seenthroughmia

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Ellie stuffed the page in the bag she got from the clothing store and marched out the door. She headed in the direction of the cottage. If she were lucky, she might catch Matt at home. He could make sense of all this.

The steps in her stride were longer now than they had been earlier. Of course, earlier she hadn't received a very curious document.

Soon her walking turned into jogging, as if the information she had learned would somehow disappear if she didn't hurry.

The cottage appeared on the horizon. She noticed Matt's shoes outside. Good, he was home.

She entered the home and closed the door right behind her.

"Oh good, you're home." Matt stood in the middle of all their things scattered across the living room. "It looks like a tornado ran through here."

"Yeah, sorry, I—"

He put a hand up as if to say stop. He noticed she was out of breath. Had she been running?

"What's the matter with you? Did you run here?"

"There's something wrong with this town." Ellie had tried to steady her breathing, but it didn't work as she had hoped.

"Ellie…"

"I went to try and figure out why everyone in this town is acting so damn strange." She started to dig through the bag that was in her hand. "So I went to the town archive to try and figure out some of the town's history and found this."

She pulled out the dress Josephine had given her earlier that day.

"You found a dress in the archives?"

Ellie turned the bag upside down, waiting for the piece of paper to fall out, but it never did.

"No—this is from the clothing store. I swear I put the paper in this bag."

She glanced inside the bag once more to see if it was hiding or stuck to the edges of the fabric. It wasn't.

"Are you feeling okay?" Matt walked over to her and put a hand on her forehead as if he were checking for a fever.

"I feel fine," Ellie said as she continued to look for the piece of paper that had gone missing. "There was this page in the archives that talked about a war and a treaty. I think they're sacrificing people in the well."

He dropped his hand from her and moved it to his hip before taking a step back.

"Ellie."

"I'm so sure that I put it in the bag. It must have fallen—"

"You can't be serious right now."

She dropped the empty bag onto the floor and looked at him in the eyes.

"I have never been more serious in my life. Something is wrong with this place."

Matt sighed before deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt.

"How did you find it?"

Ellie didn't respond right away. She was trying to decide if she should mention the man in the bandages who slipped it to her. No, that would be another story she'd have to tell Matt, and this was more important.

"I found it."

"You found it?"

Ellie nodded. "It was between the pages of a book. It said 'one life in exchange for preservation' with a drawing of that well underneath it."

"And you just… took it?"

"Yes. To show you."

"And now it's gone."

She went silent, her head lowered toward the cluttered floor of their home.

"Is it possible that you misunderstood?"

Ellie's head snapped up at this question.

"No."

"You've been on edge ever since we got into town." Matt paused to find his next words with caution. "Since we first got in, you've been pointing out things that you think are wrong with it. I think you're projecting."

"I'm not projecting. I know what I read. I know that I put it in my bag." Ellie swooped down to the floor to search the bag once more. "What I don't know is where it went."

Matt watched her with concern in his eyes; Ellie noticed it when she looked up.

"You don't believe me."

"I believe that you believe that you saw it."

Her heart felt as if it were sinking in her body.

"Look, let's finish unpacking our stuff." Matt extended a hand to Ellie, who was still crouched on the floor. "Making this place look like our home will make it feel like home."

Ellie shook her head and pushed herself off the floor without the help of Matt's hand.

"I'm going to get ready for bed."

"It's not even six yet."

"Jet lag."

He watched as she approached their bedroom, then closed the door behind her with determination, blocking her from his view completely.

Once inside the room, Ellie proceeded to sit down on the bed. She placed her elbows on the tops of her knees and then lowered her head into her hands. Was Matt right? Had her visit to the archives been an example of her seeing what she "wanted to see"?

No.

Her gut is telling her that something is going on, and that is the version she is sticking to.

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Almost a week had gone by since Ellie had gone into the archives to search for history on Darkmoor. A week since learning about a supposed secret war. A week since losing the paper. A week since Matt had suggested that it was all in her head.

She spent most of last week unpacking her and Matt's things. She organized clothes and put pots and pans in the kitchen cabinets. Most importantly, she sorted through her gardening supplies.

The move from Portland to Germany was nearly 6,000 miles, and while Ellie couldn't take any mature plants with her, she could take seeds. And she had plenty of those.

Grass surrounded the cottage. It was one of the few spots Ellie had seen in town, aside from the vast woods. Those woods separated the village from a nearby town named Visaria. She knew this from a recent outing to the square. A stall there had a newspaper called The Visaria Harbinger. She learned from a seller that Darkmoor and Visaria shared a paper. Both towns were small; it must be more efficient that way.

Ellie hadn't seen Darkmoor more bustling than she had in the marketplace in the morning. The sight set a light bulb off immediately in her head. Though her seeds would take time to sprout in her garden by the lagoon, she had many other things to offer to the town.

That was how Ellie found herself in the middle of the marketplace with a table of her own. She found a brown wooden folding table she had forgotten she had. Covering it was a pale yellow tablecloth with white daisies. She had used it for an Easter gathering one year. It was the only pop of color in a sea of gray and brown kiosks.

On the table lay little brown paper bags with seeds, each hand-labeled with its name, life cycle, and ideal growing conditions. Next to the seeds were three frames with pressed flowers of different varieties inside.

A few small pots surrounded the area around her table. They were pots she made herself back in Oregon when she was going through a pottery phase. She had so many of them that she was sure Matt would feel relieved to see some of them go, especially since they had downsized their living space.

She had set her station up early. She noticed that this was how the people of Darkmoor preferred to function. She watched as people piled into the market, as they stopped to shop at the stalls. A baker across from her had loaves of bread that were selling quickly from the shelves. A butcher was slicing fresh cuts of meat for customers right at his counter. A metalsmith formed modest silver jewelry right before customers' eyes.

Then there was her own table.

People passed it by, casting quick glances. A few even returned a smile to her when she smiled at them first, although they were smiles of pity.

She was beginning to lose hope that she would have any luck with selling anything, deciding it was best to start packing up.

Ellie dipped toward the ground and reached for a pot when she saw feet approaching her.

"Don't consider it a personal matter," a voice said, offering Ellie a tone that provided an unusual sense of reassurance. "They're wary of newcomers."

She recognized his voice before she looked up from the pot—the man from the archives.

"I wasn't taking it personally."

"The way your face tightens as they walk past you without so much as a 'hello' says otherwise." He hummed as he studied her figure on the ground. "It's getting late. Best to pack up and get home before the sun sets."

She stood up, leaving the pot on the ground.

"Why does everyone around here act oddly when it comes to darkness?"

He doesn't answer right away; instead, he adjusts one of the brown gloves that cover his hands.

"So you've noticed." His head tilted at her question.

"That all the stores close before dusk and that people hurry inside and don't come out until the sun does?" Ellie crossed her arms over her chest, not in a defensive way, but as a way to hold herself steady. "Yeah, I've noticed. What I can't figure out is why."

"Hmm, that is the question, isn't it?" He took his gaze off her and pivoted one of his feet toward the well, observing the small number of people who had started to gather around it.

Ellie followed his gaze. "What is that well used for?"

"You read the treaty." His attention switched back to her face, gloved fingers brushing against the yellow tablecloth on which her various seeds sat. "It means coexistence."

"Between who?"

"Humans."

"Obviously."

He smiled beneath the bandages, but it was not noticeable enough for her to tell.

"And what they couldn't control."

"What does that mean?"

"Darkmoor wasn't always this… organized." Jack looked back at the well once more. "There was a period in time when people disappeared."

Humans and what they couldn't control. Disappearances. It was vague, but it was more than anyone else had offered her. Ellie tried to wrap her head around everything he was telling her and, in the process, her focus drifted as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. While she didn't notice she was doing it, Jack had.

"The war is over." Ellie followed his eyes to the well. "The treaty had to have solved something."

"I wouldn’t call it a solution…" He noticed her puzzled expression. Then, he stepped closer and lowered his voice, making the moment feel more intimate. "More like maintenance."

"Maintenance?"

"Perhaps your husband could give you some insight. He is working in the catacombs. The same catacombs that very well is connected to."

"How do you—"

"Word travels fast in Darkmoor," Jack said. He looked her up and down, drinking in the sight of her before settling back on her eyes, "especially when it pertains to outsiders."

"You say that as if I don't belong here."

"You don't."

She tried not to let that sting; but between her husband's busy work schedule and the townspeople's lack of desire to get to know her, she felt lonely.

A moment of silence passed between them before Jack reached for a packet of seeds, not breaking eye contact as he did so.

"I'll take these." He held up a small bag labeled Spathiphyllum (Peace Lilies). His fingers pressed softly over the word "Peace."

"You're buying something."

"I am."

"It's a good choice. Peace Lilies can survive in low light." Ellie tried her best to maintain eye contact with him, despite the fact that she couldn't even see his eyes through his glasses. "They don't need much sun, which, in a place like Darkmoor, can make all the difference."

"I know."

"Don't water them too much." Ellie took a breath. "If you drown them, they will rot."

"I'm familiar with restraint." His eyes darkened as he thought of the word "restraint" and the amount he was exercising at that moment.

Her cheeks started to heat up from his words, causing her to break eye contact with him.

"You'll have to come back and let me know how they bloom."

"I intend to."

"You should at least know the name of the person you're buying from. You know, given the fact that I'm a scary stranger new to town." She said with a laugh. "Ellie Clark."

"Ellie." He rolled her name off his tongue with such ease, repeating it back to her as if he had always been meant to say it. "Jack Griffin."

Jack reached into his coat pocket, pulling out several bronze coins. She had expected him to place them on the table, but instead, he reached for her hand and placed them in her palm, fingers lingering before pulling away.

"When you ask your husband about the treaty, ask him what the town gives in return for peace."

Ellie's stomach churned at the thought of asking Matt. The way he made her feel that night was stuck in her mind. It was as if he thought she was imagining things when she brought up the document. If he insinuated it was all in her head, then what would be the difference a week later?

"What if he doesn't say anything?"

Jack stepped closer, not enough to touch her, but enough to feel as if he were hovering against her body. She swore she could feel the warmth of his breath through his bandages at this distance.

"Then watch how he avoids it."

"A word of advice," he said in a gentle tone while pocketing the packet of seeds he had just bought, "when the bell strikes twice tonight, don’t look at the well."

"Why?"

____________________________________________

Ellie had spent her morning alone, which, despite being in a new country, was not all that different for her. Matt had left early for his first day of work. They had only just arrived in Darkmoor yesterday, but he was already throwing himself into his new position. It was the reason they had picked up everything and left Oregon afterall.

Subterranean Infrastructure Coordinator.

That was the job title given to him in the offer letter. When Ellie asked what that meant, he gave a straightforward response:

"Full oversight of underground transit and stabilization systems."

"Where?" she squinted, trying to get a better look at the letter.

"Darkmoor."

A soft laugh made its way out of her mouth. "That can't be a real place."

"It is. Europe."

"Europe is vague." Ellie moved toward the chair where her husband sat. She brought her hands down to rest on the tops of his shoulders.

However, he shrugged them off with little concern.

"It says they're expanding their underground networks. Builders constructed the town over catacombs. They need structural reinforcement… drainage control. It's extensive."

Her hands were no longer in contact with his body, but she was close enough to the piece of paper to see the salary printed in bold at the bottom of the page.

"Holy sh—" A hand clasped over her mouth before she could finish her sentence. Ellie knew if Matt weren’t busy counting the money, he’d be looking at her like he was ready to lecture her.

The amount was more than either of them made combined—more than either of them could hope to make in their lifetimes, given the state of how the world works.

The following page of the document was even more curious than the sum of money listed on the first page.

There was a relocation package. A housing stipend. Access to research grants.

"Ellie, this could set us up for life." Matt put the papers down on the table before craning his neck to look up at her.

"We're already set." She smiled at him. "Our families are here. Our friends. John and Amy are having their son soon. We're going to be the coolest aunt and uncle on the planet, by the way."

"And our careers?"

"Well, Halcyon Ridge has been seeing record profits ever since you started. They can't stop raving about you. I mean, the eco-conscious parking garage is genius. And—" Matt interrupted her, cutting her list short.

"And?" he sighed.

"I got funding to turn the vacant lot on Maple Street into a space for planting fruits and vegetables. It’ll be a place where we can gather and interact. For some older residents, this is often their only chance for social interaction. Also, it helps low-income families grow food for their tables."

"You can start another little garden anywhere." Matt brought his hand up to his forehead.

A nervous breath rose from her chest. "I don't 'run a little garden.' I'm a Community Horticulture Program Director. There are people who look to me to—"

"It's not like you're running a biotech lab."

"I know I'm not running a biotech lab, but that doesn't mean that the work being done isn't—"

"It's just a community garden, Ellie."

She drew her attention back to the present after realizing she had taken the final item out of the last cardboard box. She fixed her eyes on an ancient-looking grandfather clock that came with the cottage. If the time was accurate, it was noon. Ellie looked around the living area. She emptied the boxes, but none of their things had a place to go yet.

She thought, "He can’t expect me to find a place for all this in one day."

Then, she used a chair to help her stand up from the floor. She dusted off her yellow sundress and glanced at one of the windows facing the town square.

This moment was an ideal opportunity to explore the place where she would soon spend much of her life.

She grabbed a light brown woven tote bag from the hanger by the door before slipping on her favorite pair of matching sandals. She double-checked that she had indeed packed all the contents in her bag as she closed the door to the cottage.

The walk from the cottage into the village wasn't long. If Ellie kept a steady pace, it might take her six or seven minutes to reach the heart of Darkmoor. She thought this center was the peculiar well lined with what she assumed was Latin carved into its stone. She didn't know what it meant. Perhaps she could find a book about the town's history, or maybe meet a friendly face willing to let her in on the scripture.

A book seemed more likely than a friendly face. History had a way of repeating itself… She just didn't think that history would be in the form of the quiet gossip of the townspeople when she passed them by.

Ellie noticed that most everyone stilled at first.

Conversations stopped.

A butcher paused mid-chop.

A child stared and didn't try to hide it, unlike its adult counterpart.

She chalked it up to the fact that they're all strangers to each other. They're shy.

But then the whispers started to make their way through the street.

"That must be the architect's wife; the one who is working at the manor."

"Where did she come from?"

"She won't last a winter in clothes like that."

"Color doesn't survive here."

They were quiet enough that Ellie couldn't hear exactly what they said, but she knew it was about her. Instead of slumping her shoulders in defeat as she did yesterday when no one returned her smile or wave, she lifted her head up higher. It was what she had to do if she was going to survive here.

The whispers throughout the street caught Jack's attention almost immediately. He was standing outside Dr. H. Jekyll Apotheker carrying a bag filled with various vials he planned to use on his latest experiment. Rarely did the chatter of the villagers have any importance to him; brushing them off was the most logical option. But when Jack saw what seemed to spark the chatter, he forgot about the chemicals he had just gotten.

Jack noticed the color of her dress first. Yellow. But not any yellow, the kind that looked like a bright sun shining in the sky, a sight that Darkmoor rarely saw.

More alarming was the lack of weariness her body carried as she walked through the village. He concluded that she perceived the world as fundamentally safe. She must not know what type of place she has found herself in.

The first store that grabs Ellie’s attention is a clothing shop. Its window displays three mannequins wearing outfits she can only imagine at a Renaissance festival. She should not be surprised. The whole town feels very old. From what she observed, its people embraced that energy fully.

A wooden sign hung above the displays reading Thimble & Thorn.

She pushed the door open with care, and the soft ringing of a bell filled the air. The first thing that hit her besides the sound of the bell was how quiet the store is, almost sterile. As far as she can tell, she was the only customer inside the building. In fact, there wasn't even a shop owner in sight. Well, that just meant Ellie got to look around uninterrupted.

Her eyes spotted a dress, one not dissimilar to her own. It had a lot of the same characteristics. Long. Flowy. Puffed sleeves. The biggest difference was its color, an earthy brown, one that was comparable to soil.

She wondered if the dress came in a different color, like orange or blue.

"Can I help you?" a breathy voice said from behind Ellie.

Ellie shifted her body toward the noise to find a woman dressed in many of the fashions she had noticed around the store. She was taller than Ellie and older. If Ellie had to guess, she was likely in her forties.

"Hi." Ellie smiled while her fingers toyed with the fabric of the dress in a playful manner. "I was actually wondering if you had this in another color. Something brighter?"

The older woman shook her head without hesitation. "Everything we carry is on the shelves."

"What about this?" She pointed to a gray blouse situated next to the dress she inquired about.

"You can place a special order, and I can make it in black or white." The shopkeeper continued her sentiment. "Those are the only other colors I can do."

Now that Ellie focused, she saw only four colors around the shop: black, white, gray, and brown. She wondered if there was a lack of colored fabric and that was the reason. A lightbulb went off in her brain.

"This is cotton, right?" She gestured back to the garment. "I bet you could dye a white version of this top with flowers to make more colors. I've actually got some hibiscus flowers. It would create a beautiful shade of pink."

"You're new to town, aren't you?" the woman asked.

"Is it that obvious?" Ellie let her fingers drop from the fabric, and they found their way to her side.

"Yes."

There was no delay in her answer.

"I can't tell you the last time I saw someone wearing something like that out and about."

Ellie looked down at her dress, noting its features and pondering the reasons for its offensiveness. The shopkeeper, however, must have read her mind.

"It's too bright." She spoke with bluntness. "In a place like Darkmoor, it's best to go unnoticed."

Ellie didn’t expect that answer. But she knew it shouldn’t surprise her. The townspeople had whispered and stared as she walked by.

"Why?"

The shopkeeper's gaze fell on a bandaged figure that passed outside the shop window while she remained unaware.

Watching.

Studying her like a hawk studies its prey.

"Because not everything that watches does so with good intentions."

Ellie let her brows furrow at the crypticness of her statement. Who would be watching her?

The figure outside the window had disappeared, bringing the shopkeeper's attention back to Ellie. She took a step toward her and reached out to the brown dress that had caught her interest initially.

"You like the dress? You can have it." The shopkeeper grabbed the dress from the hanger and began walking toward the register to bag it. "It's on me."

"Oh, I couldn't let you—"

"Think of it as a welcome gift. It'll make your life a whole lot easier."

The shopkeeper leaned down below the counter that the register resided on and pulled out a beige cloth bag. She set it aside and began folding the dress into a square with careful precision before placing it in the bag and handing it to Ellie.

"Thank you, uh," Ellie searched the woman's outfit for a name tag, but she found none.

"Josephine Thorn."

That explains where the thorn in Thimble & Thorn came from.

"Josephine," Ellie repeated back to her. "Ellie Clark."

"We're open every day until four, should you decide you want to blend in." Josephine's lips curled up into a small smile, but her eyes showed something different, like she was holding in information.

The bell chimed again as Ellie stepped outside.

What an odd interaction. She could tell she would be thinking about what Josephine said to her about blending in and what that meant long after their conversation. She also recalled what she had said right before that. Thimble & Thorn is open every day until four. Four seemed surprisingly early to Ellie. Are most people even off work at that time here? Maybe businesses were different here than they are in America.

Weird.

Signage across from Thimble & Thorn caught her attention. The sign displayed the words Blackwood Archives, carved into it.

An archive? There must be some information there about the history of the town. At least, there should be an elaboration on why Josephine told her to be a chameleon. This might explain why the villagers acted as they did when she passed them by.

Ellie made her way across the street and to the door of the archives. When she walked in, a stale smell hit her senses, likely from the lack of upkeep in the building. There were visible cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, and dust coated several of the shelves that held weathered books.

No one else was in the room except for an older man who Ellie assumed was the bookkeeper. He didn't speak to her when she walked in. Instead, he looked her up and down, eyes widening as he took in her colorful appearance before returning his gaze to a paper he had down in front of him.

It was likely better that he ignored her. The last time she tried to get an answer from someone about the town, they responded with vagueness.

She glanced at a set of bookshelves positioned in front of her. A comprehensive book about the town's history would most likely be her best bet at figuring this place out. Ellie decided on the thickest book on the shelf.

Darkmoor: A Complete History.

A table that looked sourced from hickory wood sat not far from the shelves. Ellie made herself at home at the table before cracking open the book.

The first couple of pages were standard with information about people settling on the land as early as the year 428. The book cited several hardships in the town's development. Unexplained fires. Flooding. Other natural disasters. But it also highlighted the resilience of the town and how it got rebuilt.

After flipping past the introductory chapters, Ellie paused when she reached a page titled The Conflict Years. The section was short, a page and a half to be exact. Its contents gave off the same ambiguous vibe that Josephine had given her shortly before. Mentioned were things like "necessary negotiations," "a shift in power," and a "mutual agreement to ensure lasting peace."

But who was this peace with?

"You won't find what you're looking for in there." A voice coming from in front of her called out.

Ellie didn't look up immediately. She continued to study the pages before letting the brown leather gloves that were level with the top of the table guide her focus. From there, her eyes continued to ascend, taking in his pristine matching brown suit. Her eyes stopped trailing once they reached his face. Ellie let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding.

Bandages were wrapped around the entirety of his face and neck.

She cursed herself internally for allowing her breath to escape in that manner. It was rude, and she hoped he hadn't noticed.

He did. Jack noticed everything.

"What is it that you think I'm looking for?"

"Honesty." His expression was hard to read through the bandages, but she could have sworn she saw his mouth twitch.

"It's a history book." Ellie closed the book and ran her fingers over the embossed title on the cover. "Why wouldn't it be honest?"

"How naive…" Jack continued to stand in front of her. His level of composure was something that Ellie had never seen before. "You think the world always shows the truth, when in reality it's the opposite. People only show what they want you to see."

"You say that like you know something." Ellie started to get up from her seat at the table.

"I know everything."

"What about the Conflict Years?"

A bitter laugh came from Jack's throat. "Is that what they're calling it?"

Ellie moved away from the chair, pushing it into the table in the process. She grabbed the book off the table and took a step toward him.

"Calling what?"

He glanced around the shop before giving a gentle response: "The war."

"What war?"

Jack saw the confusion wash over her face. She would soon learn that things in this town were not as they seemed.

"I told you, you won't find what you're looking for in there."

Ellie glanced at the book again. She then lifted her head to see the faceless man. He offered nebulous information, like Josephine, but he had vanished. She let out a soft gasp at the quickness of his exit. She didn't even hear him leave.

What she did notice, though, was a sheet of paper on the table in place of where the book had been. It had obvious signs of aging and frayed edges. The text looked like someone had written it with a quill. Ellie started to read the script.

Under the Truce of Darkmoor, the well will receive offerings upon our command. One life in exchange for preservation.

Underneath was a drawing of a well. Ellie noticed it as the one in the center of the village. The words "Numquam obliviscaris te sola nostra voluntate exsistere" appeared next to the drawing.

Someone named Zarina signed the bottom of the paper. There was a second name, too, one she couldn't make out.

Offerings.

Life.

_____________________________________________

The wind fluttered through Ellie's hair like a soft veil lifting in the breeze. Her shimmering blonde hair contrasted with the dull gray stone that made up most of her new home.

"I've a feeling we're not in Oregon anymore," Ellie said, rolling her suitcase down the cobblestone road. The wheels thumped over the gaps in the stones, making a steady noise.

Matt let out a small chuckle at her Wizard of Oz reference. Her husband also had a suitcase in tow.

"It's… old." Her eyes swept over the village. The buildings looked like they had stood for hundreds of years.

"Preserved." Matt hummed. "That's good. It means someone has maintained the infrastructure."

What caught her off guard more than its age was its lack of greenery. It had some signs of life. Moss clung to some stones, and a few trees, though struggling, still stood. The absence of color made Ellie feel uneasy. The town wasn't lifeless, but it was close.

"There are no flowers." She turned her head to look up at her husband.

"It's the climate. There's less sunlight. Probably different soil—"

"Soil composition. I know." A sigh escaped her lips as she looked at a leafless branch on one of the trees. "It's… not what I was expecting."

"Ellie, it's fine. You'll adapt."

She nodded her head without making a sound. Ellie focused on the villagers in the street instead of the sparse plants. A few of them watched her and her husband rolling their belongings down the road. Their gaze on them was subtle, as if they were trying not to look. Some stopped. Some whispered. Ellie gave them a smile and a wave anyway. They didn't wave back.

Her shoulders slumped in defeat as she pivoted her head forward to keep her eyes on the path ahead.

"That's us," Matt said, pointing to a rustic-looking building. "Cottage by the lagoon."

Ellie had to admit the cottage looked like something straight out of a storybook—a dark and stormy storybook, but a storybook nonetheless.

"This is beautiful." Her feet stopped moving once she arrived at the front of the structure, immediately letting go of her suitcase.

The body of water situated near the home made her eyes sparkle. The water was murky and looked like a black mirror. It was the only thing in the village that bore a faint resemblance to Oregon, and Ellie found comfort in that.

She ran toward the lagoon before sticking her hand into the water.

"It's cold now, but once it gets warmer, we'll have nature's swimming pool in our backyard." Her eyes beamed as she removed her hand from the lagoon. She shook off its wetness and sauntered back to the luggage she had abandoned in her excitement.

"I need to report to the office first thing tomorrow morning." Matt fished a key out of his coat pocket. He slid it into the lock on the door, revealing several cardboard boxes piled up in the living area. "Our stuff is already here. You should start unpacking. Go out into the village and get a feel for the place."

"Wow, the movers got these here fast." Ellie steps in, surprised but relieved. "I expected it to take a few weeks. Between seeing the village and the taxi driver saying he 'couldn't take us any further' when we reached the city limits sign."

"See? It's different… but that doesn't mean we're off to a bad start." He made his way over to a box labeled 'garden' and placed a hand on top of it. "It's going to be strange until we get used to it, but all our things are here, which makes it a little less strange."

A smile started to form on Ellie's face. Maybe Matt was right. After all, she could look at it like a challenge. Maybe she could even get those trees in the square restored to the green glory they should have been in. Her body turned towards the door, looking outside once more at the village in the distance before pushing it shut.

In the shadows, Jack Griffin had been watching them ever since they made their way past the well, the centerpiece of the town. Bandages were wrapped with precision. The hat brim was low enough to obscure the glasses covering his eyes. Three-piece suit pressed to perfection.

He studied the man first. Easy to categorize, Jack thought to himself. Already scanning his surroundings like they were problems for him to solve.

Impermanent. Forgettable.

The woman, however, moved like someone who expects the world to meet her halfway. That's not how people in Darkmoor move.

His eyebrows lifted as he saw her approach the lagoon. Most villagers avoided it, but she ran toward it with excitement.

"Well," Jack muttered lowly after her hand dipped into the lagoon, "you're going to be a problem."

Not annoyed.

Not displeased.

Delilah hadn’t seen Frank in three days. She’d like to think that maybe that meant he was staying out of trouble, but she knew that wasn’t the case. There were too many reports of deaths amongst the city piled up on her desk that had his name written all over them. She hadn’t seen him in three days because it must have meant that he wasn’t hurt enough to need her to help sew him back up.

She felt comfort in the fact that he likely didn’t have any major damage done to him. Having said that, there was a part of her that wished he would show up at her front door.

Everyday of the week, she heard interesting stories. Everyday of the week, she wrote interesting stories. But having Frank, the Big Bad Punisher, in her home gave her a wave of excitement she hadn’t felt since her college day rendezvous’ with a certain blind lawyer.

Everything about it was foolish. She was enthralled by a man that she had just met. A man that she didn’t even know the last name of. A man who was on the FBI’s top most wanted list.

It had gotten to the point that her job; her dream job… felt mundane. Her focus was no longer on that robbery on 34th street, or that building fire, or that heated political race. All that Delilah Lovett could think about was Frank.

So, in typical Delilah fashion she did what she always did when a man was taking over too much of her thoughts— call up a girlfriend and drink until she forgot.

That was how she ended up in a tight little red dress standing across from Karen Page at a very loud and very vibrant nightclub with two shots of rum coursing through her veins.

“This is… different.” Karen looked around the room as she clutched her drink in her hand.

“I just felt like I needed to go somewhere different than Josie’s… Somewhere more lively.” Delilah grabbed the shot glass that sat on the tabletop that divided her and Karen.

“It’s definitely lively.” A small giggle came from the blonde. Her eyes continued to wander, taking in the dozens of people dancing, vibrating speakers, and neon lights.

“Cheers!” Delilah downed the shot before flagging down a server for another one. “So… a little birdie told me that you went on a date with Matt.”

A tinge of pink could be seen creeping onto Karen’s face. “If by little birdie you mean Foggy, yes. Matt and I went on a date.”

“And?”

Karen could only muster out a smile.

“How did it go?” The second shot Delilah had ordered made its way to the table.

Karen took a small sip of her drink. “It went well. We went to this really fancy place Uptown, but then I think we both realized that we were trying too hard to impress each other. We ended up leaving, and going to this cute little Indian restaurant. He walked me home.”

“He walked you home.” A smirk worked its way onto Delilah’s face as she picked up the newly filled shot glass.

“He did.”

“Did you guys… you know…” She paused before turning her smirk into a big toothy grin. “Get to know each other in a biblical sense?”

Karen’s eyes widened with shock. “Delilah!”

“What? Come on, I need to live vicariously through you. My personal life is so boring right now.” She glanced at the glass in her hand before raising it up in the air. “To Karen Page and Matt Murdock!”

“Okay, I think you’ve had enough.” Karen let out a breathy laugh at Delilah’s toast.

“No.” Delilah choked down the liquid that was in the glass before slamming it on the table. “Okay, now I’ve had enough.”

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

She had somehow convinced Karen, who was significantly less hammered than Delilah, that she was capable of getting home by herself. Well, she was sure Karen wasn’t entirely convinced, but a call she received from Matt asking to come over swayed her decision.

Her apartment wasn’t too far from the nightclub they had spent the last hour at, but it wasn’t right around the corner either. This wasn’t her first time walking home alone from a night of drinking, and it wouldn’t be her last.

The walk home wasn’t out of the ordinary. There were people on the streets whose night outings were extending way past hers. There were homeless people lingering around convenience stores. There was nothing for her to be concerned about; until there was.

Delilah had noticed a man rounding the corner of an alleyway as she passed by it about a block back. It was very possible that he could’ve just been on his way to wherever his destination was, but she had now been walking for two more blocks since, testing out different speeds of walking. Each time she switched paces he matched it. Her apartment was nearby, and coming to the conclusion that he was following her she didn’t want him to know where she lived.

“Okay, what do you want?” She turned around to face the man. “Is it my wallet or something because if that’s what you want you can have it.” Her hands started to dig into her purse.

She never claimed it was a smart idea, but with four shots of liquor in her system it was all she could think of to keep the location of her home a secret.

“Why don’t you come back to my place, sweet cheeks?” He started to approach her, closing the distance. “I promise to make it worth your while.”

“So you don’t want the wallet?” Delilah removed her hands from her purse. “Why don’t you turn around and leave me alone, cupcake.”

Mocking a stranger who was following her late at night was probably not the best idea, but her intoxicated state didn’t allow her brain to filter out words before she spoke them.

“Ah, she’s a feisty one.”

She felt a hand wrap around her wrist. The grip he had was strong, so strong that even with her using all of her force to move in the opposite direction he still pulled her into the dark corridor on the side of them.

“This dress is real pretty, but I think it would look much better on the floor.” His hand roamed up to her shoulder to slide the strap of her dress off.

That was enough for Delilah to use her free arm, the one that was holding her purse, to swing the handbag up against the side of his face.

“Bitch!” The hand that was on her shoulder pushed back against her with such force, slamming her into the brick wall in the alley.

A discernible wince came from her as her head took a good bit of the impact against the wall. Distracted by the pain pooled in the back of her head, she didn’t even notice she knife he had pulled out until she felt the cold metal against her collar bone.

“I tried to do this the nice and easy way, but you just had to be difficult, didn’t you?”

Her eyes shut in preparation for the worst, but it never came. The knife falling to the ground. The sound of bones cracking. A loud thud on the concrete. Those were all sounds that surrounded her in the alleyway. She kept her eyes closed until a gruff voice prompted her to open them.

“You wanna tell me what you’re doing out here alone at this hour dressed like that?”

It was Frank, the entire reason she had been out getting plastered in the first place. In front of him was the body of the hooded figure that was holding a knife near her throat seconds prior. His neck? Broken.

Delilah’s eyes focused on the man’s neck for a moment before bringing her attention to Frank. “What are you, my daddy? Did I break my curfew?”

His arms were crossed. He glared at her with such intensity, even more so than when she’d forgotten to lock her apartment door.

“I wasn’t alone. Karen… Well, I was with her.” She started to stumble forward. “But she had to leave to go do the devil’s dance with Matt, if you know what I mean.” A laugh broke free from her mouth, allowing Frank to catch a whiff of the alcohol smell that traveled from her breath.

“For fuck’s sake… How much have you had to drink?”

“Only a little.” She continued her pursuit forward towards Frank. However, she forgot about the body on the floor in front of her. Her foot caught onto the side of the man, sending her headfirst into Frank.

He didn’t wrap his arms around her, but his firm chest stopped her from going anywhere.

“Oops.” She blurted out, staying pressed against him. “Frank?”

“What?”

“Do you think he’s dead?”

“He ain’t breathin, ain’t he?”

Delilah looked back down at the body on the ground. It was then that Frank noticed a portion of her copper red hair had turned a crimson color.

“You’re bleeding.” He said pulling her away from him and directing her around the body. “The back of your head.”

“I am?” Her hands moved to touch her hair. When she brought them back in front of her they were covered in red. “It must’ve happened when he pushed me against the brick…” The adrenaline had kicked in once Frank had arrived, temporarily making her forget about her run in with the wall.

“Needs to be cleaned up.” Frank started walking towards the sidewalk. He turned around when he didn’t hear her heels clicking on the ground. “You gonna just stand there or what?”

She still didn’t move. “What about…” she pointed to the ground.

“I’ll take care of it later.”

Delilah made a shrugging gesture and started to move towards Frank. “Do I want to know what that means?”

“No.”

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

For the third time in the last week, Frank and Delilah had sat on the carpet in her living room with a first aid kit in reach. Only this time, it wasn’t Delilah patching up Frank. It was Frank patching up Delilah.

“What were you doing in that alleyway, anyway?”

“I was in the neighborhood.” Frank parted her hair to get a better look at the source of the bleeding.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You were in the neighborhood?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna know what I think?”

“No-“

“I think you were stalking me.” She felt a cold sharp sting on the back of her head. “Owww! Jesus, what are you doing?”

He held a blood stained cotton ball in front of her face.

“How bad is it?”

“Not bad. Doesn’t need stitches or anything.” Frank grabbed a bottle of diluted hydrogen peroxide from the first aid kit. “Just needs to be cleaned real good.”

Her face contorted in discomfort when the chemical compound collided with the gash on the back of her head, leaving her to deal with a burning sensation.

“Good thing you don’t need stitches.”

“Why?”

“You wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Frank retorted back at her question.

“I most definitely could handle it!” She felt the peroxide soaked cotton ball press against her skin again. “Oww!”

He looked at her with an amused expression. It was an expression that said ‘thank you for proving my point.’

Delilah made a pout with her lips. “I liked it better when you were the one that needed fixing up.”

Her eyes scanned him for a brief moment. She didn’t believe what he said earlier; that he was just in the neighborhood. She could have believed that maybe he was in the area if he were wounded, but she couldn’t find any new marks on him.

“Are you…”

He made note of her eyes studying him. “No. I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” She nodded as she contemplated her next question. “You’re not hurt, so are you still sticking with your statement that you were just in the neighborhood?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it?” Frank looked towards a black duffle bag to the side of him. “Truth is, I was coming to give you something.” He stood up, grabbing the bag from the floor and throwing it onto the coffee table.

“You got me a gift?”

This was unexpected. She had only known him a few days, but she didn’t peg him as the gift-giving type. Her mind wondered what he could’ve gotten her. Her curiosity was settled when he pulled out a worn out yellow hardcover book.

“Uh, thought I would help expand your collection.”

He handed her the book.

Dracula.

“Thank you.” She looked at the book for a moment before moving to her feet.

Frank gave her a small nod.

“Is it even worth asking if you want to stay?” Delilah motioned her head towards the plush couch that they were leaning against moments earlier.

Frank was conflicted. He was exhausted, practically running on empty. He didn’t sleep much these days, relying on exuberant amounts of black coffee to keep him going. Right now that couch looked like the most comfortable thing he had ever seen. In spite of that, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already in too deep with her.

“If you feel like you’re inconveniencing me, you’re not. I mean it.” The sincerity in her words shined through loud and clear.

Fuck it, he thought. He would fall asleep for a few hours, slip out before she even woke up, and that would be the end of it.

“Your pillows soft or firm?”

The question had garnered a laugh from Delilah. It prompted her to turn on her heels in the direction of her bedroom. She disappeared out of his view for a moment, but her footsteps were still able to be heard. When she reappeared she was clutching a pillow under one arm and a blanket in another.

“I prefer a stiffer pillow, so if that’s also your preference you’re in luck.” She dropped both of them on the couch.

Truth be told, Frank didn’t really care what type of pillow he was given. He had slept on cots in the desert, on the ground, and on a lone mattress with no bed frame or box.

“If you want anything from the kitchen feel free to take whatever. The only way to get to the bathroom is through my room, so I’ll just leave my door open.” Delilah thought about if there was anything she was missing. “The TV remote is right there, and you’ve already explored my bookshelf.”

Frank sat down on the couch and started to situate the firm pillow she had brought him against the left arm of the sofa. “Thank you.”

“Maybe you could give Twilight another shot while you have it at your disposal.”

“I’ll have to think about it.” He had shot her the same words that she said to him the last night he was there when he suggested she try Dracula.

A light scoff came from Delilah’s body. “Good night, Frank.”

“Good night.”

Delilah wandered into her bedroom, while Frank started to adjust his body onto the couch. The couch was small, making him unable to completely outstretch on it while laying. It wasn’t the most ideal place for him to sleep, but that wasn’t his biggest worry. Exhaustion had no longer been on the forefront of his mind. When Delilah left the room the gravity of what he had done set in. He had slipped up and gotten too close. It wasn’t something he could do again.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

A bloodcurdling scream filled the apartment, causing Delilah to shoot up from her bed. Any ounce of sleepiness she had was completely gone. She quickly grabbed her phone and ran into the living room where she had last left Frank.

The screams she had heard were coming from him, face up on the couch gripping the edges of the cushions tightly.

“Frank.” She called out to him as she rushed over to his side.

He was still bellowing out even after she had called his name.

“Frank…” Her hand reached to cover the one closest to her, but his grip never left the sofa. “Shh, it’s okay, Frank. It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe.”

Frank felt the touch of her small hand covering his. His eyes zigzagged around the room to check his surroundings. When he saw strands of her fiery copper hair reflecting in the little light the room had his screams lessened to heavy pants.

Delilah had learned a bit about his life as a Marine the last time she had stitched him up. She didn’t have much experience with people in the line of duty, but she thought PTSD was probably a common occurrence amongst members who served their time fighting wars like he did.

“Where did you go just now?” She asked quietly, not removing her hand from on top of his. Her free hand moved to caress the top of his head. He was sweating profusely and his body felt like a furnace. “Kandahar? Were you dreaming about Kandahar?”

“The carousel…” Frank mumbled out.

“The carousel? What carousel? Is that some sort of military code phrase?”

“In the park…” His eyes were focused on the ceiling. There was a sadness to them, one that Delilah had never seen before from him. It was almost as if he was fighting something internally.

“Frank… I’m not sure what you’re talking about… What park? Central Park?”

His hand flipped over resulting in his palm depositing right up against hers. “Maria…Lisa… Fr-Frank Jr.” The thing he was fighting inside of him were tears. They were threatening to leak through and Delilah could see it.

For the first time in her life, Delilah Lovett was speechless. The man that she had invited to stay on her couch was currently in a state of distress that she didn’t know how to ease. She had so many questions. While her natural predisposition was to ask as many as she could til she got to the bottom of things, she realized that it wouldn’t amount to a fix for the problem; at least for his sake.

The daze that Frank was in had suddenly broken when his brain had completely caught up to the fact that he was in the apartment he had spent three days in during the last week. Delilah had taken notice of this as well when he abruptly shunned away her hands that were placed on his body. The speed at which he discarded the contact surged her crouching frame back towards the floor.

“Shit.” He mumbled at a barely audible tone. He placed both of his hands onto his head, rubbing his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“What did it mean?”

Frank was silent.

“The carousel. The park. Those people.”

“Go back to bed, Delilah.”

“Frank, what does it mean?”

“Damn it, Delilah, I said go back to bed!” He sat up when he spoke this time. The sadness in his eyes had now been taken over by darkness.

If looks could kill, she could’ve sworn she would be six feet under in a grave right now. She started to use her hands to move backwards in a crawling motion. The coffee table stopped her momentum, thwacking her in the back. A small groan came from her lips as she sheepishly stood up and retreated back into her bedroom, opting to close the door instead of leaving it open like she had previously.

Frank didn’t mean to do it, but he knew that he did; he had frightened her. For the first time in all of their encounters she was scared of him. He had acted like an asshole. He was an asshole, he thought to himself. Maybe, it was better that way. It was the opportunity he needed to distance himself.