Page 131 of Wicked Games

I shrug. “I don’t know.”

He moved away. In with Eli. He doesn’t talk about his parents, just his uncle. Something happened here.

At the top of the stairs, I have a choice. Go left to Caleb’s room and bathroom, or go right, down the hall to the master and guest bedrooms. I go left.

His room is virtually untouched, the same as mine. It’s neater, no clothes lying on the floor or in the hamper. I guess he had more time to pack than I did. Still, it’s a ten-year-old’s room. Blue walls. A train set in the corner. Toys stacked on top of his dresser.

We used to play with this stuff.

I hid behind this door once.

Riley follows me in. “It feels eerie to be here,” she admits. “Do you remember anything?”

“Just stuff I already knew.”

I drag my finger through the dust on top of his dresser. Every other room in the house has been swept clean, covered in white sheets.

Why is Caleb’s room different?

I reach for the door, intending to close it, and am gripped with a sudden sense of déjà vu. Grabbing the door to hide. I did that once… but then, there’s the sense I did it again.

More than once.

Past

“You have to run.” Caleb hauled me by my shoulders and shoved me toward the stairs.

His dad was on a rampage. His yelling echoed through the kitchen and dining room, to the living room where Caleb and I had been trying to learn chess. It came out of nowhere—peace one second, then an earth-shattering roar.

I trusted Caleb, and now, I listened. I bolted for the stairs, flying up and to the left. I made it to the safety of his room and grabbed the door, ready to slam it closed behind us… but Caleb hadn’t followed me.

I waited a moment, breathless and terrified. His dad was still hollering about something, the sound of breaking glass and wood haunting my ears.

If Caleb got caught…

I tiptoed out into the hallway, just as he appeared on the staircase. He looked at me oddly, like he was confused why I wasn’t in his room.

“Caleb!” his dad screamed. “What the fuck is this mess?”

“The chessboard,” he whispered, more to himself than me. His shoulders slumped. “I’ll be right back. Margo.Stay here.”

He pushed me back into the room. Behind the door, which he left open.

I latched on to the knob, and I couldn’t pry my fingers off of it. Not until Caleb was back. Fear wormed its way up my throat, choking me. My dad never got angry like that. Never screamed. Mom did, but Dad said it was the chef in her. She learned how to use her voice in a kitchen, surrounded by men.

I didn’t know what that meant, but I always nodded.

At any minute, Caleb was going to appear in front of his dad and take the blame for the chessboard and pieces spread across the floor in the living room. But before it had even begun, everything screeched to a halt. Something had distracted Caleb’s dad.

“I’m coming to get my daughter.” My father’s voice carried upstairs. “Jesus, Ben. I could hear you from my house.”

“Yourhouse,” Caleb’s dad sneered. “It isn’t your house. It’s mine. And who do you think you are, coming in here like you’re welcome?”

“I came for my daughter,” Dad answered. Even. Maybe annoyed, but definitely not showing it.

The fear loosened its grip on my airways.

“She’s not here,” Caleb’s dad snapped.

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