Page 200 of Shhh…It’s A Killer Story

The silence hit me harder than any scream could have. My eyes began working automatically, years of training taking over before panic had the chance. Door. Windows. Ground. Blood? No.

Then… White. Scattered across the concrete porch like someone had dropped a porcelain plate. My stomach tightened. No… I crouched instinctively, my hand already resting against the grip of my Glock.

Tiny pieces. Painted green. One little ceramic hand. One blue boot. The one she called, Gerald. The breath caught somewhere behind my ribs.

Jesus...

She would've fought to save that stupid little thing. I didn't know why that thought hit me so hard, maybe because it meant she never saw this coming, maybe because she would've reached for him.

Slowly, I drew my pistol. The familiar weight settled into my hand as muscle memory took over. The slide snapped back with a metallic crack that echoed through the clearing.

"Seraphina!" I shouted again.

Nothing.

"I'M COMING IN!"

I kicked the back door open.

The smell hit first. Fresh dough. Garlic. Basil. Home. Everything looked...

Normal.

Too normal.

The lamp still burned over the counter.

Pizza dough rested on the marble board exactly where she'd been kneading it, the edges beginning to dry from exposure. Flour dusted the counter and drifted across the floor in pale footprints where someone had disturbed the neatness of the room. The tea towel hung crooked.

I stopped.

Seraphina would've fixed that. She couldn't walk past something crooked, not without straightening it. The chair near the table sat several inches away from where it belonged. A cup of coffee had gone cold. The surface had formed that thin grey skin food gets when it's abandoned.

She hadn't finished cooking, hadn't finished eating, hadn't finished whatever she'd been doing. She'd simply...

Stopped.

The thought made something cold settle beneath my ribs. I cleared the kitchen. Nothing. Living room. Nothing. Bathroom. Empty. Every room felt like she'd only stepped outside for a second. Except she hadn't. I lowered the pistol just enough to look at Max. The shepherd stood perfectly still, watching me.

"Search."

He didn't move.

"Max."

His ears flicked.

"Search. Find her."

Immediately his nose dropped to the floor. He moved through the cottage in tight circles, inhaling rapidly as he worked. Counter. Table. Chair. Hallway.

Then his pace changed. He found something. Without hesitation he tracked the scent straight back toward the rear entrance. He stopped. His nose pressed against one exact spot on the floorboards beside the open back door. He sniffed again. Whined. Turned once. Returned to the exact same place.

Again.

Again.

Again.