of my life that I felt as if someone was watching me. It was a feeling that haunted every fiber of my being, sending small ripples of fear up my spine and down my arms. I tried hard to comfort myself, to convince my restless mind that no one was there.

There was no moon tonight and it was dark, the streetlights illuminating small patches in my path. I was late and it wasn’t like seeing the moon would make up for my tardiness. I had decided to stay after school to retake a benchmark that was worth a hefty portion of my grade, thus forcing me to ride the late bus home, something I seldom had to do.

I took my pace and gradually sped up so that I was walking fast, but not running. Feeling someone’s eyes on me made me shiver. Someone was watching me – it was chilling thought. Though, there wasn’t much to look at. I was average height, with plain black hair that hung straight to my shoulders and across my forehead and cheeks. I wasn’t fat and I wasn’t skinny. I made average grades and my teachers didn’t especially like me, but they didn’t hate me either.

I was average.

The one thing that wasn’t so average about me, the only thing that would be worth something to look at, was my emerald eyes. I mean, you can’t hate everything about yourself; there has to be something you like, and to me, my eyes are my redeeming feature. Two things told me this: My friends always went on about my ‘gorgeous eyes’ and my brother, being my twin, had the same exact eyes as me. And he had pretty eyes – sparkling emeralds framed by a set of long lashes.

Matt and I were identical twins, or as identical as you can get when you are opposite genders. We both had jet-black hair and green eyes. Even with us being identical, he was never average; he was always something to look at, and he was looked at—by every girl that passed him. He was slightly muscular, his chest and abs being slightly more defined than his arms, but that was what attracted the female body at Ragsdale High. His long black hair hung straight down to his shoulders, a lot like my own, and, as the same female body told me day after day, it looked sexy when he pulled it back into an elastic, which he did frequently when it got warmer.

But to me, I wasn’t much. I was more of his shadow than anything else, just his female copy following him through the tenth grade.

I perked up when a rock skittered across the pavement, sighing with relief when I realized I was in front of my driveway now. But that sigh of relief was caught in my throat when I noticed a light on at the house to the right. No one had lived in the blue-gray house for months. The old tenants had gotten a divorce and no one had come back to sell the house.

My eyes trailed from the master bedroom window on the second story, to the driveway. No car.

Not wanting to be caught staring, I looked away and hurried up the driveway, into the safety of my house. I smiled, throwing my book bag down next to the door, but when I saw Matt in the kitchen, my smile slipped away.

“Hey, Madison,” he called softly from the stove.

“What’s for dinner?” I asked flatly, almost afraid. The scent was awful and I wondered why Dad hadn’t come in the kitchen and stopped him yet. Though, to be honest, he couldn’t cook much better than Matt could.

While I waited for an answer, I noticed the chicken wrapper next to the sink.

“Matt!” I cried, holding the plastic up to his face. “This chicken is no good!” He turned to the pot and looked inside, inspecting the white chunks floating in some kind of brown sauce. “Check the expiration dates before you get us all sick.”

“It looked fine to me,” he mumbled as I dumped the mysterious concoction down the food disposal and flipped the switch to turn it on.

I heard light footsteps behind me before I felt arms wrap around my shoulders. After my experience walking home, I leapt into the air, dropping the pan into the sink by accident. I spun around and grinned back at my other brother’s grinning face.

“When did you get home?” I asked, winding my arms around his neck and pulling him close.

He chuckled, the deep sound vibrating his chest and my ear. “Around noon, while you were in school.”

“Wait,” I paused, realizing that if Trent was here, so was Tristan. “That means he’s here, too.” I had always favored my oldest adoptive brother over Tristan. Trent was smarter, kinder, and much less irritating than Tristan was. Both of them were real brothers that my parents had adopted before they had Matt and me. After trying many times, they were convinced that they couldn’t have kids, but a few years after Matt and I were born, mom died.

Because they were adopted, neither Trent nor Tristan looked like either of my parents. They both had brown hair and blue eyes. Tristan’s facial features were nearly a carbon copy of Trent’s; he had the same square jaw and angular features, the same wide eyes and dimples. They looked like twins—they both even go to the same college, Appalachian State—but Tristan was a year younger, give or take a few months.

“Hey, pudding cup!” Speak of the devil. I honestly tried to be civil towards Tristan, but it’s tough when he’s trying to eat your gravy. I slapped his hand away from the pot, glaring at him. Trent laughed and sat at the table on the other side of the long counter behind me, watching us carefully.

“Don’t worry – I haven’t raided your bras and panties yet.”

“Tristan!” I nearly shouted. He had better stay out of my room. It’s not as if I had drugs or anything, it’s just that my room is personal and I don’t like him going through my things. It always makes me feel violated, uncomfortable.

“I don’t know why you even wear bras; you have nothing to put in them.”

I crossed my arms over my chest in embarrassment, and felt my face heat up. “Yeah?” I snapped at him. “You were boxers, don’t you?

Tristan looked lost. It was a good look for him. Most people looked like a lost puppy – a cute look for most guys. But when Tristan wore this face, he just looked like someone had asked him a question in another language.

I let my arms drop to my sides and stared blankly at my idiot brother. “Wow,” I muttered before continuing to cook.

“What do my boxers have to do with anything?” He finally asked.

“Geez, Tris, how did you make it into APP?” Matt muttered in a questioning tone.

“Luck,” Trent said simply, answering for him. This made Tristan raise an eyebrow at his brother.

“Yeah?” He snapped. “And just how do you think you got in?”

Trent laughed. “Skill and actual intelligence.” Trent stood up and headed toward the foyer. “Call me when dinner is ready.”

I waited until I heard his footsteps over my head before I smacked the back of Tristan’s head.

“What was that for?”

“Being an idiot”

“Dad,” Tristan whined like a five-year-old. “Madison hit me!”

“Dad,” I mimicked. But before I could continue, Matt’s hand was clasped firmly over my mouth.

“Don’t get in trouble, Madison,” he warned quietly.

“Oh,” Tristan’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Why can’t you get into trouble?”

“No reason,” I mumbled, not wanting to tell him. If I told him that I had made it into the school’s art auction, he’d kill me. Tristan had always told me not to sell my art until I was older, something about getting more money. It is about making money, but for the art department, which I’m positive Tristan would say is a waste of time.

Dad came into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner, Madison?” Dad asked, kissing my forehead.

“Edible food. Why would you let Matt cook? I scolded. “You could have gotten sick. He was using bad chicken.”

“I told you, I didn’t see anything wrong with it!” Matt complained defensively.

I laughed. “I don’t know what you were making, but it smelled terrible.”

“I didn’t smell anything,” Dad mumbled, looking over my shoulder at the chicken in the sink.

“Not anymore. Anyway, dinner will be done in about half an hour.” Dad nodded and went into the family room to watch TV.

“What are you going to sell at the auction?” Matt asked curiously.

“I’m not sure yet. I was thinking about selling a few of my sketches, maybe some of my paintings from art.”

“What about that?” he asked, inclining his head toward my work-in-progress that was taped to a thin piece of plywood, leaning against the laundry room door across the kitchen.

“That one especially. I’m making that one specifically for the auction.” I smiled. I loved that painting. It was of a meadow – lush green trees towering over a green meadow, with splashes of yellow and white wildflowers. It was amateur. I had made it from the description of one in my favorite book.

“I think you should keep it.”

I furrowed my eyebrows. “Why? It’s not great. Yeah, I’m proud of the way it’s turning out, but it’s on poster paper.”

“Then why are you selling it? I’m confused. What’s wrong with it?” He crossed his arms and leaned against the corner of the counter, watching me move the pots around the burners.

“Nothing is wrong with it, I just don’t want it. It’s too amateur. I’d have nowhere to put it anyways.”

“You know, sometimes I just don’t get you,” he muttered, walking into the family room to watch whatever Dad was watching.”

Later that night I flicked off the lights to my bedroom and walked over to the window where something caught my eye. My room had always been great. My window faced the vacant house so I could always blast my music and no one would care. But tonight, a chilly wind broke through the warm fall night. I saw a dark silhouette standing on the deck in the backyard next door. I couldn’t tell which way he was facing, or even if it was a he, but I found it strange that, even though he was standing still, the automatic lights didn’t come on. But there was something I found even stranger.

I wasn’t afraid.

Maybe it was because I was trying to convince myself that someone new had moved in. Or maybe I just wasn’t getting a dangerous vibe from whoever it was.

“What’s wrong with me?” I muttered, crawling into the bed next to the windows. I thought of a few different scenarios while lying in bed, waiting for sleep to take me away.

One, he was rapist or killer. But that was a long shot, though I couldn’t completely disprove this one, besides the fact that I wasn’t afraid of him. Yet.

Two, it was someone who’s asked me out that I’ve turned down. I groaned and rolled over onto my stomach, pressing my face into the pillow. The only person who had ever asked me out was my boyfriend, Alexander. And he wasn’t the most faithful of the men at our school…

Three, it was a random stranger. And that could be very possible, if, indeed, it was someone who had just moved in.

Four, Matt and his friends were betting again, in which case, it was one of his friends. A joke, yeah, that’s pretty convincing—the only way I am stalked is through a bet.

And scenario five, it’s a ghost. This would explain the automatic lights not coming on. But then again, he could have been sitting out there for a while.

Somewhere in the middle of my thinking, I drifted into a sleep filled with one dream. A vivid dream that even when I awoke, I couldn’t dispel from my mind.