A tall, attractive man walked confidently into the kitchen. “Becky, are you almost done here?”
Standing a few feet from her was the next Marcus. A well-dressed, attractive, self-centered man with the same confident smile.
“Yeah, I understand,” Maggie answered.
Without another word, Galen’s wife grabbed the man’s hand and was gone. Couldn’t afford to lose everything? Rebecca Harding wouldn’t let herself lose anything.
Maggie Quinn stacked the final box in the corner. She had to be out by the end of the month. The house sold quickly. Just another one of life’s little ironies. The possibility of losing her home brought Maggie back to life. Now she was letting it go willingly. Her father understood in his head. But in his heart, he wanted the house to stay with this daughter. He wanted Maggie to have more children and pass it down to one of them. Paddy Quinn wanted all this, but he knew it would never happen. There was no way his child could stay. Too many ghosts and none of them were friendly. The house had to go.
To a young couple. The husband was a doctor. The gods obviously loved a good joke. The wife was an artist and thrilled the upstairs of the garage could be renovated into a studio. There would be three children. One was five. A girl. As it should be. And Maggie Quinn would be gone. No family, no job, no Rayney. Certainly no friends anymore. Nothing. Some people just couldn’t afford to lose everything.
The shadows smiled.
“Not today,” she mumbled, but somehow the meaning was lost. There was no one left to catch. No job to do. No one to eat oatmeal with. No one to lie in bed with. Nothing. She let out a long, tired breath. Not today, Maggie thought, but maybe tomorrow. The dark would follow when she left. Follow her to a new house in a new town where they would stay together.
Maggie wasn’t completely honest with Marcus Galen. The dark did tell the truth, but not all the truth. Just enough. Enough to make you jump in the pit. With both feet. Willingly. She knew that now, but knowing didn’t always make things better.
Shaking off the shadows, Maggie Quinn focused on the job of packing. She had lived alone before and she could do it again. All she needed was a little peace. Just a little. Enough to fill a small space, so she could keep waking up, keep getting dressed, keep putting on her shoes. It wouldn’t be easy. It would be work, but work helped.
The clock read 3:30. Maggie selected a disk from the stack, then stretched out on the hide-a-bed and closed her eyes. She needed to catch an hour of sleep to meet her quota. Seven hours of sleep. No exceptions. Those were the rules. And that was the only way Maggie Quinn would make it.
S for Sleep.
For Solitude.
Survive.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DIANNE GALLAGHER lives just south of Chicago with her family, too many cats and one old fluffy dog. She has been a freelance editor and ghostwriter as well as a sometimes gardener, steady cook and avid wine drinker.
You can find her online at www.diannegallagher.net.
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