HALF of Chapter 4….I know I have more to do on this one, but I am keeping with it and posting a bit everyday. SO HOW DOES CAITLYN connect to the story? Read on……
Caitlyn
Choosing to ignore her neighbors and their shady dealings—a skill she’d perfected over the years—Caitlyn slipped back inside. She tugged her faded work uniform over her head, eager to lose herself in the next eight hours behind the Family Dollar counter, far from this dead-end parking lot.
Through the blinds, she caught sight of the suited man turning toward his car. As he opened the rear door, something in the shadows shifted. A small shape was curled against the far side, face hidden, knees drawn up beneath striped pajama bottoms. Caitlyn blinked, thinking it might be one of Jim’s nieces, or some girl sleeping off a bad night. Either way, it was out of place—strange enough to lodge in her mind, even as she told herself not to care.
The car eased away from the curb, its taillights glowing faintly as it headed toward the manicured streets of Cape Elizabeth—the kind of place Caitlyn only ever saw from a distance. She filed the sight away under “weird” and shoved it to the back of her mind. There was no time to dwell; the Family Dollar wouldn’t open itself.
Inside, Josh was still sprawled across her bed, snoring softly, cocooned in the only blanket she owned. He looked small without his swagger, one arm dangling off the mattress, empty beer bottle on the floor below. Caitlyn grabbed her keys and bag, the smell of stale whiskey hanging in the room like a bad memory.
On her way out, she paused long enough to watch the slow rise and fall of his chest, then shut the door a little harder than necessary. Last time, she promised herself. Last time she’d let him stumble in here after too much to drink, last time she’d let herself mistake habit for company.
By the time she reached the Family Dollar, the morning haze had burned off, leaving a hard, bright light over the parking lot. Heat shimmered faintly off the cracked asphalt, making the faded white lines ripple like they were painted on water. She pushed through the smudged glass door, the blast of overworked air conditioning hitting her like a wall. Inside, the faint scent of cheap detergent and cardboard filled her nose as she slid behind the counter, ready for another eight hours of mindless transactions.Caitlyn leaned on the counter, the rhythmic beep of the scanner and the crinkle of plastic bags filling the slow morning. A few regulars shuffled through, buying scratch tickets or dollar coffee mugs. She was half-watching the door when a customer’s phone buzzed loudly on the counter between them.
The woman glanced down, eyes widening, then turned the screen so her friend could see. “Oh my God,” the woman whispered. Local girl abducted in Cape Elizabeth.
Caitlyn’s gaze snagged on the photo beneath the headline—Julia, grinning in a too-big soccer jersey, her hair loose around her shoulders. A jolt went through her chest. Was that the girl she’d seen this morning at Jim’s place? Curled in the back of that glossy sedan?
Oh. My. God.
Her breath caught, and for a split second, all she could think about was grabbing the phone and calling the police. But the idea froze her in place. She could already hear the questions—Why were you watching Jim’s trailer? Who was the man in the suit? What’s your connection to him? Questions she couldn’t answer without dragging herself into the kind of trouble she had spent years trying to outrun.
Worse, she knew Jim’s crowd. They didn’t call the police; they made people disappear. If word got back to him—or to the man in the sedan—that she’d said anything, she could end up the one shoved into a trunk.
Her hands had gone slick, trembling so hard she could barely keep them flat on the counter. The fluorescent lights seemed to hum louder, hotter. She was sure every customer could see the sweat breaking along her hairline, the way her eyes kept flicking toward the door. Her mind raced in jagged flashes—Jim’s shifty eyes, the suited man’s polished shoes, those striped pajama bottoms. She looked back at the phone screen, but the photo might as well have been burned into her eyes.
Perfectly Imperfect 