Rosaleigh, NY

“Your talent really is exceptional, Miss Kercher.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Really, this portfolio is amazingly impressive. I think it would be an honor to have you work on this project.”

“Thank you sir.”

I sit in a plush chair across from the desk of the one and only Joseph Lutz, owner of some big construction company out in New York – back in New York, for me anyway. We’ve been talking for an hour about my accomplishments, my valedictorian status in both high school and my class at USC. He blows it out of proportion, because for him USC is this big intelligent institution, completely the opposite of most schools in New York.

I’m still waiting for him to tell me what the damn project even is.

“Would you like to hear my proposition?” he asks. And before I can even answer, he’s telling me. “We have a project, a demolition and then rebuilding. And we need fresh young talent like you to give it a really distinct eye – I think that you’ll agree that your style of architecture really has a talent for bringing people in.

“Thank you sir.”

I’m beginning to feel like a robot with all my answers. I just need to be sure that everything needs to go exactly right. This guy, all beard and salt and pepper, is obsessed with my work. This guy, all suit and tie, is sitting on a pile of success and recognition. Success and recognition that this guy wants to share with me.”

“It’s in a small town in New York, of course, that we’re hoping to turn into something great,” he explains calmly, lacing his fingers together on the desk. “It has this beautiful lake and all sorts of land just waiting to be developed for our sort of business. We’re thinking that we can develop a high class atmosphere with the help of your keen eye.”

Something doesn’t feel right. Something about this town he’s describing feels eerily familiar, with a beautiful lake and all sorts of land just waiting to be developed. It feels like I’ve set my feet there once before, like I’ve been acquainted with it once before, a long time ago.

“We’re thinking that we could fly you out tomorrow to go look at the location with the rest of our team so you can get a real feel for your artistic license. You will be working in a team, of course, but I’m thinking we may put you in charge of the design section. I think you’ve really got what we’re looking for.”

My heart is soaring, but something just doesn’t feel right. Something feels hauntingly, painfully wrong.

“Thank you so much sir,” I breathe, trying to keep the excitement at bay in my voice. I have my legs crossed at the knee in front of me in this ridiculous form fitting dress I bought for important interviews like this on a trip to Anthropologie with Grace, and they knocking against each other even still. “But I have to ask, what’s the name of this place?”

“Oh, I haven’t told you yet?” he hums with a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Silly me. I get so ahead of myself sometimes.”

Everything goes into slow motion, I swear, as he says the word.

“Rosaleigh.”

And suddenly I’m back at that lake. The panic and the fear are bubbling inside me. Everyone is panicking, everything is moving so fast and yet so slow at the same time. And I’m begging to get out, to never come back, to forget about everything that happened. To never say a word.

There’s a possibly that I could wipe all those memories clean. To start new with my own work. To make it my own. To erase it all.

“I’ll pack my bags,” I answer with a smile.

Turns out you could pay me to go back to Rosaleigh.



My parents moved out of Rosaleigh to a bigger suburb just a few months earlier, to a townhome. My mom insisted she was doing me a favor – that someday in the future, I wouldn’t have to take care of cleaning out all her shit from our big house I grew up in. I think she did me a favor by never making me go back to that god forsaken town ever again.

I surprise her at the door, dropping my bag in the foyer of this ridiculous expensive townhome they managed to find. Typical of my parents to leave the door unlocked, the pair of hippies they were. I haven’t been to visit them since I graduated, much less since they moved, so it’s a weird feeling to see all our stuff moved into this foreign building.

“Mom?” I call into the depths. And suddenly, the clattering of a pan against tile.

“Jules!”

And in moments I’m wrapped up in her arms, her tears staining my shoulder. I didn’t expect such a reception. I hug her back with the most enthusiasm I can muster – I did miss her, I really did. It got lonely in Los Angeles with everyone you loved an entire nation away.

“I can’t believe you came!” she exclaimed, pulling away from me and giving me a once over. “You really haven’t been eating properly, damn you Julienne! You told me you were!”

“Mom,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my stomach to hide from her critical eyes.

“Sorry, sorry!” she insists, pulling me back to her once again, my arms crushed between our bodies. “I hoped you’d come around! I know Rosaleigh must been important to you, too.”

If only she understood.

“Sure, Mom,” I mumble, this time fully breaking apart from her. “Do we, uh, have anything to eat? I’m starving.”

A feeble attempt at changing the subject, but luckily she take the bait. I knew she would, but sometimes she surprises me.

“Of course!” she exclaims, “and a tour! I’ll tell you about the plans for the protest while we walk.”

I keep my mouth closed as she yammers on about saving the town. If only she knew that I’m about to join the team to destroy it.