Page 87 of Shattered By the Currents

The move had done nothing to help them. If it hadn’t been for her friendship with Sampson, Xander’s only employee, she’d have drowned in the loneliness.

She rolled to her other side but didn’t bother closing her eyes this time. Instead, she just lay there, staring into the darkness, her head full of questions.

Why was her signature on those documents in Xander’s office? And why didn’t she feel safe enough to ask him?

They’d been together since ninth grade. She should feel safe asking him anything.

Another ten minutes passed. Minutes that trickled by so slowly they stretched and blurred.

A shout from downstairs had her shooting up into a sitting position.

Who was that? Xander? Sampson?

Quickly, she climbed out of bed and pulled on jeans, a sweatshirt, and her shoes before grabbing the garage key from the hall table.

The apartment above the garage had initially seemed like a good idea. No commute time for Xander meant he’d be home more…at least she’d thought.

She stepped outside, cold air slapping her in the face. She didn’t mind the cold though. It reminded her of home. Of Deep River and her parents and all the small-town quirks of her childhood.

She jogged down the stairs that ran down the side of the building, the dark night silent around her.

When she reached the bottom, she tried the side-door handle. Locked. Not a surprise. Xander often locked it while he worked at night.

She slipped the key into the door and turned it. The smells of oil, rubber, and metal filled her nose as she stepped inside, silently pulling the door closed behind her.

Faint light spilled over the garage, illuminating the stained concrete floors and the tools that hung on walls, others scattered on workbenches.

The silence suddenly felt loud and heavy. Was he not here?She rounded a blue Civic.

At first, she didn’t see him. Her attention was aimed upward, on the office. The windows.

When she did, she froze. Not a single part of her moved. Not her feet. Not her chest. Not even a blink. It was like her brain was trying to comprehend what she was looking at.

Then reality kicked in. A cry tore from her chest and she sprinted forward.

“Sampson!” She dropped beside him, barely feeling the pain when her knees hit the hard concrete floor. “Sampson! Open your eyes.”

He didn’t. He was completely still.

No, no, no.

Her gaze went to the knife in his stomach, air choking out of her. Her head was a foggy mess, and without thinking, she grabbed the end of it and pulled.

Blood soaked through his shirt, and she used her free hand to press against the wound.

“You’re okay, Sampson! I’m going to call for help. I’m going—” She stopped when she noticed his chest wasn’t moving.

Slowly, and with trembling fingers, she reached up and searched for his pulse.

Nothing. Not a single flicker beneath her fingers.

He was dead.

She stumbled to her feet and shot back, the knife dropping from her hand, clattering loudly to the floor.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Off the blood staining his shirt and pooling beneath his body. The way his head sat at an odd angle.

Dead. He was dead.