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If I get up early enough, maybe I can take Riley to school. I missed her today. I missed him too.
Leaning back heavily, I open the leather-bound book in my lap. A startled squeak rips out of my throat when the wall behind me shifts.
Letting out a relieved giggle, I place a hand over my pounding heart.
Fuck!
I give a breathy laugh and turn.
My relieved smile fades quickly.Shit,I definitely don’t have the money to be breaking things.
Cringing, I touch the askew wall panel. The wood wobbles under my palm. Frowning, I try to peer into the crack, but the pitch-blackness gives nothing away. The light filtering in from my hallway is not bright enough to illuminate that far in.
Grabbing my phone out of my jeans pocket, I turn on the flashlight and aim it into the gap. Boxes line the wall, much like the ones I’m sitting next to.
As I push the panel more, something clicks in my head. The panel moves easily with one good push, like it’s used to it. Nothing squeaks, and nothing catches. It just opens.
My stomach knots.
Dread settles in every part of my body. My knees feel like they’re weighted with stone as I crawl through the opening. My body is stiff as I sit back on my heels. My heart squeezes.
I’m not in my house anymore.
I blink quickly, but my vision swims.
I’m not in my house anymore.
Feeling around the floorboards, I search for my fallen phone.
I’m not in my house anymore.
Shining the light around myself, I see a dust void, a path that’s been walked often and recently.
I’m not in my house anymore.
Pushing to my feet, I trace the steps to the attic hatch. It has a latch similar to mine that can be opened from either side.
I’m not in my house anymore.
Releasing the latch, I move around to take the first step down.
I’m not in my house anymore.
The hallway is empty. The sounds of a child’s television show drift out of Riley’s closed bedroom door.
I’m not in my house anymore.
Someone moves around the kitchen, and the fragrance of what they’re cooking reminds me that I skipped lunch and dinner. I’d been too guilty about my unknown man entering Doc’s house last night to eat.
I’m not in my house anymore.
My feet feel like they’re lined with lead. Every step I take is heavy. Something to my left catches my eye, and I turn. Physical pain pierces my heart.
I’m not in my house anymore.
A family photo. One I’ve walked past dozens of times, but I’ve never been this close. Leaning in, I blink to clear my watery vision. My fingers find the necklace under my T-shirt the same time my eyes find it in the photo.
I’m not in my house anymore.
