Nicole Young - Kiss Me If You Dare

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I gave a savage kick to a mound of snow in my path. Maybe I wouldn’t wait for the cops. Maybe I’d be the one to give her what she deserved, then and there. As scenarios of vengeance scuttered through my mind, I played each of them out to their violent end.

Back at the inn, I stomped my boots on the entry rug and took the stairs to my room. Who was I kidding? Maybe I’d had it in me to sprinkle some pills in my suffering grandmother’s arthritic hands, but when it came time, would I really have the gumption to deliberately kill someone? Especially where blood was involved?

I tamped down my anger, reverting to plan A. Turning her in to the cops, extraditing her to Michigan, testifying at her trial, seeing her go to prison… that would be my revenge. On the other hand, knowing Candice’s history, she wouldn’t let the cops take her anyway. She’d escape, or die trying.

My mind flashed to the day at the lodge, with Brad lying on the floor, his chest covered in red. I’d felt his blood on my hands, not comprehending at the time what it meant to my future. Not comprehending that it would lead to this day, this moment, this place.

Wasn’t that enough reason to seek my revenge? Blood for blood. Her life for the life she took from me.

Inside my hotel room, I showered, hoping to wash away the images I’d concocted in my mind. I dropped into bed and watched an hour of lousy cable programming, then fell asleep, tossing and turning through the night.

By morning, my mind was back on food. This time I headed straight for the hotel desk for a breakfast voucher. With a clear sky above and only a light wind, I took the long way around to the mess hall, heading left out the front door instead of right.

I found myself on another street with a name too difficult to pronounce. I passed a group of apartment buildings and turned down Raven Street, the outside circle of the lopped-off wheel. Boxy prefab houses in various pastels lined both sides of the road. Labradorians, or perhaps just The Company, seemed to lack the notion of porches or trees, making the neighborhood feel antiseptic. Behind the homes, a ridge of snow-covered pines reached for the sky.

Now and then a car pulled past, the occupants giving me a curious stare as they drove by. I angled up Eagle Street, the cold starting to penetrate boots that promised more than they delivered. Ahead was the mess hall. I pushed inside, joining the crowd for coffee and a hot meal.

I sat kitty-corner from a klatch of men and women gearing up for their day. I tried to blend in but noticed several stares, nods, and muted conversations around the cafeteria. Perhaps I was paranoid. Then again, the workers probably were speculating on my visit to town, perhaps having heard about my search for a missing person.

A gust of wind blew past my feet as another group came in from the cold. Finished with my oatmeal and eggs, I cleared my tray, pausing on my way out to zip my coat. I walked without looking as I fiddled with the pull-and collided with the chest of a plant worker.

My head shot up. “I’m sorry,” I gushed, catching his startled look. “Just trying to bundle up before I hit the door.”

I tried to brush off the incident, but the fifty-something man stood stock-still in front of me, staring. Eyes wide, mouth open, stepping backward as if he’d seen a ghost. I squinted at him, confused by his reaction. “Are you okay?”

He nodded, mute, then twirled and dashed off toward the restrooms.

That was the first time I’d gotten that reaction. Never thought my face could make a man ill.

I slipped on my hat and mittens, pulled my hood tight around my face, and walked directly back to the hotel, wishing the library wasn’t on the same holiday schedule as the grocery store. I’d left the book I’d borrowed from Denton’s shelf of classics back at Puppa’s for safekeeping.

To pass the day, I watched cooking shows and twiddled my thumbs, not having the faintest clue where to start looking for Candice beyond the mess hall. After a fascinating lesson on fluffy cheese soufflés, I stretched out on the floor, loosening up muscles tight from traveling. With my face so close to the ground, I could fully examine the lint and miscellaneous other particles that had landed on the carpet. I got up and dusted off, then got ready for Therese’s party, thrilled to have been invited to dinner by a complete stranger my first night in town.

I double-checked for Candice’s picture in my purse, ready to show it at the gathering should the opportunity arise. With parka and boots on, off I went to the party. I stopped at the hotel desk for an envelope and put in a generous gift for the girl whose friend looked a lot like me.

A few blocks away, I found the gray-sided house. Several cars were parked in the drive and a couple more along the curb. As I knocked on the door, I wondered how all those people would fit in the tiny space.

Therese opened the door wide. “Tasha. Welcome.”

I stepped in, surprised that the interior felt roomy and open. A group of partygoers filled the living room. I smiled at the blur of faces, nervous to be surrounded by strangers.

Therese led me through to the kitchen. “This is my daughter Renee. Renee, this is Tasha Stewart, visiting from the States.”

I shook the hand of the dark-haired beauty, who glowed like a candle atop a sixteenth-birthday cake. “It’s nice to meet you,” I said, amazed at the radiance of youth.

She returned the compliment, then joined a group of young people at the table.

Therese led me around the house, introducing me to her clique. I lost track of names, and before we were done, the faces began to look the same. We’d made a circle through the living room and were headed back into the kitchen.

“Oh,” Therese exclaimed, “you haven’t met Monique yet. Wait until you see her. You will be amazed.”

Heads turned when we reached the table of teens, as if I’d already been a topic of conversation. I spotted my look-alike right away. Long, reddish-brown hair, and a nose and mouth the same as mine. I’d always thought the bottom half of my face was run-of-the-mill, but Monique was beautiful. Her eyes were brown, not green like mine, and had a rounder shape, but somehow our eyebrows had the same arch to them.

Therese introduced us. “She belongs to Suzette and Roger Jamison.”

We shook hands. Neither of us spoke, probably stunned speechless. There seemed no credible explanation, except that we both had Noah as a common ancestor. After a moment of silence, those around the table began to fidget, no doubt as uncomfortable as I felt.

“Please help yourself to some food, Tasha,” Therese said, helping me out of an awkward spot.

I gladly dove into the array of breads, meats, cheeses, and side salads. Filling my plate, I wandered into the living room, looking for an opening in a conversation. The group on the sofa discussed the state of the Labrador/ Newfoundland economy. I steered away when I heard grumblings over some sort of lopsided agreement the power company had with Quebec. Two couples standing near the hallway had extreme weather on their minds, with battery chargers and the high cost of fuel their main concerns. I drifted toward the front door where a man and a woman ate their sandwiches in silence. His back was turned to me, but she seemed to watch my every move.

I smiled at the eye contact. Then, feeling foolish and alone in the center of the room, I beelined in her direction. She seemed to panic as I drew near, her forty-something forehead scrunching as she made some sort of eye signals to the man across from her. I almost let the behavior chase me away, but I figured I might as well take a risk. What were the chances I’d ever see any of these people again?