Chapter 3
I didn't leave the door cracked.
I pushed it shut with my palm, not the handle, and slid the chain back into its slot with my thumb. It caught. Barely. The chain was still loose the way I'd found it, swinging a little, but the latch seated and I turned the lever up until the smart lock flashed blue and then went dark. I kept my hand on the wood for one second longer than I needed to.
Then I ran.
My feet hit the wood floor cold. My bathrobe pulled open at the knees as I moved. The hallway was too narrow to run right, so I went barefoot and fast, hand brushing the wall to keep from stumbling. I didn't call out. If Emma was in her bed, I didn't want to wake her into a lie. If she wasn't, I didn't want whoever was at the door to hear me coming.
The stairs creaked under me on the third step like they always did. I took them two at a time and caught the banister at the top.
The upstairs hallway nightlight was on. That soft amber plug-in we'd put in after Sophie said the dark was too dark. It made a pool of light on the carpet outside their shared room. Their door was open six inches, just how Emma liked it.
I stopped breathing long enough to listen.
Sophie's sound came first. That little wet breath she did through her mouth when she was really asleep. I pushed the door wider.
Sophie was exactly where she should have been. On her back, arms flung out, pink blanket kicked down to her waist, her brown hair stuck to her cheek with sweat. Her chest rose and fell. Her nightlight unicorn was tipped over next to her pillow. I didn't touch her. I just let my eyes stay on her for two seconds to make sure it was real, and then I turned to the other bed.
Emma's bed was empty.
The comforter was thrown back, not neatly, one corner hanging off the side and touching the rug. The sheet underneath had a warm indent in the middle where she'd been lying. I put my hand down without thinking and felt it. Still warm. Like she'd just gotten up. Her pillow had that dent from her head, and her stuffed rabbit was face-down near the edge where she'd shoved it.
I stared at it and my stomach dropped.
Her pink pajamas weren't on the bed. Not bunched up, not under the covers. Emma never slept in anything else — pink top and pants with the little white stars that had gone pale from washing. She'd left the fleece throw we kept at the foot of her bed folded on the floor like she'd stepped out of it.
I checked the window because my brain wanted a different answer. It was closed. Locked. The white blinds were down and straight, no gaps. No cold air coming in. The carpet under it was dry and undisturbed. She hadn't gone out that way.
The hallway nightlight hummed behind me in the quiet. Too loud. I could hear the house ticking.
Then the knocking came again.
Soft. Three taps. From downstairs.
It wasn't loud like someone trying to be heard. It was small and patient, knuckles on wood, the same sound I'd heard at 2:26 when I thought I was dreaming. I froze with one hand still on Emma's warm sheet and looked toward the bedroom doorway, toward the stairs, toward the front door I could not see from there but could hear perfectly.
Sophie didn't move. She made that little sigh and turned her head. Still asleep.
The knocking came again, same three taps, same pause in between, like someone waiting to be let back in.
I knew then it wasn't a glitch and it wasn't Daniel. Daniel would have used his code. Daniel would have called out. That figure in pink I'd seen through the crack of the door — that size, that color — it wasn't a stranger in a costume. It was a child in pajamas that matched the missing set on my daughter's bed.
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Emma was downstairs. On the porch. Knocking to get back in.
I pulled my hand off her sheet and stood up too fast. My knees popped. I didn't fix her blanket. I left the door open exactly how I'd found it and backed out into the hallway where the amber nightlight made my bare feet glow, and I listened to that soft knocking come a third time while Sophie breathed behind me and Emma's empty bed held its heat.
