Chapter 3 Shadows of the Past

The sound of my boots crunching against the gravel echoes in the still night.

I glance around, feeling like a foreigner in my own skin.

Riverdale is not what I expected. It is quieter, too perfect. Like something out of a dream, where everything looks serene, but underneath, it is all just a facade.

I have been walking for what feels like hours, and my feet ache from the uneven ground.

The streets are empty now; even the diner has gone quiet.

The lights in the houses flicker in the distance, giving off an eerie glow.

My legs are getting tired, but I push forward, determined to not let fear dictate my actions.

I am not running anymore. I am just trying to find something.

Something that makes sense in this disorienting world.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, a sharp, insistent buzz.

I hesitate before pulling it out, but a part of me already knows who it is.

I take a deep breath and swipe the screen. My mother's name flashes in bold letters.

I almost do not pick up. Almost.

But then, the phone rings again.

With a sigh, I press the answer button, my fingers trembling.

"Eliaca," her voice is cold, clipped, like a reminder of everything I have been running from.

"Where are you? Your father is asking about you."

I close my eyes, trying to suppress the wave of anger rising within me.

My father. Always the voice of reason, the one who tells me what to do.

But he never understood me. Never understood how it feels to be constantly measured by impossible standards.

"I am fine," I say, my voice quiet, careful. "I just needed some time alone."

There is a pause on the other end. I can hear her breathing, her sigh.

It is the sound of someone who is already made up her mind. Someone who does not listen.

"You cannot keep running forever," she says. "You know that, right?"

I want to snap at her. Tell her how I have been running from her my entire life.

But I do not. Not today. Not here.

"I am not running," I finally reply, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I am just trying to figure things out."

"Figuring things out?" Her voice sharpens.

"By disappearing for days? Eliaca, you have responsibilities. You cannot just leave everything behind."

I clench my jaw, trying not to let the tears rise. "You have never let me do anything for myself. You have always made my choices for me."

I can feel the heat of my words radiating through the phone.

She does not respond right away, and for a moment, I wonder if she is actually listening.

But then she speaks again, her tone softer this time.

"I am just worried about you," she says. "You are my daughter. I want the best for you."

I laugh, but it is hollow. "The best for me, huh? Is that what you think this is? Telling me what to do with my life, giving me no room to breathe?"

There is another long pause. I can hear the rustling of papers in the background.

My father, probably giving her instructions on how to handle me like some broken toy.

"I will come home soon," I mutter. "I just need a little more time."

She exhales. "Do not wait too long, Eliaca. Do not make the same mistakes I made."

Her words hang in the air like a bitter scent. I do not respond.

Instead, I hang up, slipping the phone back into my pocket with shaky hands.

I stand there for a moment, feeling the weight of the conversation pressing down on me.

The familiar ache gnaws at my chest. They do not get it. They never will.

I turn around and start walking again, my thoughts spiraling. The town is still, empty. Too quiet.

I do not know what I was expecting, but it was not this, this silence that makes everything feel like a dream. Or a nightmare.

A chill runs down my spine. I need to get out of here. Fast.

I do not know where I am going, but I just need to move. Keep moving.

My steps quicken, and the gravel crunches beneath my feet like a warning. That is when I saw it.

The streetlight flickers, its glow momentarily cutting through the darkness.

And standing under that light, I see a figure.

I freeze.

It is him. The man from earlier. The one I could not forget.

He is standing a little further down the road, his hands shoved in his pockets, staring straight ahead like he is waiting for something or someone.

I take a step back. Then another.

But my foot catches on a rock, and I stumble forward, almost falling flat on my face. I catch myself, my heart racing.

I feel like I am in a scene from a movie, running from something, but there is nowhere to hide.

The man does not move. He does not even acknowledge the sound of my stumble.

It is like I am invisible to him.

I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. I have to keep moving.

I will not let him intimidate me.

I start walking in the opposite direction, trying to keep my pace steady, my breath even. But my mind is racing.

What does he want? Why is he always there?

I glance back once, and for a split second, I swear I see him watching me.

I am not sure what it is about him. There is something off about him.

His presence feels wrong, like he is not supposed to be here.

It is not just his size or the way he stands still, motionless.

There is a darkness around him, like an aura of secrets, and I cannot shake the feeling that he has been waiting for me.

I reach the end of the street and hesitate. The next street is dark, the streetlights barely flickering.

I turn to look back, and to my surprise, the man is gone. Completely gone.

I let out the breath I did not realize I was holding.

But then I hear it.

A low, gravelly voice behind me.

"Running again?"

My heart skips a beat, and I whip around to find him standing in the shadows just a few feet away.

He is not supposed to be there. He should not be able to move that fast.

I swallow hard, my throat dry. "What do you want?"

He steps closer, his face now visible in the dim light. His eyes are dark, unreadable, like he is staring straight through me.

"I think you know what I want," he says, his voice low, almost a whisper.

I take a step back, my instincts screaming at me to run. But my legs are frozen. I cannot move.

He steps closer again, his gaze never leaving mine. "The question is... what do you want?"

My pulse is thundering in my ears now. The air feels thick, heavy.

"I want to be left alone," I manage to say, my voice shaking.

He smiles slowly, like he is enjoying this. But it is not a warm smile. It is dangerous. Like he knows something I do not.

"I do not think you want that," he says, his voice barely above a murmur. "You are not as invisible as you think you are."

I take another step back, but my foot hits something behind me, and I stumble.

My heart races in my chest, panic surging through me.

I barely catch myself, but the man does not move, does not speak.

I do not know what he wants. But one thing is clear: I am in over my head.