It was dark. Encroaching, all reaching inky blackness. I squinted my eyes in a vain attempt to see anything. I could hear my own breathing, raspy and frantic. 

“Run!” my mind screamed. I wanted to escape from the darkness, but it was there, everywhere I turned. A suffocating blanket of disorienting obscurity.

There was a clattering, the sound of a glass bottle rolling across the pavement. I jumped, the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Could it be? It had to be. 

But no. 

It didn’t make sense. 

He was. 

He was…

“Hello?” I called, not sure I wanted an answer. 

“Oh Callie, Sweet Callie. What are you doing here all alone,” his voice was sickly-sweet, sending chills of ice to my gut, nausea welling inside me. 

I took a frantic step back, colliding with a wall, and then he was there. Right in front of me, pressing into me. I could see every detail of his face, even in the darkness. The face that haunted me, sending me into spasms of terror. 

“Jeffrey,” I whispered, “How did you find me?”

“I will always find you, Callie. Wherever you go, whatever you do, I will find you.”

He was pressing me into the wall, crushing me under his weight. I could feel his hands wrapping around my throat, squeezing the life out of me. 

“It’s a shame to destroy this exquisite voice, Callie, but if I can’t have it, well, I’m certainly not going to be sharing.”

I could feel my eyes bulging as I choked and struggled to breathe, his fingers crushing the life out of me, his body pressing so hard against mine, leaving me unable to fight him. Smothering, suffocating.

“Please,” I mouthed at him, my hands fighting in vain to pull his fingers from my throat. 

“You’re going to be with me forever, Callie,” he said. “My Sweet siren. We’ll return to the depths together.”

No. 

No, it couldn’t end like this. 

His piercing blue eyes glared into mine, a manic grin on his face as he drained the life from me. 

“No matter how much you beg and plead, I will never let you go. You are mine, Callie, mine forever!”

Let me go! 

Let me go!

Let me-

I sucked in a deep breath and managed to jolt myself awake. I could still see his horrible face as reality set in, and the nightmare began to fade. 

It was just a dream. A terrible dream. 

I was fine. I was safe. I was lying in my own bed, in my own apartment, at an address he had never been to. He was still locked up in prison, locked up for years to come. 

It took me a moment to stop shivering. I covered my face with my hands and let out a sob. Relief, terror, whatever you call it, the tears were good. They were necessary to remove the excess cortisol from my body. It was good to cry, my therapist always said.  Your body needs it. 

Another nightmare. 

What I wouldn’t have given to stop dreaming altogether.

---

Once the initial adrenaline of the nightmare had worn off, I threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, and pulled on my sweats and a hoodie. I needed some fresh air. This tiny dwelling was currently stifling, a studio apartment that was barely 250 square feet. So small, I often found myself bouncing off the walls if I wasn’t paying attention. It was mine though, my own space, my little refuge from the world. 

I needed fresh air. I stepped into my slippers, grabbed my keys, and tip-toed past all of the other apartments to the balcony on my floor. It was a dingy little patio with black metal bars to prevent anyone from falling over the edge. I gripped the rail and leaned over, sucking in a deep breath of cool October air. It had an immediate calming effect. 

I needed to go back to sleep. I needed to rest. Tomorrow was a big day. I was job hunting, doing my level best to look like a put together and presentable woman who was wholly capable of taking care of children. I had been let go suddenly from my last nanny position when the family had moved out of the country. They had been all too happy to give me a glowing reference, but the timing had not been in my favor. There appeared to be a drought of available nanny positions, at least ones that paid a living wage. 

I was stuck picking up whatever shifts I could at the nearest grocery store. It was just enough to pay the bills, and not much else. 

I stood there on that balcony, staring out at the dark street below, lost in thought. It took me a moment to realize I had begun doing what I always found myself doing when I was stressed, or sad, or happy. Frankly, any emotion. 

I found myself singing.

I was caught up in the “Song of the Sirens” for several moments before I caught myself when hitting the highest notes, realizing I was going to wake my neighbors.

I covered my mouth with my hand, smirking, before I noticed a movement of shadow down by the road. A figure stood there, just out of reach of the street-light, a dark spectre. I could sense it, (him?), looking up at me. I felt a chill run over my body, and immediately turned and headed back into the building, back to the safety of my little studio apartment. 

I knew it wasn’t Jeffrey out there. He had gone to prison a year ago for what he had done to me, found guilty by a jury of his peers. I know that the pictures of my broken and bruised body had helped sway the jury in the case. I had watched the horror on their faces as they were shown exhibit after exhibit of my injuries. 

Logically, I knew that it could not be Jeffrey lurking in the shadows, but it didn’t make the prickle of anxiety I felt any less real. The world was full of creeps, and I seemed to have a habit of attracting them. 

I tossed and turned in a vain attempt to get back to sleep, but it was no use. With an exasperated sigh, I threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Might as well get up. I could go to bed earlier in the evening if I needed to. 

I turned on the shower and waited a few minutes for the water to warm up. One perk of waking so early was that I didn’t have to worry about the neighbors getting all the hot water before I could. Shrieking the ‘Immigrant Song’ while freezing water ran down my backside was not my idea of a good time. 

The shower was short, but calming. I felt much better after. I quickly prepared some peanut butter toast, and mindlessly ate it while I scrolled on my phone, leaning back against my tiny kitchen counter. 

Devastating news today across the world. Fires and floods. Innocent children bombed. The articles and pictures made me sick to my stomach. There wasn’t anything I could do to help them. How I longed to march into a greedy billionaire’s office and force him to witness firsthand the devastation his actions were causing. The second part of that fantasy always involved throwing them off a rocky cliff into the unforgiving ocean. Watching them get dashed about on the boulders before they became fish food. 

Alas.

An alert popped up on my phone. A new email. 

I tapped it open, and curiously read the message. 

“Good morning Ms. Evans.

I hope this message finds you well. The family I represent has been in need of a nanny as they have recently moved to the area. The child you would be working with is an intelligent girl of 9-years-old. She will require care after her lessons, as well as assistance in the mornings and weekends for fun activities in the city. 

The child happens to be in a wheelchair. The why is not important. If her disability is an issue, and you do not wish to pursue the position, I understand. However, it was noted in your resume that you have extensive history dealing with the differently abled, and for that reason, we hoped you might consider coming in for an interview.

This is a live-in position, and you will receive ample compensation on top of your comfortable quarters, assuming you’re willing to move. If this is something you would be interested in, please message me back as soon as possible, and we can set up a time to meet today.

Best wishes,

Joel Fields”

I trailed off reading as I looked around my tiny little apartment. This had to be a scam. Someone was definitely playing me. 

Still…

What if?

I shrugged.

I was tired of counting every penny in hopes I could eat for the next week. I hated that I could never pay for internet on time, and it would often get turned off for months before I could afford to turn it back on. The fear of getting evicted was all too real. If there was any chance that this was legitimate, I had to see. 

Setting down the saucer of toast and wiping my hands on the nearest dish towel, I began to type back. 

I was very curious to see how this would go. 

———-

Upon reaching the house I was supposed to be interviewing at, I immediately found myself feeling woefully underdressed. This place was magnificent! Honestly, the pictures I had glimpsed online didn’t do it justice. I was shocked they let my car past the iron gate.

Not being a master architect or anything. I couldn’t tell you what the style was called, other than that it was ivory white with a garden that seemed to stretch on forever with every manner of tree and bush I could name, and a hundred I couldn’t. The porch was wraparound and had an accessibility ramp installed at the edge of the steps. I could hear the trickle of water from what I knew must be the lake in the back, could smell the sweet must of fresh earth and moisture meeting to create what must be a very rich soil.

Was that how soil worked?

I nervously adjusted my purple skirt as I made my way up the steps and rang the doorbell. I knew there had to be no way they would look at me and think this was the woman for the job. What with my beatup old corolla, flyaway brown curls, and outfit with a stain at the base of my shirt that I was desperately attempting to hide as the door swung open and a handsome gentleman with piercing blue eyes and his hair slicked down neatly smiled at me. 

“Ms. Evans, I presume,” he said, stepping back, and gesturing for me to step inside. A sudden thought came boiling to the surface of my anxious mind. Was I about to step inside and have my organs harvested? Is that how these people afforded to live here? Take in hapless folks looking for a job, then sell them for a pretty price on the black market and use the rest of their corpses to feed all that luscious soil. 

“Umm, uuh,” I stammered, hesitating at the door. Could I fight this guy if I had to? He seemed nice enough. I didn’t get the serial killer vibe, but then what was the serial killer vibe?

“Is everything okay?” he asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

I glanced back at my shitty car, that I was frankly embarrassed to have parked in front of this sweeping castle of a modern mansion, and figured I had already imagined the worst that could happen. It couldn’t hurt to try. Hopefully death would be merciful, and my bones wouldn’t go to waste. 

“Sorry,” I murmured, finally crossing the threshold, “I feel a bit underdressed. This place is stunning.”

The man smiled as he closed the door behind me, “please don’t let it overwhelm you. You are just as stunning, if not more so. Apologies if that was inappropriate to say. We would love you to feel at home, Ms. Evans. Could I get you something to drink, perhaps? Or a snack? Do you like charcuterie?”

“Uh, yes. That would be lovely,” I said, gazing around in awe at the inside of the mansion, which was easily as gorgeous as the outside, with crystal chandeliers that danced rainbows of light off of the floral patterned walls. 

“Please, follow me,” said the man, turning to walk ahead of me before pausing and facing me with a smile, “Forgive me, where are my manners. My name is Joel Fields, and I am assistant and butler to Mr. Sebastian Vascile.”

Sebastian Vascile. Sebastian Vascile. Sebastian Vascile. I repeated the name to myself over and over in the hope that I wouldn’t forget it. 

Joel led me further into the house, and I struggled not to bump into the very expensive and sharp looking end tables and pieces of what I assumed were works of art. Very abstract art that looked more like jagged bits of metal twisted into crazy shapes. I’ve never been a fan of modern art, but it seemed to go with the themes of the house, I guess. I was curious how much the pieces cost. 

Joel caught me looking at the nearest metallic monstrosity and gave a little chuckle. I must have had a strange look on my face because he paused for a moment and gestured vaguely at the pieces in the room. 

“They came with the house,” he said. “I assure you, they are not what Master Vascile would have chosen, but when Ms. Emily saw them, she was quite amused and insisted that they stay. They do make a great conversation piece.”

“They’re uh, they’re certainly interesting,” I admitted.

“That’s one word for them. Frankly, I consider them more of a hindrance. I don’t look forward to the day that I misstep and plow headfirst into one of them. I don’t imagine it’ll be particularly dignified, or survivable.” Joel chuckled again as we continued on. I wanted so badly to take a picture that I could send to my therapist, Corrin. She loved crazy art like that, and probably could have told me who the artists were. Alas, it would definitely have been rude to do so, and I desperately needed this job. 

He led me down a long hallway, where I spotted a golden elevator about halfway down. So that’s how Emily got around. How lucky, to have a house so large that you could install an elevator. 

Finally, Joel led me into a room that looked like an office. He gestured to the big cushy chair on one side of a round glass table, then once I was seated, he sat down in the chair on the other side. 

“First things first, Ms. Evans, I need you to sign this NDA. It states that you will not mention the names of anyone who lives or works here, nor what they do, nor any revealing information about them. Mr. Vascile will go by Mr. Doe, or any other name you like if you are discussing your living situation with friends, but never by his own name. Nor anyone else. Nor will you say where you live to those closest to you should you choose to take this position. Is that understood?”

I blinked. I had signed an NDA before, but the overt secrecy of this one was a little intense. It also sounded like they were already offering me the position when I hadn’t even interviewed, unless I was mistaken. I wondered if I was just misinterpreting. I was very tired, after all. 

Joel took the stack of papers in front of him and pushed them across the table, along with a very fancy looking pen. 

“Just sign or initial all of the highlighted spots. I can give you time to read if you need to.”

I scanned the first page quickly, speed-reading thankfully being something I was good at. I scanned the next two pages, and when I was satisfied with what I had read, I quickly signed and initialed, before handing the papers back to Joel. He shuffled through them quickly, then set them down, smiled, and clasped his fingers together. 

“So tell me, Ms. Evans, what made you become a nanny?” Joel asked. 

“Oh, uh,” I fumbled, surprised that we were starting now. “Well, I’ve always loved working with kids. Children of all ages. There’s something about them that is just so precious, that makes me step back and take in life in the moment. And no matter what happens, I will bend over backwards to make sure they are safe, happy, and healthy.”

“And you have worked with children of school age in the past?” he asked. 

“Yes, all ages, actually. From baby to practically adult. Tweens and teens are a fun group.”

“They certainly keep you on your toes,” Joel nodded. “They do love their music. Ms. Emily blasts KPop for hours a day. I hope you’re not adverse to loud music, Ms. Evans.”

“Not at all,” I said. “If I end up getting the position, we can rock out together.”

“I think she would like that very much,” Joel said. 

“Sorry for asking, but how many people have you interviewed for this position?” I asked. 

“As many as we needed to, Ms. Evans. But when your CV found its way to my computer screen, I had a good feeling about you. I also consider myself a fairly good judge of people and their character. As far as I’m concerned, if you want it, the position is yours.”

“Oh, wow.” I’m pretty sure my mouth was a bit agape at the suddenness of the offer. I’d had great interviews before where I was pretty confident, but this man had barely asked me a thing and was now trusting me with the young lady of the house. A young lady I hadn’t even met yet. 

As though reading my mind, Joel stood up and asked, “Would you like to meet Ms. Emily?”

“Sh-sure,” I stammered.

Joel led me back to the hallway and straight to the elevator. He pressed the button, and I listened as the clang of metal reached the first floor, and the door opened to let us in. 

“What happens in a power outage or emergency,” I asked, stepping inside, “when you need to get her out quickly?”

He raised an eyebrow, and an almost proud look flashed across his face, “Between Master Vascile and I, we are quite capable of getting her downstairs if the need arose. I’m sure you would be able to as well if we weren’t home for some reason. There is almost always someone else here, however. There are three stairwells in this building, not counting the one leading to the basement. The grand stairwell would be your best bet in an emergency, but I don’t anticipate that happening. I’m happy you asked, though.”

The elevator shuttered to a stop, and we got out on the third floor. 

He paused and looked sideways at me, “The basement is off limits, by the way. It is Mr. Vascile’s quarters, and he works overnights. He is not to be disturbed during the day when he is resting, and certainly not at night, when he is working.”

“I hope he’s taking his vitamin D supplements,” I blurted without thinking. 

Joel looked at me in surprise, then he began to laugh, a seriously hearty chuckle that nearly had him doubled over. He finally seemed to catch himself, and stood up straight, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief from his pocket. He smiled at me. 

“I’ve never heard that one before. You must have worked some overnights in your life, huh Ms. Evans?” 

I nodded. I’d been a night nanny for a few families. I wasn’t sure why my comment was so funny though, but maybe Joel was easily amused in general. 

He coughed, and his whole persona shifted, returning to the fancy assistant in a second. We walked down the hallway, this one just as full of crazy modern art as the first floor. Finally, we reached the door to what was clearly a girl’s bedroom, the door being bright purple with small posters of boy-bands across it. It definitely stuck out from the harsh decor of the rest of the floor. Squinting closer, I could see the print on each of the posters. Stray Kids.

I had definitely heard of them. One of my former kiddos had been obsessed with K-Pop, and told me everything there was to know about every group she could. I had to admit that the songs were pretty damn catchy. 

Joel knocked three times on the door, then waited, his hands clasped behind him as he stood patiently. I nervously patted down my shirt and skirt before remembering the stain. I really hoped she didn’t see it. Tweens had a tendency to be brutally honest. I could generally let it roll off my back, but I wanted to make a good impression. 

After a moment, the door slowly opened. 

A girl rolled up to the bedroom doorway in her wheelchair.  Her blonde hair was in a braid with multiple colorful ribbons threaded throughout. She was wearing magenta glasses, a purple dress, and had a curious look on her face. It was clear she had just been listening to music as her headphones were resting around her neck. 

“Ms. Emily, I have someone I want you to meet,” said Joel. “This is Ms. Evans. She will be taking care of you.” 

Emily looked me up and down with that scrutinizing gaze that only a tween could throw at you. Her eyes lingered on my clothes, and I could tell she was judging them, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she looked me in the face with her fierce blue eyes, made bigger by her glasses.

“Do you like K-pop?” she asked. 

I glanced at the posters on her door again, spotted the larger Stray Kids posters in her room, and nodded.

“I know it’s basic, but Felix is my bias,” I said, gesturing to one of the members of the group. The pretty deep-voiced one that women and girls were always throwing themselves at. One of my former kiddos had taught me all about Stray Kids and the other groups like ENHYPEN, BTS, and BIGBANG. I’d tried to learn just enough about them and the lingo not to embarrass myself. 

Emily blinked at me for a second, then smiled, “Han is my bias. But I get it, because Felix used to be. You know, I turn ten in a week. I’ve asked Uncle Seb to get me tickets for their concert, but he says he might not be able to. I know he’s lying though. He always gets me the best gifts.”

I had to assume she meant Sebastian Vascile. 

“Uncle Seb sounds fun,” I said. “I hope I get to meet him soon.”

“Maybe when he gets up for work. Do you want to see my room?” Emily asked, rolling her chair back into her bedroom, which was massive. 

I nodded, “I would love that!”

I stepped into her room and immediately fell in love. It was clear that she had made it all her own, and that her favorite color was purple as everything was that color from drapes to duvet. There were cute dolls set up on a special desk that it looked like she could easily roll up to. I glanced at Joel, who was grinning ear to ear. It was clear he cared a lot about this girl, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long they had known each other. 

There were little stuffed animals all over her bed with hoodies on them. They seemed familiar. 

“My SKZOOs. All the members of Stray Kids in their animal forms,” Emily smiled. “They’re so cute!”

“Well, Emily, besides listening to one of the greatest groups of all time, what do you like to do for fun?” I asked. 

Emily spun her chair to face me, and bit her lip thoughtfully. 

“When it’s nice, I like to go out by the lake. We haven’t been here that long, but Joel and Uncle Seb made S’mores with me in the fire pit. And the sunsets are really pretty. I also like going to the library and concerts and movies. All kinds of fun stuff. We can go on walks too. The area around here is pretty smooth for my chair, which is nice.”

“Those all sound really fun,” I agreed. 

“But you know what we have to do first?” Emily asked. 

“What’s that?” I pondered.

“We have to go shopping. You definitely need some new clothes. Joel, can you please give her some money and take us to the boutique?”