Read Deceived for Free Online Page B

used to pull out her hair ribbons every year or so, take his grief to a new level, and then we moved. By the time I turned eleven, I knew what it meant when I saw the black ribbons appear: Dad would want to start over, run from what chased him. The more I thought about the ribbons, the more it scared me.
    I’d had enough library time.
    “Good night,” the man said as I passed him on my way out. I waved.
    On the walk home, my nerves were frayed worse than the ribbon. My skin snapped with anxiety. Walking through the grounds, there was a firefly near the bushes. The night air chilled my skin, and I hastened my pace. Fireflies didn’t last long in September. Before I reached the main strip of apartments and shops, there was another small light. A silhouette of black against an already lonesome night. The sun had set behind the hills when I left the library, and the darkness gained momentum. The moon and stars hid behind a vast mask of gray clouds. Streetlamps cast shadows from the cones of light. The streets were quiet and the campus still.
    My footsteps cracked in the night, and I cursed my choice of sandals over sneakers. Flip, flip, flip, flip. Soon my steps came faster. Flip, flip, flip, flip. Speeding up without intent and making me more nervous. Something was wrong. Nothing was wrong. Everything was wrong.
    The chill in the night air set my teeth chattering. Tension mounted, and I wrapped my arms across my chest instinctively. I tried to move faster. Blood whooshed between my ears, accompanied by my heavy breathing. A few fallen leaves rustled against the pavement. A twig cracked nearby, and bile rose in my throat. The slow thump of heavy footfalls reached my ears. I couldn’t swallow anymore. For a moment I wondered if I’d ever see the coffee shop.
    The desolation of the street was as frightening as the footsteps behind me. There were no sounds other than the hastening feet. My eyes darted around, making the dark walk seem more dangerous, but I couldn’t stop myself. I saw nothing, just a few leaves and darkened houses.
    When the light of the coffee shop window finally came into view, my heart sprinted, pulling me forward like the dash at the end of a long-distance run. My face burned. This was how it began in my dream. I didn’t see what was coming. I simply knew it was there. I suddenly felt like a target, unguarded and without defense.
    I reached the sidewalk and threw myself toward the building. Only a few cobblestone stairs separated me from safety. I bounded up, taking them two at a time. Pulling open the door was like reaching a refuge. Warmth comingled with scents of cocoa beans, setting my mind at ease. Physically, though, was another story.
    My muscles trembled as I removed my backpack from my shoulder and concentrated on breathing. There was a way to quicken the calm. Breathe in through my mouth and out through my nose, or was it in through my nose and out through my mouth? My brain hurt. I settled on the latter because it allowed me to draw in the aromas of cocoa, vanilla, and cinnamon that encircled my head. Sugar and coffee seasoned the air. It was impossible to be afraid any longer, but it would take time to shake the adrenaline.
    I collapsed into the nearest booth for several minutes before I could stand. My heartbeat was audible, and tears stung my eyes. No one seemed to notice. I wobbled to the restroom and dashed my hot face with cold water.
    Shake it off, Gabriella. Shake it off . I lived in a town with a volunteer police department. Abductions didn’t happen here. This odd, antiquated town probably had a neighborhood-watch group at every corner. I was fine. I was losing it, but I was fine. I dried my face with renewed purpose, as if I could somehow remove the panic with the water. Then I made my way to the counter for a vat of coffee.
    Brian was seated at a corner table. He didn’t look up. I ordered their largest soy vanilla latte to go but couldn’t bring myself to leave. Instead, I sat