Annalise

Annie stood before her mother's closet, one hand resting on the door handle, the other hanging limply at her side. All I have to do is open the door and walk inside, that's all, she thought to herself. She'd been standing before her mother's closet for over an hour, but no matter how long she stood there, she couldn't force herself to enter.

Growing up, her mother had very few rules. Most of them made sense to Annie; don't leave the apartment without leaving a note, always take money for a taxi, and be home by curfew. Those rules she'd understood. However, the fourth and final rule had always seemed a bit extreme, even a little weird.

"Annie, hon? What are you doing?" Adam, her husband, called from the kitchen.

"Erm, nothing. I am doing nothing," she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear her.

The muffled flump of an overstuffed cardboard box hitting a stone countertop, followed by the shushing sound of slippers, announced her husband's approach. He slid warm arms around her, burying his angular face into her thick, curly hair. Adam squeezed her gently before placing a calloused hand over her own.

"Wait!" she squealed as a ludicrous amount of panic consumed her. "I'm not ready yet."

"You've been waiting, my love. Has it done any good?"

"No," Annie muttered to the thickly carpeted floor.

"Just let me do it for you," he offered, a slight tinge of annoyance in his usually calm tone.

"Yea, I guess," she conceded. A small voice, a voice that sounded remarkably like her mother's, whispered in her mind, why does he seem so impatient? It was unlike Adam to be pushy. His relaxed, humorous personality was one of the many reasons she loved him. Annie shook her head, almost as if she could shake off her suspicion. Adam was the best thing that had happened to her in a long time. She'd drifted the last few years, feeling lost, unable to find her place in the world. She hadn't needed to work, her trust fund took care of that, so she'd traveled the world. Once she returned to New York, aimlessness consumed her once more. Then on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon, she'd met Adam, the love of her life. The hole that'd tugged at her heart was finally filled.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Quick as a whip, Adam tightened his grip and turned the knob. A small gasp escaped her when the door swung inward with a click.

When she didn't enter, Adam sighed but didn't break the silence

"I feel weird like I'm breaking her trust. I know she's dead, but," Annie took a deep breath before continuing, "it doesn't really matter; someone has to clean this out."

"Exactly. Did she ever tell you what to do, you know, once she passed?" Adam leaned against the wall, brow furrowed with concern.

"We never talked about death." Annie shrugged. "She wasn't religious."

"What about her family? Or your father's?"

Annie averted her eyes, tired of the same conversation she'd had throughout her life. "Dad wasn't around. Mom always said he couldn't be, but even if he could've, he wouldn't want to. Not the paternal type, I guess."

"Did all this," He raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the four-poster bed, overstuffed chair, and large fireplace, "Come from her side of the family."

"Kinda rude for you to assume that. My mom made all of her own money. She invested in real estate. Basically, her grandmother passed away, and since her parents weren't in the picture, she got the house. Mom sold the home and bought a few apartments. You can figure out the rest."

"Hmm," Adam's eyes twinkled as if he wanted to say if you say so.

"What's with all of the questions? Why does any of this matter?" The sandalwood and amber notes of her mother's perfume still clung to the bed clothing, and it was starting to make her feel sick.

"It's just been a bit of a wild ride. We meet at Wave Hill, get a little drunk, and then run off and get married. Flash forward a few months, and I meet your mysterious, very wealthy mother, only for her to pass away a few days later."

Annie's shoulders slumped as she waited for him to explain why they should take time apart, why the relationship wouldn't work out. Too many people had slipped in and out of Annie's life. She was used to goodbyes.

She chewed on her lower lip before saying, "Look, I know this whole marriage thing is a lot, and I get if you want to walk away."

Adam looked surprised for a second but quickly regained his composure. "I don't want to call it quits; I just didn't expect any of this."

"Funny enough, I don't think she expected it either."

"Well, not many people expect to be murdered. Especially not a socialite."

"Hey," she turned, half-heartedly batting his chest, "what's wrong with being a socialite. She did a lot of good for a lot of people."

"Come on, you know what I mean. I was just saying it's not like she was some KGB spy or something like that."

"Yea, I guess. It's strange how much harder this is. I didn't falter when they asked me to identify her body." A small shudder wracked through her as she remembered the light blue tulle gown her mom had been wearing, its beaded bodice sodden with dark blood.

Annie stiffly took one step and then another until she found herself in the middle of a generously sized dressing room. Dark wood cabinets lined the walls, mostly filled with costly blazers, gowns, trousers, blouses, and neat stacks of blue jeans. The far wall had more than a hundred pairs of exquisite pumps lined up, their lacquered red bottoms glinting richly against the hardwood. The center island housed dozens of drawers that were protected under lock and key. Its stone surface boasted glistening watches on tall stands, a few glass trays filled with designer sunglasses, and a vase of pure white roses.

"I don't suppose you know where the keys are?" Adam asked, gesturing to the center island.

"No, I don't. I never would've guessed the closet was this big; it's basically the size of my old bedroom."

"Let's look around. We can probably pack up what you want to take with us now and decide what to leave for the movers."

"Sure," The prospect of rifling through the drawers was exhilarating, but a tinge shameful.

Adam scanned the room before pointing at an armoire, "Let's start with this." Then, without waiting for a reply, he crossed the room and opened the doors. Half of the cabinet was taken up by a stack of vintage hat boxes, the other a large brown box wrapped in crinkled paper. "You should open it."

"Wha, What?" Annie stammered. "I'm starting to feel sick. I think I need to lay down."

"Annie, we need to get back to our lives. Just open it, see if you want what's inside, and then we will move on to the next thing."

She looked at him blankly, feeling wrongfooted by the situation. "Can't you just go through this stuff?"

He cracked his easy, familiar smile. "I could, but I know very little about women's fashion."

Annie smiled back at him; this at least made sense. "Can you please take it out? It looks kinda heavy." A shimmer of something that looked oddly like glee danced in his eyes. He easily hefted the package out of the armoire and onto the floor. She squatted down, tipping less than gracefully onto her bum.

"Be careful with it. It might be valuable." Adam crouched down next to her.

"Everything in here is valuable," she chuckled before tugging at the string that secured the box. She reached forward and popped the top open. A terrified scream ripped out of her chest as she fell backward, scrambling to get away from the gruesome display before her.

A mangled pair of light grey wings lay petrified in a pile of tissue paper. The feathers had retained their soft quality, but the sinew had greyed with age. Trembling with fear, she crawled forward, hopelessly wishing it was a prop or costume of some sort.

"Don't touch that!" Adam roared.

It was too late; the tip of her finger had brushed the soft feathers when she tugged the box closer to her. A blinding light filled the room, but before she could scream, pain consumed her. Throwing her head back in agony, Annie screamed like she never had in her life. A burning, acidic pain ate at her back, and her bones ached like they were about to explode.

Just as suddenly as the pain started, it stopped. Gasping, Annie wiped the sweat that drenched her brow. The motion almost caused her to topple forward. Whimpering, she ran her hand down her neck, stopping when warm, wet blood confirmed the horrifying truth. The wings had attached to her.

She looked at Adam with pleading eyes, too terrified to speak. Her fear redoubled when she realized he was holding a long silver knife. "Where did you get that?" she managed to shudder out. "Please don't cut them off. Please, I'm already hurt."

He looked at her, but not how he usually did. Gone was any trace of affection or love. "Not here."

"What do you mean not here? I can't go to the hospital! They will think I'm a freak and do weird tests on me. You're scaring me, Adam."

"No, not at a hospital," he plunged the knife into her chest, leaving it buried at the hilt. Blood bubbled from her mouth when she tried to speak, drowning out her words. Her vision started to go black as she heard him say, "How could a hospital help fey?" He laughed darkly, "Not that I would help you, Annalise." Adam tugged his blade from her, making a face at the wet, sucking sound.