When Amelia made that crack about not wanting to work at the liquor store, Bell’s laughter bounced off the nearly empty walls. It was a snorting, inelegant sound that made Amelia laugh too. Bell’s laugh did not sound even remotely like delicate bells ringing in the air. It was more like clanging metal buckets. But it was nice. It made Bell seem less stern.

  “Okay, Amelia,” Bell said, pushing away from the counter and letting out one final chuckle. “Let me go get you an employment application. Get here tomorrow at 5 a.m. sharp. The little business we do get comes by bright and early. And I don’t have time nor patience for anyone who can’t pull their weight around here. If you show up late, I’m going to send you back home for good. There won’t be any second chances. I can’t afford them.” She crossed her arms and furrowed her eyebrows.

  “Thank you so much, Bell,” Amelia beamed. She let the warmth of the drink in her hands spread through her arms and into her chest. The dusting of powder on her coffee was in the shape of a heart. “You won’t regret this.”

  “Make sure I don’t.”

  Amelia sipped the coffee and found it delicious, rich, and complex. So, it wasn’t the coffee that was the problem here. It had to be the dull, unwelcoming atmosphere.

  As Bell walked away, Amelia saw the coffee shop transform before her mind’s eye. The wicker chairs were replaced by comfortable couches conducive to lounging, the little empty corner was transformed into a small stage where they could have live music to draw in business, and the dead flowerpots outside receded to make room for outdoor features. A little water fountain, an attractive patio with lush ivy, and twinkle lights that would dazzle on warm evenings. In her imagination, she was also calculating the business deductions that Bell had probably not claimed on her taxes.

  She felt a stir of enthusiasm awaken inside her again, now that she had a purpose she could throw herself into. Back in the town of Larmaray, at college, she had just been about to do her practicum, a capstone project for her degree, when she’d left school entirely because of Erick’s desire to move here to Watermill Valley. She never had a chance to truly test her business acumen because of that. Now, this dying coffee shop presented the perfect opportunity to do just that.

  And maybe, if she did a good job with The Bluebell, she’d manage to get on her feet and get back into school. Then, she could get other work in the field based on her past success.

  She started to think that maybe everything wasn’t working against her in this town. Perhaps her instincts had been right and it was a good thing that she was here after all.

  Her mood was glowing and bright until she remembered the house she would return to immediately after she was done at The Bluebell.

  The house where the lions were still just as menacing even though she’d dressed them in ridiculous outfits. The house where a nameless woman with black, snaking hair haunted her dreams. The house where there was nothing in it of Amelia’s aside from a bedroll and a tote bag. The house where even the dreams didn’t feel like they belonged to her. The house with a dim, drafty emptiness that unrolled before her like a welcoming banner for the whispers of fear.

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  As her eyes returned to the cup in her hands, the abstract form of a vile, grimacing skull formed, wholly consuming the heart shape. Its mouth seemed to scream at her, warning her not to let her guard down. In reply, she opened her lips, tipped her head back, and drained the coffee down.?She?was the one in control here, not her fears.

  After returning home, Amelia felt a strong urge to take a nap. But the idea of that creepy vision still bothered her, and she didn't want to take the chance of it happening again quite yet. She didn’t want to sit around scrolling on her phone either, lest she be tempted to reach out to Erick. So, instead, she went outside.

  She passed the stone lions, trying not to cringe at the feeling of their persistent gazes.

  “Lighten up, dude,” she said to one lion, trying to decrease the eerie sense of foreboding it gave her. She left the lions to watch her back as she continued into the backyard. One of the things that had attracted her and Erick to the place had been the generous backyard with several acres of land. However, she'd barely explored any of it. Now, she had all the time in the world to make her plans for it.

  She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her ripped jeans as she surveyed the yard. The grass was brittle and patchy, with bald spots of earth dotting the land like a skin rash. A single large redwood tree dominated the backyard space and created a cool pool of shade over the barren ground.

  At two acres, it was a larger backyard than most Amelia had ever seen in bigger cities. She honestly hadn't known what she would do with such extra space, or how she'd maintain it, but she'd wanted it all the same. There was something about owning the land that appealed to her. The only things she'd ever owned before were petty, small possessions. Things that didn't matter. Things that could be destroyed in a catastrophic car wreck on a move to a new place.

  She walked to the boundary where a chicken-wire fence marked the end of her property.

  Here, on the northeastern side, was an empty metal shed with cobwebs in its corners. The door had been left open, and bits of leaves and grass littered the floor. A few pieces of old tools like an ancient push mower and a rusty watering can waited in the lonely dark to be used again. There was, Amelia thought, a charm to such things. She might see what could be salvaged and repurpose them later. But what Amelia was most interested in was the junk pile behind the shed.

  At first glance, it appeared to be just a junky pile of old lumber. But closer inspection revealed that it was the remains of a rusty metal-and-wood contraption that had been disassembled and thrown into a pile. There was a pointed end, something that looked like handles, and wheels. As she picked up one of the handles, the pieces reassembled in her mind. An antique plough, she realized. The wood was smooth, and the sun had bleached its color to gray. The handles were coated entirely in rust. She turned the pieces, feeling a sense of sadness that she couldn't explain. As she turned over the pieces one by one, a pointy gray object appeared at the bottom of the pile, sticking out from the soil. Just a corner of it was visible. It looked like a rock or a slab of concrete.

  Amelia took a piece of old rusty metal scrap and used it as a makeshift shovel. She worked the metal around the earth, digging out a channel of dirt to reveal more of the object. Finally, a large enough part of the stone emerged for her to wrap her hands around it and perform a strong pull. The effort made her head wound ache and pulse, but her curiosity drove her on. With a grunt, she gave one last yank and the stone pulled free in her hands.