Chapter 13: The Drifter

Mara woke to Daniel shaking her shoulder, his face pale in the gray morning light.

"Someone followed me home."

She sat up, instantly alert. "What?"

"From the grocery store. A man in a brown jacket. He stayed three cars back, but I saw him turn onto our street." Daniel's hands trembled as he pulled on his jeans. "He parked by the Hendersons' mailbox and just... watched."

Mara slipped out of bed, moving to the window. The street looked normal—empty driveways, newspapers scattered on wet pavement, Mrs. Chen walking her terrier. No brown jacket. No strange car.

"Show me where."

Daniel led her downstairs and pointed through the kitchen window. "Right there. Beat-up sedan, maybe blue or gray. He sat there for twenty minutes after I came inside."

"Did you see his face?"

"Not clearly. But he knew this house. He knew exactly where to stop for the best view of our bedroom window."

Mara's blood chilled. She'd been photographing Daniel in that window last night, developing the images in her darkroom until dawn. If someone had been watching...

"I'm calling the police."

"No." Daniel grabbed her wrist. "What if it's connected to... to the journal? What if he knows something about what I've been doing?"

The desperation in his voice made her pause. Daniel feared the truth more than danger, and she understood why. Some secrets were worse than death.

"We'll figure this out ourselves. Let me check the property first."

She dressed quickly and stepped outside. The morning air bit at her exposed skin, carrying the scent of rain and something else—something sharp and metallic. She circled the house, scanning for signs of intrusion.

The muddy bootprints appeared near her darkroom window.

Large, masculine, with a distinctive tread pattern that led from the oak tree to the shed and back. Someone had stood there for a long time, shifting weight from foot to foot, watching her develop photographs in the red-lit darkness.

Her stomach clenched. The prints were fresh, probably made around 4 AM when she'd been alone in the darkroom. Daniel had been inside, sleepwalking or pretending to sleep. She'd been completely vulnerable.

The bootprints led to the driveway, then vanished on the asphalt. Professional. Deliberate. Someone who knew how to avoid leaving evidence.

But they'd made one mistake.

Mara circled back to the darkroom window and stopped cold. A handprint pressed against the glass, palm flat, fingers splayed. The print was large, definitely male, and stained with something dark that had dried to a rust-colored crust.

Blood.

She backed away, scanning the yard for movement. The tree line remained still, but she felt watched. Studied. Someone was out there, hidden in the shadows, cataloging her every reaction.

"Mara?" Daniel's voice from the back door. "Find anything?"

She forced her voice steady. "Footprints. Someone was definitely here."

Daniel joined her, his face draining of color when he saw the bloody handprint. "Jesus. What kind of person—"

"The kind who knows what we've been hiding."

They stood in silence, staring at the evidence. The handprint seemed to pulse in the morning light, an accusation pressed against the glass. Someone had watched her develop photographs of Daniel at crime scenes. Someone knew about the journal, the sleepwalking, the gaps in their memories.

Someone was playing games.

"We need to clean this up," Mara said.

"Shouldn't we preserve it? For evidence?"

"Evidence of what? That someone was on our property? That doesn't prove anything except we have a stalker." She moved toward the house. "I'll get cleaning supplies."

"Mara, wait." Daniel caught her arm. "What if this person... what if they're connected to Haven Creek? What if they know what really happened there?"

The question hung between them like a blade. Mara had been wondering the same thing. The timing felt orchestrated—someone wanted them to know they were being watched, wanted them to feel hunted.

But by whom? And why now?

She was about to answer when movement in her peripheral vision made her freeze. A figure stood at the edge of the tree line, partially hidden by fog. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing something dark that could have been a brown jacket.

"Daniel," she whispered.

He followed her gaze. The figure didn't move, didn't acknowledge being seen. Just stood there, watching them with an intensity that made Mara's skin crawl.

"Is that him?" she asked.

"I think so."

They stared back, neither moving. The fog shifted, and for a moment the figure seemed closer, as if it had stepped forward without walking. Then the mist thickened, and when it cleared, the tree line was empty.

Mara ran toward the spot where the figure had stood. The ground was soft from yesterday's rain, perfect for holding footprints. But when she reached the trees, she found nothing. No impressions, no broken branches, no sign that anyone had been there.

"He was right here," she called back to Daniel.

"Maybe you imagined it. The fog plays tricks."

But Mara knew what she'd seen. Someone was watching them, following them, leaving bloody handprints like breadcrumbs leading to an unknown destination.

She returned to the house, mind racing. The stalker knew about Haven Creek—had to. The timing was too perfect, the psychological pressure too precise. Someone wanted them to remember what they'd forgotten, wanted them to confront the truth about their manipulated past.

But as she looked at Daniel's frightened face, Mara realized the stalker might be doing them a favor. The more external pressure they faced, the more they'd need to rely on each other. The more secrets they'd need to share.

She cleaned the handprint from the window with bleach and paper towels, erasing the evidence like she'd erased so many other inconvenient truths. But as she worked, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched, that someone in the fog was taking notes, documenting her every choice.

By noon, the bootprints had vanished too. Rain had washed them away, leaving only clean mud and her growing paranoia.

But that night, as she lay in bed listening to Daniel's breathing, Mara heard footsteps in the attic again. Slow, deliberate, circling above their bedroom like a predator marking territory.

She slipped out of bed and climbed the stairs, but the attic was empty. Just dust and shadows and the lingering scent of something metallic.

Something that smelled like blood.

The footsteps had stopped, but the silence felt expectant, as if someone was holding their breath, waiting for her to discover what they'd left behind.

Mara was about to search the storage boxes when Daniel's voice drifted up from below, thick with sleep and terror:

"Mother, please. I'll be good. I won't tell anyone what you did."