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I fumble to close the file, and I’m sure I look guilty as sin.
If she notices, she doesn’t remark, but her eyes flicker over my screen. “Isn’t he growing up fast?” she says. My screensaver is a photo of Josh and me last Christmas.
“Too fast,” I say.
“I snatched the last piece of cake for you,” she says with a wink and sips from her mug of coffee.
“Thank you, that was thoughtful. I’ll share it with Josh after lunch.”
The bell rings then, and she looks up. “Well, we’d better get in there.” Our classroom is connected to this office, so she goes ahead as I stand and follow her.
“Can you grab Mr. Noodle?” she asks.
“Sure.”
I go back to my desk and open the bottom drawer where I keep Mr. Noodle, a sock puppet we use during story time, and my heart stops. My knees give out, and I drop into my chair. The wheels roll it slightly backward, away from the fading pink with its splatters of dark red.
I don’t scream only because I can’t.
Because my throat is dry, and I have no voice.
“Katie?”
I turn to find Janet peeking her head back into the office.
“Are you coming?”
I nod, touching a clammy hand to my damp forehead.
“Are you all right, dear?” she asks after seeing my face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I…I don’t feel well.”
She comes over, reaches into the drawer and pushes my scarf over to take the sock puppet. Does she notice the splatters of red? I’d left it in Nina’s room that night. On her bed. It’s her blood. And I’m going to be sick.
“Go lie down in the nurse’s office. I’ll be fine. We have a small room today,” Janet says, and I don’t answer. I just sit there staring at my scarf. The one Lev must have recognized that night. The one that he put here.
He’s found me. He’s here.
And my time’s up.
13
Kat
As soon as the door between the office and the classroom closes, I force myself to move. To grab the scarf and shove it into my purse.
It smells like smoke. Like smoke from the fire that killed Nina. I hope to God they didn’t burn her alive.
My legs tremble as I make my way out of the office, not bothering to pick up my coat as I walk out. As I concentrate on not running.
I don’t pass by Josh’s classroom. I’ll come back for him. He’s safest here with so many people around, not alone with me.
A realization comes over me then. Does Lev know about Josh? Has he seen him? Does he understand?
God.
Fuck.
Icy air forces me into the present when I open the front door and step outside. The parking lot is empty. Wind blows powder snow around. In the sunlight, it sparkles like diamond dust.
I’m going to miss it here.
I can’t help but glance toward the empty woods as I make my way to my Jeep. I go to unlock the door but realize I’d never locked it this morning. I’d been too distracted with what Josh said about seeing the man.
Lev.
It has to be Lev.
But what if it’s not? What if it’s one of the others I saw at the club or someone else.
No. It’s Lev. The scarf is proof of that.
I climb into the Jeep and start the engine, kicking myself for not having taken it to the garage yet when it takes two tries for the engine to turn over. Cold air blows at me from the vents, and I rub my hands together, freezing without my coat as I drive out of the lot and turn onto the road.
Glancing into the rearview mirror from time to time, I drive home on autopilot.
I’m going to miss our little cabin in the woods, but there’s nothing to be done about it now. I have to keep us safe.
Driving faster than usual, I make it home in twenty-five minutes. I park the Jeep and look around, peering into the wooded area behind the cabin before climbing out.
He won’t be hiding in the woods. Why would he?
If he’s anywhere, he’ll be inside.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I grab my purse, look inside for the pocketknife, and hold it in the palm of my hand. But the road is clear, and there isn’t another house for a mile so unless he walked, which he can’t have done with the snowfall of last week still knee-deep in the woods, he’s not here.
I leave my purse in the car, just sliding my phone into my back pocket and walking toward the kitchen entrance. I peer in from the window on the door. Sunlight pours into the cozy, if a little messy, space. Josh’s bowl is still sitting on the table with the blue milk from his cereal. I hate giving him that artificial stuff, but he’s such a picky eater, it’s just easier some mornings. I’ll do better at our next place. When we start again.
