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Authors: Anastasia Hopcus
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ankle-boot moccasins out of my backpack and slipped them on. They were simple, with one row of fringe running vertically down the side where they tied closed.
“Wow.” Adriana looked at me in surprise when I came back. “That’s actually really cute. Obviously not something someone like me would wear.” She snorted at this notion. “But perfect for an L.A. native. Funky.”
A muffled ring came from Adriana’s purse, and she pulled out her iPhone. “Hello?” A pause. “We’ll be out in a bit.”
We walked outside to the waiting limo. It wasn’t one of those embarrassingly long things, but inside it was plush, and the ride was smooth and quiet.
“This is it,” I told the driver when we reached town. He pulled into a parking space and opened the back door for us.
“They might have clothes.” I pointed at a store called Sarah’s Boutique.
“We’ll try there first, then.” As we stepped inside, Adriana glanced around the dark, dingy shop with disdain. “What is all this pilgrim crap?” she muttered, luckily not loud enough for the ancient woman behind the counter to hear.
The gift shop was filled with folksy old-fashioned items. Hanging on the walls were blue and white tiles depicting ships at sea and framed squares of needlepoint with quaint sayings and intricately embroidered flowers. At the back of the narrow shop stood an antique dresser, the drawers pulled out to showcase the clothing inside.
Adriana was already picking through it, holding stuff up in disgust and putting it back. Everything was so conservative that it bordered on Amish: ankle-length, high-necked dresses; white blouses with peter pan collars; and polyester floral print jumpers. As rude as Adriana was being, I had to admit I almost gagged at the sight of the jumpers. Thankfully, the old lady was oblivious to our derision and offered us a friendly wave as we stepped back outside.
“Hulghhh.”
Adriana shuddered. “I’ve seen some scary stuff in my lifetime, including my fifty-year-old uncle in stretchy bikeshorts, but that”—she pointed at the offending store—“was truly horrific.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Adriana’s death glare prompted me to explain my logic. “You know, get the worst over with. Nothing can be as bad as that, et cetera.”
“God, I
hope
nothing else is as bad as that, or I might have a nervous breakdown.”
“Let’s try to avoid that, shall we?” As I linked my arm through Adriana’s, I noticed my silver Tiffany’s ID bracelet was missing.
Alarm rose up in me like a wave. The bracelet had originally been Athena’s, and I had always thought it was beautiful. She wore it every day for a year, but then a few weeks before her accident, she’d told me that she was tired of it and I could have it if I wanted. The bracelet was engraved with the infinity symbol, and I’d worn it almost every day since. It reminded me of Athena—that a part of her was always with me.
“My bracelet must have fallen off inside. I need to find it.”
“Go right ahead; I’ll be out here trying to recover from the polyester attack.”
As I searched through the store, I heard a strange, erratic thumping behind me. I turned. The haggard old lady was making her way over to me.
Her pace was halting, and the sound of her cane striking the floor was oddly menacing. I stood frozen to the spot, unable to look away. One of the woman’s legs was shriveled and dragging behind her. Trying not to stare at it, I focused on the woman’s skeletal face. When my eyes met hers, her mouth fell open, and she covered it with a weathered hand.
“Rebekah!” she breathed in awe.
“What?”
“You’re Rebekah Sampson,” she told me.
“No.” I turned back to the dresser and started going through the next drawer more quickly. The name seemed familiar somehow and the look in the woman’s eyes was inexplicably frightening to me.
“Don’t you remember me? It’s Sarah.”
“I’m not Rebekah.” My fingers hit
“Wow.” Adriana looked at me in surprise when I came back. “That’s actually really cute. Obviously not something someone like me would wear.” She snorted at this notion. “But perfect for an L.A. native. Funky.”
A muffled ring came from Adriana’s purse, and she pulled out her iPhone. “Hello?” A pause. “We’ll be out in a bit.”
We walked outside to the waiting limo. It wasn’t one of those embarrassingly long things, but inside it was plush, and the ride was smooth and quiet.
“This is it,” I told the driver when we reached town. He pulled into a parking space and opened the back door for us.
“They might have clothes.” I pointed at a store called Sarah’s Boutique.
“We’ll try there first, then.” As we stepped inside, Adriana glanced around the dark, dingy shop with disdain. “What is all this pilgrim crap?” she muttered, luckily not loud enough for the ancient woman behind the counter to hear.
The gift shop was filled with folksy old-fashioned items. Hanging on the walls were blue and white tiles depicting ships at sea and framed squares of needlepoint with quaint sayings and intricately embroidered flowers. At the back of the narrow shop stood an antique dresser, the drawers pulled out to showcase the clothing inside.
Adriana was already picking through it, holding stuff up in disgust and putting it back. Everything was so conservative that it bordered on Amish: ankle-length, high-necked dresses; white blouses with peter pan collars; and polyester floral print jumpers. As rude as Adriana was being, I had to admit I almost gagged at the sight of the jumpers. Thankfully, the old lady was oblivious to our derision and offered us a friendly wave as we stepped back outside.
“Hulghhh.”
Adriana shuddered. “I’ve seen some scary stuff in my lifetime, including my fifty-year-old uncle in stretchy bikeshorts, but that”—she pointed at the offending store—“was truly horrific.”
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Adriana’s death glare prompted me to explain my logic. “You know, get the worst over with. Nothing can be as bad as that, et cetera.”
“God, I
hope
nothing else is as bad as that, or I might have a nervous breakdown.”
“Let’s try to avoid that, shall we?” As I linked my arm through Adriana’s, I noticed my silver Tiffany’s ID bracelet was missing.
Alarm rose up in me like a wave. The bracelet had originally been Athena’s, and I had always thought it was beautiful. She wore it every day for a year, but then a few weeks before her accident, she’d told me that she was tired of it and I could have it if I wanted. The bracelet was engraved with the infinity symbol, and I’d worn it almost every day since. It reminded me of Athena—that a part of her was always with me.
“My bracelet must have fallen off inside. I need to find it.”
“Go right ahead; I’ll be out here trying to recover from the polyester attack.”
As I searched through the store, I heard a strange, erratic thumping behind me. I turned. The haggard old lady was making her way over to me.
Her pace was halting, and the sound of her cane striking the floor was oddly menacing. I stood frozen to the spot, unable to look away. One of the woman’s legs was shriveled and dragging behind her. Trying not to stare at it, I focused on the woman’s skeletal face. When my eyes met hers, her mouth fell open, and she covered it with a weathered hand.
“Rebekah!” she breathed in awe.
“What?”
“You’re Rebekah Sampson,” she told me.
“No.” I turned back to the dresser and started going through the next drawer more quickly. The name seemed familiar somehow and the look in the woman’s eyes was inexplicably frightening to me.
“Don’t you remember me? It’s Sarah.”
“I’m not Rebekah.” My fingers hit
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