Page 82 of The Chain

“Are you OK, Pete?” she says severely.

“Yeah! I’m fine. Are you OK?”

She glares at him in the darkness.

“We should probably get moving, right?” he says.

“Sure.”

The Dunleavys’ backyard. Toys, lawn furniture, a swing. The back door, which leads to the kitchen.

“Come on,” Rachel says.

Flashlights on. EM-pulse kit on.

Pete fiddles with the lock. There’s a little tremor in his right hand.

“Can you get it?”

“Yeah. Done this before. It will not resist my attentions for long, trust me,” he says.

Three minutes. Four minutes.

“Are you sure?”

The door finally unlocks. Pete turns the handle. There is no safety chain. No burglar alarm goes off.

“Are we OK?” Rachel asks.

“Yeah.”

They put on their ski masks and enter the kitchen. Rachel darts her flashlight around the room.

No dead bodies. No assassins.

“Do we know where we’re going?” Rachel whispers.

“Yes,” Pete says. “Follow me.”

She follows Pete upstairs.

Carpet on floor. Pictures on wall. A big clock at the top of the steps. A mirror that scares her for a sec when she sees a person with a gun in it.

“First bedroom on the left,” Pete hisses.

Through the bedroom door. Body odor. Smell of booze. A woman snoring on the bed. Flashlight into the corners. No one else there. Pete tiptoes to the bed, kneels beside the woman, and puts his hand over her mouth. She yelps under Pete’s hand and he holds her down.

Rachel checks the en suite bathroom while Pete smothers her cries with his big paw.

“It’s clear,” Rachel says.

“Are you Helen Dunleavy?” Pete asks. “Just nod your response.”

She nods.

“Where’s your husband?” Pete asks. “One-word answer. The name of a room. Whisper it. If you’re loud, you’re dead.”

“Basement,” Helen croaks.

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