Page 61 of The Angel Maker

“Hello?” she called out.

There was no reply, and she stood in the hallway for a moment, staring down the corridor ahead. At the doors there, half-hidden in the gloom. Each of them held memories. Because of the old-fashioned feel of the house and its furnishings, it had been easy to imagine this place was haunted while growing up here. A part of her still thought it was. It was just that as a child she hadn’t understood what ghosts really were.

“In here.”

Her mother’s voice, calling from the front room. Katie stepped through. The room seemed darker than it should have been. The curtains were open, but the light from outside was occluded by the dirty glass of the window, and the air was the color of stewed tea.

Her mother was sitting at the table. She didn’t look up as Katie entered the room. The puzzle was laid out on the table before her, and her hands were working at the puzzle. Katie walked across the room and looked down at it. The four of them were complete now, and her mother was working on the floor at their feet: a large patch of all but identical light brown pieces. Katie watched as she moved one around, turning it carefully, trying to find where it belonged.

“Have you heard from Chris?” her mother said hopefully.

“No.”

“I thought that might be why you were here. The police came to see me, you know. About him.”

“What?” Katie said. “When?”

“Yesterday. They wanted to know if I’d seen him recently. I told them I hadn’t. That I hadn’t had any contact with him in years.”

“Mom—”

But she was interrupted with a sharp look.

“That’s what he would have wanted. I’m not going to betray my own boy.”

Katie hesitated. “Were they worried about him? Or did it seem like he’d done something wrong?”

“They wouldn’t tell me.” Her mother looked down again. “Both, I think.”

Katie tried to put things together in her head. What the hell had her brother gotten himself involved in?

And not just him anymore.

“I spoke to the police yesterday too,” she said.

That got her another sharp look. “About what?”

“Not Chris.”

She told her mother about what had happened last night—the face at the window—and how whoever had been outside had tried the back door. Her mother was slightly more concerned than Sam had been, but if anything she seemed more relieved that they hadn’t asked about Chris.

Katie bit down on the familiar resentment that caused.

“You told me Chris took some photos one time he came round?”

Her mother nodded.

“Yes. I’ve never thrown anything away.”

Katie took the piece of old, yellowing paper out of her jacket pocket.

“Who is this child?” she said.

Her mother peered at it for a second. Then she turned back to her puzzle.

“I can’t possibly see in this light. Not with my eyes.”

“Yes,” Katie said. “I think you can.”

---