THOMPSON
1183 Words
Susan’s POV
Morning in Pinecrest always feels too bright, like the sun is trying too hard to expose things meant to stay hidden. I stand on the porch with my mug of coffee, watching the sleepy street wake up—sprinklers hissing, cars starting, dogs barking at nothing. But my mind stays stuck in the shadows left behind from last night.
Lila’s warning sits heavy in my chest, her eyes, her trembling hands, her broken whisper:
You’re being watched.
Not just by Vina.
Not just by the Circle.
I barely slept.
Dan had curled around me like he sensed something in me shifting, but instead of comfort, it felt like a checkpoint—another quiet evaluation.
By the time morning arrives, my nerves are buzzing.
Jayden’s at daycare. Dan left early. And now it’s just me, the quiet, and the lingering feeling of being observed. I keep glancing at the tree line across from our house—Pinecrest’s endless woods, dark and thick even under daylight.
That’s when I see him.
A boy, leaning against a tall oak, hoodie up, hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted just enough that I know he’s looking directly at me.
Thompson.
The town’s enigma. The boy with adult eyes. The one Vina doesn’t trust.
The one everyone whispers about when they think he’s not listening.
He shouldn’t be here. Not on my street. Not watching me.
My stomach tightens.
He steps forward, slow and deliberate, closing the distance between us like he’s approaching a wild animal he isn’t sure will run or attack.
“Mrs. Yocks,” he says, voice low, cautious.
“Susan,” I correct automatically.
He nods once, hands tightening in his pockets. “Susan.”
“How long were you… out there?”
He shrugs. “A while.”
A while.
My skin prickles.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“No,” he answers bluntly. His gaze flicks toward the woods behind him. “I came to warn you.”
Every muscle in my body freezes. “Warn me about what?”
He hesitates, scanning the street like someone might be watching. “You shouldn’t be around them.”
“The Circle?”
He swallows. “Vina.”
A breath catches in my throat. “Why?”
Thompson steps onto the porch, stopping only a few feet from me. He smells like cold air and pine, like the woods have claimed him as one of their own.
Then quietly, carefully, he says:
“She’s not who she pretends to be. None of them are.”
I cross my arms over my chest, grounding myself. “You’re going to have to be more specific than that.”
“She plays games with people.”
His voice tightens. “Dangerous games.”
There’s something in his tone—a cracked edge, a bruised memory—and for the first time, I see the truth: this isn’t gossip. This is personal.
“What did she do to you?” I ask softly.
He looks away. “It’s not about me.”
“Then who?”
Thompson lifts his eyes to mine—dark, tired, older than a teenager should be. “Vina’s not done with you. And she’s not the only one watching.”
The same warning Lila gave me.
“Who else?” I whisper.
He hesitates again, then says something that knocks the air out of my chest.
“Your husband talks to her more than you think.”
My grip tightens around the mug until my fingers ache. “Dan barely knows Vina.”
Thompson shakes his head slowly. “No. He knows her. He knew her before you did.”
The world tilts beneath me.
“That’s not possible.”
“Everything in Pinecrest is possible,” he mutters. “You just haven’t been here long enough to see it.”
I step closer. “Thompson, look at me.”
His jaw flexes as he lifts his gaze again.
“Tell me why Vina cares about me.”
His mouth opens—then shuts. Something stops him. Something he’s afraid to say.
Instead, he reaches into his pocket and hands me a folded slip of paper. “If things get bad… call this number.”
The paper is soft from being handled, edges worn, the ink slightly smudged—like he’s held onto it for reasons he won’t explain.
“Whose number is this?” I ask.
“You’ll know when you need it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
His expression cracks—just a little—and I see the boy under the armor, scared and alone.
“I’m trying to keep you safe,” he whispers.
“From Vina?”
“From all of them.” His voice falls to a shaky breath. “And from whatever they’re planning next.”
Before I can ask more, he stiffens—eyes darting past my shoulder.
I turn.
A car rolls slowly down our street.
Black SUV.
Tinted windows.
Moving too slowly to be casual. Too quiet to be innocent.
Thompson takes a step back, hood falling deeper over his face. “They shouldn’t see me with you.”
“Who?”
He shakes his head. “Go inside, Susan.”
“Thompson—”
“Now.”
His voice is desperate enough that I obey. I step back into the doorway, heart pounding. Thompson slips off the porch like a shadow disappearing into the trees.
The SUV slows in front of my house.
My pulse roars in my ears.
The passenger window rolls down.
And I see her.
Vina.
Red lips. Sharp smile. Sunglasses hide eyes that don’t need to be seen to be felt.
She tilts her head, studying me like I’m a puzzle piece she’s memorized.
Then she says, voice dripping like honey over barbed wire:
“Morning, Susan.”
My throat goes dry. “Morning.”
Her smile widens. “I hope you’re free this afternoon. We have… plans.”
Plans.
Not an invitation.
A decision.
“Actually—”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she interrupts softly. “I’ve already spoken to Dan. He thinks it’ll be good for you.”
My blood turns cold.
She spoke to him?
Why? When?
And why didn’t Dan tell me?
Vina lifts her sunglasses, revealing eyes so sharp they seem to peel layers off my skin.
“Wear something you can run in,” she says with a wink. “We’ll be in the woods today.”
The woods.
Thompson just warned me.
Where Vina plays her “games.”
Where people vanish.
Before I can respond, the SUV glides away like a phantom.
The street is quiet again.
But nothing feels quiet inside me.
I clutch the folded paper in my hand until it nearly tears.
Thompson’s last words echo through my bones:
“I’m trying to keep you safe.”
“From all of them.”
“And from whatever they’re planning next.”
I look toward the woods.
Today… I’m supposed to go in there.
With Vina.
And she wants me to run.
- Writer
