Page 53 of The Quiet Tenant

Reality hits me like a cold shower. That scream. Straight out of a slasher film, when the curtain slides to reveal a dark silhouette, the glimmer of a butcher knife.

We’re standing in the middle of an empty street. Whatever caused that scream can’t be more than five hundred feet away. I freeze.

“What was that?”

My voice shakes. His body has shifted toward the scream, which I now realize came from his house. His face tenses up. Then he seems to process something, and his features relax.

“That would be my daughter.”

I frown. How is this good news?

“She has nightmares. Night terrors. She was asleep when you texted me, remember?”

Of course. I lean against the Honda, my legs shaky with relief. His thirteen-year-old daughter, woken up by a bad dream.

“I’ll go check on her,” he says.

I’m so relieved, I suppress a giggle, my heart as light as a helium balloon in my chest.

“Of course,” I say, my tone serious again. “Go.”

I unlock the car and slip into the driver’s seat. He waits until the door slams shut, then gives me a quick wave and starts jogging back to the house. I watch him in the rearview mirror, his stride escalating into a full-blown sprint. A father on a mission.

I back up quickly. There’s a thud. I hit the brake pedal, my heart in my throat again. Did I just hit something? I didn’t see anything, but a squirrel, maybe?

Or a person?

Did I just hit someone? The roads are so fucking dark around here. Even the judge is always complaining about it, begging the city council to splurge on a few more streetlamps.

I stop, ready to puke, and check my front tires.

Another wave of relief washes over me. It’s the box of cookies, the same one he placed on the roof of my car and forgot in his haste.

I keep driving. Even though I know the scream was nothing, I’m not in the mood to stop on a dark stretch of road by myself. I drive straight home.

CHAPTER 35

The woman in the house

The moment Cecilia starts to scream, you let go. Open your fingers. Release her into the wild. You plead with her to stop, to just shhhh shhhh shhhh, but it’s too late. She screams until he comes in, a furious blur heading straight for the two of you.

This is the biggest mistake you have made in five years. You know this immediately, with blinding clarity.

What he sees: his wailing kid, his precious child, his only daughter, who suddenly stops yelling, and you, hunched next to her, imploring arms raised in vain.

The door slams behind him. One, two, three strides are enough. He steps between you and his child, grabs one of your wrists and one of hers.

Cecilia tries to explain, her words stumbling into one another. It’s okay, she says, it’s all right, I just thought I saw something, I got spooked so I screamed but it was nothing, I’m not hurt, no one’s hurt, Dad, Rachel was just trying, she was just trying to help.

Intuitively, she knows to do it. She lies in hopes of saving you.

He lets out a long exhale. Lets go of Cecilia’s arm and yours. His chest moves up and down, up and down, as he tries to slow his breath.

He smiles. This is all for show. You can still feel it, the fury pulsing underneath. His nostrils are flared, his eyes unfocused.

“You okay?” he asks in a calm voice. A dad’s voice.

She nods.

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