THE TOWN WHERE ETHAN COLE WASN’T A STRANGER
Chapter 2
The house stood at the end of a narrow road.
Ocean on one side.
Forest on the other.
It was small, gray and weather-beaten.
The porch leaned toward the road.
One window was cracked.
The roof had moss growing across the northern edge.
The place looked like it had spent years waiting for someone to decide whether it was worth saving.
Ethan parked.
He walked around the house.
The key turned with difficulty.
The front door opened.
Dust.
Cold air.
Old wood.
A fireplace.
A kitchen.
Two bedrooms.
One bathroom.
No furniture except a table and a bed frame.
Ethan stood in the middle of the living room.
He listened.
The ocean.
Wind through the trees.
Rain against the roof.
Nothing else.
He smiled.
“Good enough.”
He put his bags down.
That evening, he bought a mattress, a blanket, two plates, one frying pan and a cheap coffee maker.
By ten, he had eaten eggs standing over the sink.
By eleven, he had fixed the kitchen faucet.
By midnight, he was sitting on the porch.
The ocean was invisible in the darkness.
But he could hear it.
A deep, constant movement.
Unlike Bellwood.
Bellwood had always seemed to whisper.
Greyhaven roared.
Ethan preferred the roar.
He looked at his phone.
No new messages.
For once, he was relieved.
He turned it off.
Then he looked toward the road.
Nothing.
He leaned back.
For the first time in years, Ethan went to sleep without checking the locks three times.
