Aftermath(81)

“Couldn’t have explained it better myself,” I say.

Jesse gives me a look.

“Well, is it wrong?” I say. “Any of it?”

He sighs. “No.”

“Then I guess we’re going to need to find out where Owen lives.”

We’re at Owen’s rented house. Like Chris said, it’s outside the city. It must have been a farmhouse at one time – with fields along either side and a forest in the back – but whoever owns the farm now rents the house and just works the fields.

It’s the kind of place you might expect a twenty-year-old guy could afford to rent. It’s big – two stories – but it’s one building inspection away from being condemned. Several windows are boarded up. There’s no front porch or any steps to get to the door.

Jesse pulls into a lane a quarter mile down, one that seems to be for farm equipment. We walk until we’re standing behind trees at the property edge. My phone blips with an incoming text. I quickly turn it to silent and check the message.

Mae: It’s after ten, Skye. When are you coming home?

Me: Soon.

I pocket my phone. The guys are surveying the dark house. There’s not a single light on, and it’s too early for Owen to have gone to bed. The driveway is empty, and I don’t see any sign of a garage.

“He has a car, right?” I whisper.

Chris nods. “An old Honda.”

“The lack of lights and a car doesn’t prove he’s gone,” Jesse says.

“It just very, very, very strongly suggests it.”

“I’m going with Skye on this one,” Chris says.

I turn to Jesse. “Chris agrees that we should sneak up to the house and see what’s going on.”

“Whoa,” Chris says. “I never said —”

“If we cut through the field, we can come out in the forest. Come on.”

Skye

Owen’s “backyard” is mostly forest. By the time we’re at the tree line, we’re less than twenty feet from the house.

“We’ve seen the front from the road,” I say. “We saw the east side as we were coming through the field, and now we’re looking at the back. The house is dark. If you insist on checking the west side, we’ll do that.”

Naturally, Jesse insists. We walk as far in that direction as we can without leaving the cover of the forest.

“No car, no lights, no Owen,” I say.

Jesse doesn’t answer.

“If this really bugs you, we’ll leave,” I say.

“I just… I don’t like it.”

“You think it’s a trap?” Chris says.

Jesse considers, and then shakes his head. “No one led us here. We figured it out on our own. Just stick together. If we see Owen – or anyone other than Tiffany – we’re leaving, okay?”

“Agreed.”

The moon is bright enough to lead the way. We’re halfway to the back door when Jesse catches my arm. He’s gone still as he squints at the house.

“You spotted something?” I whisper.

“A flicker of light. You didn’t?”

Chris and I both shake our heads. I lean in to whisper, “If you really don’t like this…”

He exhales. “I’m fine. I don’t mean to be so jumpy.” He rolls his shoulders and makes a face. “I just keep thinking about last night and…” His gaze falls to my arm.

“I know.”

He leans closer, voice lowering as he says, “Just don’t take off on me, okay? Please. I’m not trying to be a jerk.”

“I made a mistake at the park. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

When we reach the house, we duck and sneak up. I’m peering over a window ledge when I see a flash of light. I duck fast.

Jesse whispers, “Passing car.”

When I look again, I see that the window lines up with one in the front room, and through it I catch a glimpse of red taillights as a car passes.

“Must have been what I saw earlier,” Jesse whispers.

I peek again. The window opens into the living room, and I can see the dining area beyond it. Both rooms are dark.

“I’m going to boost you,” Jesse whispers.

He does, and I peer through at a better angle. There’s enough moonlight for me to make out furnishings. An old sofa. An armchair with books substituting for one leg. As my gaze travels to the dining room doorway, I notice a large dark stain on the carpet. The moonlight catches it, and it glistens, still wet.

“I think I see blood,” I whisper, and I try to get a better look. Jesse adjusts his grip and boosts me higher while Chris grabs the windowsill and hoists himself up to peer inside.

“Damn,” Chris whispers. “That does seem like blood. A lot of it.”

I’m about to tell Jesse to take a look when I notice something to the side of the wet patch. Just past the dining room doorway. Moonlight glints off an object on the floor.

A knife? I squint. It’s an odd shape. And there’s a second one like it a few inches away. Smaller pieces litter the linoleum and the carpet at the border between the rooms.

“Glass,” I murmur.

“What?” Chris says.

“It’s a broken tumbler,” I say. “The pieces are there. That’s what the stain’s from.”