Willow Haven

Chapter 4.

Jeremy wakes me, his soft lips against my skin, and my eyes flutter open. His dark eyes stare down at me as he runs his fingers through my hair.

"Time to wake up, Ava."

I roll over into McKenzie, who smiles as she rests her face on her hands.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I ask as Jeremy climbs over me to lay on top of her.

"Time to wake up," McKenzie repeats as Jeremy slips his hand up her nightgown.

They begin to make out as I gag, revolted by the sight of them.  Then they stop, turn to look at me, and scream, "WAKE UP!"

I sit up hard, my knees flinging into the glovebox as I'm jolted awake by the nightmare that is my reality.

"What dreams were you having?" Mercedes asks as she laughs. "Been trying to wake you for the last ten minutes."

Disoriented, I look over at her, surprised that the night came so quickly. We've been driving almost thirty hours straight, with a few breaks here and there, and it was my turn to sleep.

"Don't ask," I respond, wiping the drool that made its way down my chin.

Mercedes looks me over one last time before she points out the window.

"We're almost there. Next exit."

Mercedes takes exit 432-A, 20 miles to Willow Haven, and my heart races. Night becomes more apparent as we leave behind the lit highway and enter dark, thick woods. I barely breathe as Mercedes approaches a blinking light with a sign pointing to the right: Willow Haven, 5 miles. In the distance, a train blows its horn.

"Ready?" 

Her signal ticks as we sit at the light on the desolate road.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"I'm right here with you," she says as she takes my hand, turning towards Willow Haven. "Look, there's a sign for a Bed and Breakfast. Let's stay there tonight and we'll check out your place in the morning."

"Sounds great," I agree as she turns.

We pass a sign that reads, Welcome to Willow Haven, where there's no place like home. My throat goes dry as we drive through a quaint town, with small shops placed one after the other on every block we pass. Sidewalks are well-lit with benches and smaller trees, and a large park separates one block from another.

Sylvia's Bed and Breakfast rests on the next block corner surrounded by lush green grass. The large house is painted a light shade of blue with white trim. A staircase leads up to a white wraparound deck.

Mercedes parks my car on the street in front of the house. She has my suitcases out of the trunk by the time I climb out of the car. We stare up at Sylvia's Bed and Breakfast, and with a long, deep breath, I follow Mercedes on the cobblestone path leading to the stairs.

A strip of bells jingle as we enter the foyer. A soft, golden light welcomes us, reflecting against polished, wooden floors and cabinets cluttered with antique trinkets. Plush armchairs line the room's perimeter with different shades of brown. 

Mercedes rings a bell on the desk.

As we wait, I look at the pictures hanging on the walls. In the middle of the many photographs is a large portrait of an aging couple with a young boy. The older man sits in a wheelchair, his wife proudly holding his shoulder. The boy sits in front of them, holding onto a football with a small smile. A black-and-white picture hangs next to it, a younger version of the aging couple. The woman smiles widely in her vintage wedding gown as the man stands tall in a black tuxedo; both look stunning.