(not for people with weak stomachs)
Juliette is being hunted. But this killer doesn't want to just hurt her physically, he wants to hurt her mentally first. Soon Juliette realizes no one she is linked to is safe. Will she be able to protect her family from this mad man? Or will Juliette always be haunted by HIM?


3. Chapter 2

~Juliette's POV~


It’s August 15th, Sunday. A week before Emilie leaves. He decided to come today.

      I woke up this morning with a massive headache, partially because Emilie is still ignoring me. I haven’t agreed to be fight-free after she leaves. Completely my decision.

      We all ate breakfast together: Mom, Dad, Emilie and I. Something we hadn’t done since... I don’t even remember when the last time we did this was. But none of us spoke. We ate our breakfast in silence, occasionally lifting our heads to glance at each other or ask for something that was out of our reach, but never engaging in a complex conversation. Yep, this was my family.

      Then the doorbell rang.

      We all jumped at the sound. Rarely, more close to never actually, did we get visitors on Sunday. After all, it was a day of rest. But whoever was at the door obviously didn’t care, because the doorbell kept ringing.

      Since the breakfast table wasn’t getting any more exciting, I volunteered to answer the door. It was an excuse to get away from my moping family, so I was happy for a little while.

      I turned the knob, bracing myself for whatever was behind the door.

      “Who are you and what could you possibly want so badly enough to ring the doorbell 27 times?” I said in an utterly annoyed voice as soon as the door was open.

      “Hi,” said a man with shaggy brown hair that fell just across his forehead, barely masking his shining green eyes, just like Emilie’s, just like mine... But it couldn’t be. He, he was gone...

      The man was holding a little girl’s hand, maybe three or four years old, and an older boy, about fourteen or fifteen stood behind them, arms crossed.

      “L—Liam?” I asked, awaiting the response, my mind hoping for it to be no. Who did he think he was? Coming back here after leaving us for Texas? And to think that he thought that I would remember him after all this time? I was seven when he left, for goodness sakes!

      “Juliette,” he said, almost like he had just gone to the grocery store and he needed me to put away the bags.

      I dismissed his response. Tilting my head towards the kids I asked, “Who are they?”

      “Can I come in and explain?” Liam pleaded, his southern accent was thick.

      “Whatever,” I muttered, standing aside so he could enter our silent home. It didn’t even bother me that no one had asked who was at the door.

      “Mom, Dad, Emilie! I’m home!” Liam called; a little fear edged his voice.

      “Who is that, Juliette?” Dad asked, first sentence he’d said to me all day.

      “It’s—it’s... Liam.” I said, still angry he’d rang the doorbell 27 times to mutter “Hi” to me.

      “Liam?” Mom shrieked, her coffee mug fell to the ground, shattering. “Here?”

      “Hi Mom, Dad. This is Teresa,” he said gesturing to the little girl, now clinging to the older boy’s leg. “and this is Justin. Boy, do I have a story for you!” he said, shakily.

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