Something else. Someone else.
Is Noah on the second floor?
Why would he be?
He doesn’t come up here when Stella’s home—we agreed to that. I go to him in the basement for privacy.
Suddenly, I can’t sit still.
If Noah’s downstairs, something happened.
With the case.
With Jessica.
With all of it.
A tremor crawls along my spine.
I tap Stella’s leg. “Give me the phone. Lights out.”
She gives me a tired smile and slides beneath the comforter. I take the phone gently from her hands and set it on the charger at her desk.
“Did I tell you the spring play is going to be The Secret Garden?” she asks, voice soft with the wind down.
“Yes,” I whisper. “You mentioned it.”
“Tryouts are in two weeks.”
Another sound cuts upward from below.
A creak.
Then a footstep.
Or the echo of one.
My hand lingers on the light switch.
“How about we get through this play before we worry about the next one?”
She smiles, unaware of my pulse climbing. I turn off the light. Her shadow stretches once, then disappears.
“Night, Mom.”
“Night. Love you.”
The latch clicks softly when I pull her door closed.
And then I move—fast.
Down the stairs.
Rapid. Quiet.
Hand on the banister.
The hallway is dark. Too dark.