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“Oh, Sarah. Stop being such a bitch.” There’s an audible gasp and then a flurry of laughter. “You’ve always had it out for Amy.”
“That’s just because Sarah has a thing for Greg.”
“God, who doesn’t have a thing for Greg?”
More laughter erupts. “How many of these have you had, anyway?”
“Just enough to be tipsy,” Sarah retorts with just enough slur to tell everyone differently.
“More like just enough to tell the truth.”
“Oh, give me a break—Amy Stone is an attention whore, and you all know it.”
“Don’t mind her,” Dana says. “She’s drunk.”
There’s a rustling in the grass behind me. I nearly jump out of my skin. Then Greg’s voice.
“Amy? There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere. The sitter called—”
My eyes widen. Surprise brings my hand flying toward my gaping mouth. Greg cocks his head and narrows his eyes. “What?”
After that, there’s just silence on both sides of the fence.
Chapter Ten
My phone startles me awake at 3:30 a.m. I don’t recognize the number, so I quickly silence the call, sending it to voicemail. I am not able to immediately fall asleep. I lie awake staring at the ceiling, counting sheep. Or trying to. Instead I hear everything, every little creak our house makes. The slightest movement of the tree outside, brushing against our bedroom window. Then there is a thud. Louder than anything I’ve heard so far. I shake Greg awake. “Did you hear that?”
He groans inaudibly and rolls to the other side of the bed. There’s more creaking, followed by silence.
“Greg!”
“What?” he huffs.
“I heard something.”
The phone rings again, forcing us both upright. He rubs at his eyes with the balls of his hand. “Who is it?” he asks groggily, swinging his feet over the side of the bed, suddenly wide awake and ready to pounce. “The alarm company?”
“Just says spam risk...”
“Jesus, Amy.” He flings himself backward and places his pillow over his head. “Why didn’t you put it on do not disturb?”
When I click the phone to search the setting, he complains about the light. It’s then that I see the texts. Three of them, all robotexts from the same five-digit number. When I tap the screen, the images load one after another. Rocky.
With a striking gasp, my hand flies to my mouth.
“What?” Greg bolts up. I hand him the phone.
He squints into the glare of the screen, and eventually he lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Fuck.”
Tears spring to my eyes. Words refuse to come. A new text comes in. Greg tosses the phone onto the bed and then quickly picks it back up. “I’m blocking the motherfucker.”
As I strain to see, he leans away. “What is it now?”
Greg shakes his head. “It just says ‘too bad, so sad.’?”
“Who would do something like this?”
His eyes meet mine before he crosses the room. He glances back over his shoulder. “Someone very sick.”
