That part would come later.
But I took something. Just one thing.
Her spare set of keys, hanging stupidly from the hook in the unlocked shed.
She’d notice that they were gone.
Not right away. But soon.
And when she did?
She’d know.
She’dfeelit.
That someone was close.
Watching.
Waiting.
Breathing down her neck without ever making a sound. The first step always had to be the softest. The one that didn’t leave a mark. The whisper before the scream.
And I was so fucking close.
I lived at a circus.A full-on, multi-tent, traveling side acts circus. I just couldn’t tell if I was the ringleader or the poor sap that followed the elephants around scooping up the poop.
Toby had gotten yogurt all over the inside of his backpack at school, which was a freaking wild mind trip considering I didn’t even pack him yogurt today. Emmie had given herself bangs with safety scissors in art class. And I showed up to the pick-up line late thanks to my one afternoon class at the community college two towns over running late.
Typical Wednesday.
By the time we got home, I just wanted five minutes of silence, a hot shower, and maybe a ten-minute nap before my shift.
Instead, I got—“Oops. Mom! I locked the keys in the car.”
I turned around mid-step, holding Emmie’s backpack and a grocery bag, to stare at Toby like he’d just confessed to burning the house down.
“Youwhat?”
“I was trying to help grab the milk,” He pointed at the back seat where I could see the last of the groceries and the ring of keys, I asked him to carry to go unlock the door. “You were frustrated, and I was being pro-tactive.”
I didn’t correct the misuse of the big-kid word and moved past it, “And now we’re locked out. Which isn’tproactive.”
He paused, “Okay, yeah. When you say it like that?—”
I exhaled slowly, and Emmie watched me silently, like she was waiting to see if my head would pop off my shoulders and roll across the grass so she could hit it with her hockey stick.
“It’s fine,” I said, sitting down the heavy burden in my arms, keeping the mental burden on my shoulders and not theirs, as I counted to ten to stop myself from screaming off into the void. “I’ll go get the spare.”
Jogging around the house to the back gate, I reached for the latch when I noticed something strange.
The gate was already open.
Not just unlatched—but swinging gently with the breeze.
Weird.
I was positive I had closed it the other day after getting rock salt from the shed. It always stuck unless you yanked it hard toopen it, so it hadn’t blown open. Shaking it off, I stepped into the shed, scanning the hooks inside the door.
