Ever have a reoccurring dream feel so real you wonder if it’s a repressed memory? For me, it’s always the same. In my sleep I see a shadow, and with it is the scent of pine sifting past the curtains, leaving a trail of goosebumps on my flesh like kisses from the breeze. Then, I see the shadow standing above me, and right when I’m ready to holler in fear, it’s dark hand silences me before scooping me into its arms

There’s always a hint of mint drifting from the shadow’s breath too, and its sandpaper-like chin, scratching against my ear as it presses my face into its chest.

“I’m taking you home, little one,” the shadow often says with a kiss to my temple.

So tonight is the same as my body jerks awake, and I’m snatched from the shadow's clutch as I lay here blinking, and trying to remember where I am. With deep breaths, I take note of the surroundings and focus on the antique dresser in front of the bed with its vanity mirror, and scattered accessories sitting on top. Next to it is the worn, emerald green, chase lounger I found for a bargain at a garage sale, which happens to be buried in the clothes I flung across it while stripping down for bed. 

“Jesus, Val.” I wipe the sweat from my forehead. Because I’m home and safe. “Get it together!”

It’s been at least four months since the last dream about the shadow, yet, it was just as vivid as the one before and I can still smell the mint on the shadow’s breath and feel its scratchy beard. 

Kicking off the blankets, I hop out of bed and head to the French doors where moonlight trickles into the bedroom through a gap in the blackout curtains. Even though I live on the second level of the apartment complex, the paranoia of a burglar climbing up the balcony and jimmying his way inside worries me. So I inspect the lock. It’s the first time I’m living alone and after six months, I’m still not used to it. 

“You should have gotten a roommate if you’re going to be such a chicken shit!” I sigh when I find the bolts on the French doors intact. 

But better safe than sorry, right?

Out of habit, I peer past the curtains while standing on tiptoes to glimpse the courtyard. A crescent moon hides behind gauzy clouds which slither past twinkling cityscapes against the sapphire sky. My apartment complex is old, and constantly creaks and groans, but I wouldn't trade it for anything else. It consists of two Victorians with a garden-like courtyard in the center, but tonight, no one is down there. So, I let my gaze drift to the neighbor’s balcony across the way in 3B. 

TV light flickers against his curtains, and either he fell asleep watching it or he’s an insomniac just like me? We’ve crossed paths a handful of times, so I don’t know much about him, other than him having the kind of smile that makes my toes curl and that he works at a hospital. He always smells good too, the way one would expect some rich executive of a company to smell. Except, he’s blue-collar, just like me.

I’m about to pull away from the curtain when I spot Lisa. She lives in 4B, and often shamelessly flirts with mystery hunk while wearing tiny shorts to show off her long legs. On this night, however, she’s doing what I suspect is the walk of shame from an Uber and up the stairs to her apartment. 

“Another long night, huh?” I snort.

I'm not sure what she does for a living, but I know she always gets home late and is dressed in skimpy outfits. A yawn forces its way out, so I close the curtain and crawl back under the blankets.

But it’s a while before sleep finds me again because despite knowing I’m safe, I can’t help but feel like someone or something, is watching me.

When morning arrives, I begin the usual routine of getting ready and then take one last look in the mirror while repeating what my father always tells me.

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” 

It was he who encouraged me to move out. He insisted it was time I learn to fly on my own. At first, I didn’t understand since he’s always been overbearing with his rules and protection of me. But now I appreciate why he wanted me to do this. In the six months, I’ve been in this apartment, I’ve learned how to pay bills, budget finances, and pressure the landlord when the dishwasher is acting up. I think if my mother were still alive, she’d be proud of the woman I’ve become.

As I head to the fridge, I can’t help but let my eyes drift over to the sink where a small pile of dirty dishes sits. Though, my attention snaps to the window because the hot neighbor in 3B is exiting his apartment and looking perfect as always in his Royal blue scrubs. My messy kitchen can wait!

“Go, go, go!” I scramble to grab my purse, scarf, and jacket, then rush to the door. “This is not a drill, Val.” 

Once outside, however, I play it cool while locking the door and before turning around, I smooth my hands over the vintage Guns n Roses t-shirt I’m wearing.

“Don’t be nervous,” I whisper and head for the stairs. 

Across the way, the mystery neighbor glances up from his phone and spots me right as we both reach the bottom. So, I busy myself with adjusting the strap of my purse to play it cool as he smiles with a slight wave and we continue to walk towards the front of the building.

“Morning,” he greets when we reach the brick pathway at the same time.

“M-Morning.”

He’s not particularly tall in comparison to other men, nevertheless, I still have to tilt my head to stare at him. And as it turns out, his eyes are grey and not blue the way I originally thought.

“Have a good day.” He waves and steps in the opposite direction.

“You too!” I call out but then facepalm myself. 

Why didn’t I say something, anything, to keep his attention longer? Maybe next time? Except I know I’ll clam up, yet again. 

After unchaining my bike, I peddle off towards the local caffeine Mecca in desperate need of the foamiest coffee and when I arrive, my favorite barista is behind the counter.

“Val! Haven’t seen you in a while,” greets the tattooed goth girl.

“I know, I know. I really should get up earlier but that darn snooze button has a mind of its own...”

“Right,” Ricky grins, spreading her black-painted lips into a wide part. Reaching for the largest cup, she asks, “So what’ll it be?”

“You know me. I need something strong, foamy, and preferably with caramel.”

“You got it!” Ricky winks. “I think you’ll like our flavor of the day. It’s Caramel Flan.”

“Interesting...”

“Don’t worry, I’d never steer you wrong.”

“Good, because I’m trusting you with my life here. I NEED to stay awake today.”

“Oh? Long day ahead?”

“Yeah. And my boss has been super cranky lately.”

“Uh, oh.” 

“I really want to quit, but my dad says that I need to remain positive and look at this as a stepping stone to one day working for National Geographic.”

“Sounds like a smart man. Keep your head up.”

“Thanks.”

After grabbing the coffee Ricky undoubtedly made to perfection, I head back outside and transfer it into a Thermos. For a moment I stand there taking in the crisp morning with the sun winking behind a few clouds and birds chirping in the surrounding trees. It’s the beginning of autumn, which is me and my dad’s favorite time of year, so I inhale deeply and then release the breath slowly. 

It’s something he taught me to do and claims that people who take the time to breathe nature into their lungs live longer. When I was a kid he’d have me take the deepest breaths, and hold it for ten seconds. So then, I’d have him hold his breath for thirty because I wanted him to live forever.

“It’ll be a good day today.” I smile into the sun. “It’s Saturday and the Kominsky wedding will be beautiful. You are lucky to have this job!” 

“Excuse me...” I turn to find a middle-aged blonde woman scrutinizing me with squinty eyes. “Is your name Valentina Moreno?”

“No.” 

But the woman studies my face as if she isn’t convinced. “You look an awful lot like her.”

“Um, I’m sorry ma’am, but I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

“Last night, on Dateline, they were doing an update on the Valentina Moreno case.”

“Who?”

“You know, the little girl who went missing twenty years ago in Yosemite National Park?” she explains, but I’m still puzzled. “They showed one of those age progression photos and I swear that image looked a lot like you. I usually don’t pay attention to stuff like that, but I just now saw a post on Facebook with the photo again when you walked by.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s not me and I’m running late.” 

“Wait!” The woman clamps her hand onto my arm and I don’t like how pushy she’s being. “It’s just that these days you never know and I have a daughter around your age and if she was lost, I’d want someone to help her find her way back.”

“Let go of me.”

“I’m sorry.” She steps back.

“It’s fine, but I really do have to get going,” I say and peddle off.

I shouldn’t let it bother me, yet on the entire ride to work, the woman’s words throb in the back of my mind. What a bizarre encounter. Who goes up to a stranger and interrogates them like that? 

But, I am Angelo Rossi’s daughter and have the Italian nose to prove it! 

Pedaling faster, I giggle against the wind because my best friend Julian is going to die of laughter when I tell him. I bet he’ll even want to Google the missing girl. 

And honestly, I’m curious too…