Chapter 15

The leather bag was beautiful.

It sat in the antique shop’s display window beneath a handwritten card that read:

GENUINE LEATHER. HANDCRAFTED.

Mara wasn’t even looking for a purse. She had stopped only because the bag looked oddly familiar. Soft cream-colored leather. Elegant stitching. A tiny crescent-shaped scar near the clasp.

She bought it before she could talk herself out of it.

The old shopkeeper wrapped it carefully.

“Take good care of her,” he said.

Mara laughed awkwardly. “Her?”

The old man didn’t smile.

“She took very good care of herself.”

The bag smelled strange.

Not unpleasant. Clean, almost sweet, like old perfume trapped in cedar chests.

At home, Mara noticed details she’d missed before.

Tiny lines across the surface that looked too organic to be wrinkles in leather.

Faint pores.

The crescent scar.

She ran her thumb over it.

Warm.

The bag was warm.

She snatched her hand away.

“It’s just my imagination,” she whispered.

That night, she dreamed of a woman sitting in front of a mirror.

A pair of hands held her face still.

A blade gleamed.

The woman stared directly at Mara through the mirror.

“Please remember me.”

Mara woke screaming.

The bag sat upright in the corner of her bedroom.

She distinctly remembered leaving it downstairs.

The internet provided an explanation she desperately wished she hadn’t found.

There were historical accounts.

Rumors.

Criminal cases.

Objects crafted from human skin.

Books.

Shoes.

Bags.

She slammed her laptop shut.

No.

No, no, no.

People made up stories all the time.

Urban legends.

Hoaxes.

She picked up the bag.

Its clasp clicked open by itself.

Inside, sewn into the lining so carefully it had escaped notice before, were tiny embroidered letters.

ELISE.

Below that:

If found, tell them what he did.

The police came.

They searched the antique shop.

The owner had vanished.

Hidden beneath loose floorboards, investigators uncovered old photographs, jewelry, driver’s licenses…

And human remains.

One of the licenses belonged to Elise Mercer, a woman who had disappeared twenty-three years earlier.

The crescent scar near the clasp matched a scar described by her sister.

The story made headlines.

The shopkeeper was never found.

Mara gave statements. She handed over the bag as evidence.

Eventually, life moved on.

People stopped talking about Elise.

The nightmares faded.

Three months later, Mara came home from work to find a package on her doorstep.

No return address.

Inside was a leather wallet.

Soft cream-colored leather.

Elegant stitching.

Warm to the touch.

Tucked inside was a note written in shaky handwriting.

Thank you for finding Elise.

There are others.