Page 4 of Misdirection

Olive might be selfish at times, but she’d never do something to put her sisters in danger.

So she hadn’t tried to contact Jason. Not yet. Maybe in a couple of years, she figured. Once the danger had passed, and she was in college living away from her family.

She crept toward her back door, a chill washing over her. It must be the wind. It had picked up and made the temperature feel ten degrees cooler.

There was no need to sneak in through her window again. Instead, she’d use her key to slip in the back door. Then she’d hurry upstairs to her room, and no one would be the wiser.

It had worked all those times in the past.

Olive slid her key into the lock and paused.

The mechanism didn’t click.

Her back muscles tightened.

That meant the back door was unlocked.

Shehadn’t left it that way, and her dad wouldn’t have left it unlocked either. He was usually so careful—sometimes to the point of seeming paranoid. He had rules in place for a reason. That was what he always said.

But even careful people made mistakes.

That was probably what happened. Usually the simplest explanations were the correct ones. Her dad also said that.

Olive stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind her. Then she tiptoed through the mudroom, into the kitchen, and paused.

An unusual scent lingered in the air.

Her house usually smelled like Home Sweet Home, her mom’s favorite Yankee Candle. Other times, it smelled like chocolate brownies, her mom’s Jasmine-scented perfume, or lemon Pledge.

Right now, the faint aroma of something almost smoky teased her senses.

Not smoke like that from a bonfire or a lit cigarette.

She couldn’t describe this kind of smoke, but it was different.

What was that?

She wasn’t sure, but she didn’t like it.

Tension spread across her back muscles as she took another step.

She fumbled through a prayer, still unsure if she really believed anyone was listening to her request. She prayed anyway.Please, let me be wrong. Let everything be okay.

She paused at the entry to the living room.

The room in front of her was dark and quiet. The wooden stairway stretched on one side and a short hallway leading to her parents’ bedroom on the other.

She should hurry upstairs before her mom or dad came out and asked what she was doing. Asked why she had her coat on. Asked where her pajamas were.

But she couldn’t bring herself to rush up the steps.

Something internal—and unseen—drew her toward the hallway.

She pulled out her phone and shone the light from it on the floor—mostly so she could avoid the squeaky board that might wake her parents.

But as she reached their door, her light hit the white molding around the door frame.

Three streaks stretched across the wood near the floor.

---