I tuck all my old notebooks away in the bookcase and bring what I’ll call, my greatest hits notebook, to bed with me. I cross my legs, tuck a pillow in my lap, and lean against the headboard as Stevie jumps on the bed to join me. She throws her weight effortlessly against my leg, the loveliest feeling on earth.
“Goodnight, my sweet girl,” I whisper, opening up the book and taking a sip of wine.
There has to be something in here that would work for the band. Maybe it’s the Taylor song.
I set my wine glass on my nightstand, reaching out for my pen as a thump echoes from downstairs.
What the hell?
I freeze in place and turn to Stevie, her head raised, her body as still as mine.
Did I just hear that? Where was that?
No other noise comes. Stevie remains in place instead of going to investigate. Should I do the same? I hold my breath, listening for anything, but the house is quiet. I can’t just sit here.
I stand, keeping my feet in one place on the floor so it doesn’t creak, and peer out my bedroom window. The Hilden’s home has a light on in the front window, a warm comforting glow as opposed to last night.
Carol reminded me I could go to them if I needed to.
I can’t just go back to bed, even though it could have been nothing. A noise from outside maybe.
I pick up my phone and type nine and one onto my phone keypad and take a few steps toward the closed door of my room, pressing my ear against the cool wood, struggling to hear anything over my heartbeat in my ears, and wait.
Nothing comes from the other side of the door, but that doesn’t mean there’s nothing there. Stevie jumps off my bed, and it’s my cue. We’re going to investigate. I won’t be able to just lay in bed or sleep if I don’t know the house is secure.
I open the door and Stevie scampers out and bounds down the steps with urgency into the darkness below.
Chapter 12
Realities,
I came too late,
won’t call it fate.
I descend the stairs, my teddy flowing out behind me, each creaky step signaling my presence to a possible intruder, but I don’t care. I can’t bear to think of Stevie finding something—someone—before I do.
She’d be barking right now, if she smelled or saw anything, wouldn’t she?
The lock on the door is fixed in my sights and when I reach it, the lock is turned, still in place, just as I left it.
Stevie walks out of the dark living room, scaring me. My heart races as I press my hand to my chest and catch my breath. She’s wagging her tail, her lamb stuffed animal in her mouth, staring up at me. Her content disposition is almost enough evidence to assume there’s no one here. Almost.
I have to check the windows. I walk past her into the pitch-dark living room and lean over her dog bed, gliding my hand over each of the three window levers.
All locked.
The back door and kitchen windows are the only points of entry left down here, where the noise seemed to come from. It was a thud, wasn’t it? Like someone dropped something a little heavy.
I scan the floor on our way down the hall to the kitchen, my finger hovering over the number one on my cell phone keypad.
The dark kitchen is still and quiet. I reach the back door and twist at the knob. Locked.
I never open the kitchen windows, but I check them anyway. They’d be just big enough for someone to fit through. Both locked.
There’s just one other way someone could get in. The master bedroom window at the front of the house. I climb the stairs again and Stevie follows me, the creaking loud and annoying until I turn left at the top of the stairs. My finger hovers over the number one on my phone, ready to complete the call to police, and my heart pounds in my chest as I walk across the soft, taupe carpet into the grey room. The streetlight sends a light glow through the floor to ceiling curtains. No shadowy figure behind them.
I flick the light on and scan the room. No movement except for Stevie, sniffing around the bottom of the bed. My heart sinks in my chest, imagining someone hiding under there, waiting. A shiver runs through me at the thought. And what would I do? Call the police? Sure, but they wouldn’t get here fast enough to keep me safe.
I have to check under the bed and get ready to run downstairs, to the neighbours, and call the police from there.
Stevie sniffs around the dust cover of the bed as I bend down and edge toward the bed, lowering my head enough to peer beneath it, using my phone screen to shine a light.
It glints in a dull haze against plastic stacks of containers filled with winter clothes. I push a sigh of relief through my nose as I stand.
I forgot that’s where Mom keeps her seasonal clothes. And Stevie would be going wild if someone were hiding under there. I check their window. Locked.
Did I imagine the noise? Did Stevie hear it before she lifted her head, or did she do that because I jumped?
“No one’s here,” I tell Stevie just as much as myself, and we walk back to my room.
I shut the door behind us and grab the cord to my cell phone charger by my nightstand, peering out the window at the Hilden’s. All their lights are off now. Maybe the sound came from over there.
Stevie jumps back up on the bed, and just before I get in, I reach to grab my new notebook from my nightstand. Did I leave it like that? It’s right on the edge, teetering.
I swivel around
