Into the Fog (Fisher's Bay 1) ✅

Slowly Going Mad

Nadia sat wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, reaching for the large glass of wine sitting in front of her on the coffee table and not caring a damn about the time of day. She took a long drink, wishing that she could also swallow the embarrassment of passing out in front of a group of people who already hated her.

She was made of stronger stuff than that. In fact, she was pretty sure she had never fainted before.

But then again, she couldn't stop the images that had flashed through her head. Being in the ocean and hearing those agonizing screams. Nadia shook her head and took another drink of her wine. It was her imagination. There was no way she could have seen that man's murder or worse, done it herself.

That was ridiculous.

Who was she kidding? Being here right now was ridiculous. Her life was ridiculous. Everything about her flight across the country was absolutely ridiculous.

Fisher's Bay wasn't going to be some sort of magical place where everything was sunshine and roses. Had Nadia actually thought that she would just show up and everything would magically fix itself? That she would have all her answers about her past. All her troubles would disappear. That everyone in town would be warm and embracing.

That she'd find a place here and start a new life. Complete with the cozy cabin in the woods and a dog.

No, Nadia's problems were still there. She was still an outcast. Still the one that no one trusted. In the past it was because of her ratty clothes and dirty appearance with a crazy mom. Then it was because she was a headline-hungry journalist. Now it was because the town thought she was some homicidal maniac.

Fuck, maybe she was.

"What's wrong with me?" she moaned, leaning over and palming her forehead. "I probably shouldn't even be drinking..."

She looked at the glass of wine and sat up, taking another drink. For now, it was helping her to stay calm and not pack up everything and get the hell out of Dodge. Or go check herself in somewhere.

"I can't be doing this... can I?" she whispered to the empty house.

She didn't feel like she was someone who would viciously murder two complete strangers - even in some sort of weird sleepwalking haze. Nadia avoided violence, even though she had long lost her squeamishness being around it. Not to mention, wouldn't her clothing have been covered in blood? So far, she had only woken up to find herself sandy and dirty.

But then those memories...

No, it had to have been a dream or something. Her imagination. This was all because of stress. She had had a very stressful month.

Nadia had torpedoed her career, then picked up and moved across the country to a town in the middle of fucking nowhere full of weird people. And now she was a murder suspect.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit of an overreaction. As far as she was aware, she wasn't considered a suspect by the police. If anything, Tate had looked sympathetic earlier. Still didn't mean she wasn't affected by the looks and glares. The whispers.

She swore she heard more than a few people hiss that she had done it when she was at the docks earlier.

Nadia looked around the living room, her eyes raking over the knickknacks and photos. She wondered what her grandmother would do if she was alive. If she would comfort her or stand up for her.

However, that came up fairly short because even after all of Chloe's stories, Nadia still didn't feel a connection with the dead woman. Sure she felt like she had a decent grasp of who she might have been, but Ingrid Johansen was just some woman who had lived in this house and then left it to Nadia when she died.