Page 43 of Gage

I wasin the attic when I heard something downstairs.What the heck was that?Dad was away with Helen. No one else was supposed to be here. Maybe Gage is here early.

Heart pounding, I crept down the stairs, careful not to make a sound. A shadow moved across the living room.A man.

Who is that?

Panic surged through me. Someone who wasn’t supposed to be here was in the house.

I instinctively reached for my phone.Oh my God.My pockets were empty. My phone was nowhere near me. My breath came in short, frantic gasps. I should have answered when it rang earlier—now I had no way to call for help.

I held my breath as the man walked past the staircase. Every instinct screamed at me to run, but I forced myself to move slowly, backing up toward the attic. As soon as I reached the top, I darted behind an old dresser, crouching low.

How is he here?

My mind raced. How did he get out of prison? Who would let him out? Or—oh God, were all three of them here?

I had to call the police.

My eyes darted to the small attic window.Could I fit through it?Did it even open? If I could climb out, I could flag someone down, call for help—warn them not to come inside. Those men were dangerous.

Matthew was already back at school. Brian was at his house. No one was coming to help me.

Then, I smelled it.

Smoke.

Where the hell was it coming from? My stomach clenched as the realization hit me.

The house is on fire.

I tiptoed toward the window, praying they wouldn’t come upstairs. Why would they set the house on fire?Were they trying toburn me alive?

I shoved the window, but it didn’t budge. Damn it! Dad had nailed it shutyears ago, afraid one of us would fall from the third floor to our death outside. I needed a hammer—anything—to get the nails out. Breaking the glass wouldn’t be enough. I had to open the window all the way or I wouldn’t fit through it.

Then, I heard laughter.

A cold, twisted sound.

Chills shot down my spine. I recognized that laugh. Their brother used to laugh like that. Were they all serial killers? My stomach twisted, and I fought the urge to vomit.

Somewhere in the house, my phone rang.

“Gage,” I whispered.

Oh, God. He was supposed to come over after work. If he walked in now, they’d kill him.

I frantically searched the attic. My fingers wrapped around the handle of a hammer.

“Yes.”

I sprinted back to the window and jammed the hammer under one of the nails. Pushing with all my strength, I pried it loose. One down. One to go.

The smoke thickened. I coughed, my lungs burning.

I can’t die here.

I yanked at the last nail, muscles straining. Come on, come on—

It popped free.

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