Chapter 1

It was five thirty in the morning. Outside the kitchen window, the sun was just coming up over the horizon, a beautiful sunrise that painted the sky with pastels of pink, purple, and blue. There was frost on the lawn, the aftermath of a chilly night. Although it was still early, Detective Michael Davis hadn't gone back to bed since Echo’s petrified screams had pulled him out of an already restless sleep. Another nightmare, the same one she had been having almost every night for six month. Neither of them slept much anymore; not since the accident.

Michael sighed and rubbed his face briskly, trying to tune out his niece’s cry of terror. Despite how much he tried to block it out, it was nearly impossible. It was locked in his mind tight, like an engraving in a stonewall: her heartrending cries, the fear in her eyes when she woke up, confused and afraid, sweat soaking her back, trembling like a frightened puppy.

Fingers shaking, Michael reached into the kitchen drawer to dig for his emergency pack of cigarettes. He opened the window over the sink, lit one up, and inhaled deeply, blowing the smoke out the window. Almost immediately he could feel his tense muscles relax, but despite feeling better, guilt tugged at him. Echo thought he had quit. In some ways, he had. He didn’t light up around her anymore. However, on extra stressful nights like last night, he owed it to himself. Sometimes he wondered that if it weren’t for the cigarettes, insanity would have already taken him.

He took another drag and then smashed the butt out in the sink, letting the room air out for a moment before closing the window and depositing the half smoked cigarette back into its drawer. He glanced at his watch. A quarter to six. He could call into the station now and request a personal day…another one. He couldn’t focus enough this morning to pull himself together for work. He had to be there for Echo.

Smile, Mike, and put on your happy face.

~ ~ ~

“Can I come in?”

Echo glanced up from her book but said nothing. She knew that Michael would come in, anyway. Sure enough, her bedroom door opened a crack. There was a pause and then it opened the rest of the way.

“Hi,” she said.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.”

The conversations ceased for a moment. Typical, she thought, eying her uncle. Michael’s eyes were scanning the bedroom, avoiding eye contact. She knew he wanted to say something, but there was nothing left to say. He ran a calloused hand through his shaggy blond hair and then looked at her, forcing a smile.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. Echo started to shake her head no, but then stopped. Cooking soothed Michael. Turning down the offer might build his stress. The last thing either of them needed was more stress.

“What are you offering?” she said instead.

“Cold cereal.”

Echo smile. She knew he was pulling her leg. He didn’t even keep cold cereal in the house.

“Whatever you want,” he said after a moment.

“Eggs, bacon, and toast?” she suggested.

“And hash browns?” added Michael hopefully.

“And hash browns.”

Although she didn’t feel the least bit hungry, Echo knew the least she could do was humor him. If it set the man in a better mood, she’d bend over backwards to make it happen.

“You look tired,” Michael noted, his eyebrows shooting together in worry. She forced a smile and gave him a one-shoulder shrug. Didn’t she always look tired?

“I’m okay.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No.” She said. Michael didn’t argue as he left to prepare breakfast. She picked up her novel, and then put it down again, no longer in the mood to read. She could hear Michael in the kitchen starting the food. In a moment the sizzling of bacon started up. The odor soon followed. Echo wrinkled her nose but forced herself to stand up and get dressed. It was almost nine. A small part of her wished she could crawl back under the covers for sleep, but she never did.

Echo pulled on a pair of faded Levis and a sweatshirt. Although spring was upon them, New York’s harsh winter was barely over on that chilly April day. The frost on the ground from earlier had seemingly melted away as she peered out the bedroom window. She shivered, letting her breath fog up the glass. She traced her fingers along the windowpane, making a lopsided heart in the vapor. In only a moment, it faded, and she backed away.

Echo pulled her hair back before heading down to see Michael who was hovering over the oven. He had his cooking apron on, the purple one that made him look feminine. She had never told him that because it was his favorite, but seeing him in it made her smile.

“There she is,” said Michael, grinning at Echo as he flipped an egg. He looked more relaxed, his smile melting into one of genuine contentment. She’d known that being in the kitchen would soothe him. “Over easy?”

“Yes.”

“Milk or juice?”

“Milk.”

Michael set down the spatula and retrieved two cups from the cupboard, setting them on the tabletop. He retrieved a jug of milk from the fridge, pouring them tall glasses. She sat down at the table and sipped her milk. In a moment there was a full plate of food in front of her, and Michael joined her at the table.

“What time are you working this morning?” Echo asked him. She poked at her hash browns, willing her appetite to appear. Michael was quiet as he chewed his toast. He didn’t look right at her. He rarely did. He was gazing out the kitchen window instead, his disheveled blond hair almost falling into his eyes. He needed a haircut, but she knew he wouldn’t get one until she dragged him into the barber’s shop.

“I called in to take the day off,” he said finally. “I didn’t feel like going in.”

Echo said nothing to that. Michael hated to leave her alone when she’s had one of her nightmares. Instead of admitting that aloud, though, he simply stayed home from work, pretending to be ill or too tired.

“All those criminals are going to be happy today,” Echo murmured. Michael, whose gaze was still elsewhere, smiled just a little. Michael was Detective at the local Police Department. He was known on the streets for being one of the finest detectives there had been in New York City.

Echo looked down at her plate, poking her egg with her fork until the yellow yolk drizzled out and onto her bacon. She picked up the bacon and nibbled on it mindlessly, not really tasting the salty meat on her tongue. Michael was a good detective…almost as good as her father had been.

“Do you have any plans for today?” Michael asked. He stood up with his empty plate and rinsed it off in the sink. She set down the slice of bacon and shrugged.

“Don’t know.”

Before Michael could reply, the front door swung open and someone barreled in.

“Echooooo!” wailed Theresa Paulson. “I neeeeeeed you!”

Echo took the distraction to her advantage and dumped the plate of food into the garbage pail before Michael could take notice. She gulped down the rest of her milk and set the empty cup in the sink as Theresa glided into the kitchen, looking like she always did: striking and dramatic, as though she’d just waltzed off the stage of a Broadway production.

“Theresa,” nodded Michael. Echo held back a smirk when she saw the flush rise to her friend’s face. Michael’s charm and good looks were evident to anyone, most of all Theresa.

“Hey, I have to talk to you,” Theresa said through clenched teeth, her eyes darting toward Michael who was clearly not interested in her latest production. Theresa’s usual pale cheeks were pink from the bitter cold outside, but her hazel eyes were large and glistening with excitement.

“Of course you do,” said Echo.

Theresa ignored her deadpan tone and dragged Echo up to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Guess what?” Theresa said.

“What?”

“Guess!”

“No.”

Theresa glared at her for a second and then turned and picked up Echo’s hairbrush, running it promptly through her coppery curls. She admired herself in the vanity mirror, leaning forward to apply a shimmery pink lip-gloss before turning back around to face Echo.

“Jake called me last night,” she said, a mysterious smile on her lips.

“Congratulations,” said Echo. She massaged her temples with two fingers, dreading the pounding headache that was rising to her skull.

“You’re my best friend, Echo. You’re supposed to care about things like this.” Theresa said, puffing out her bottom lip in a pout.

Echo sat up, leaning back to rest on her elbows, her eyebrows raised at Theresa.

“You know I don’t like Jake.”

“I know,” Theresa muttered. “But I do. So could you show some support?”

“Fine.”

Theresa paused for a moment, letting the smile come back as she stared at Echo. Echo stared back silently, knowing that something was up her sleeve; something she probably would not agree with.

“He invited me to a party downtown tonight.”

“Theresa---” warned Echo. She knew what was coming next.

“Come with me.”

Echo narrowed her eyes at her best friend. Theresa’s eyes turned pleading as they stared each other down. It was such a pathetic look, a look that over the years she had perfected. She stuck out her bottom lip in a pout once again, but Echo wouldn’t fall for it.

“No,” she said sternly. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Yes. Come with me. It’ll be fun.”

“Getting wasted and stripping isn’t constituted as fun.” Echo mumbled. Theresa scoffed at the reminder, refusing to look at her friend as she applied another coat of mascara onto her eyelashes. She screwed the cap on and dropped the wand back into her bag.

“That was once, and I’d had way too much tequila. It won’t happen again.” She turned to Echo, sticking out both of her pinkies, a childhood ritual. “Please?”

“You know Michael won’t approve.” Echo said.

“You’re twenty one years old. He doesn’t have to.”

“Theresa, I’m living in his house. Trust me, it isn’t worth the fight.”

“Then we’ll sneak out.”

Echo stared at Theresa’s extended hands for a moment, admiring her pretty pink fingernails, knowing that she’d probably win in the end. Arguing with Theresa was like beating a dead horse…not only was it pointless, but it was also exhausting and bound to get you nowhere. So with a sigh, Echo linked each of her pinky fingers with Theresa’s.

“Fine.”