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Cassie
When the poppingstarts to slow, I hit the button to stop the microwave and yank the door open.
Popcorn steam plumes out, but I fan it away and lift the bag by the corner.
It’s Friday. I’ve logged off from work for the day. I’ve put my hair up and I’ve got my not-for-public little cotton shorts on, along with the worn T-shirt I got at the Grand Canyon years ago. This is my definition of comfort, and my plans consist of becoming one with the couch while I catch up on the newest season of my favorite true crime series. Because what’s more relaxing than murder?
Pinching the bag tight so I don’t drop it, I carry it over to the dining table, where I have my big red plastic bowl ready.
I’ve burned myself more than once opening these papery bags, so I carefully grab opposite corners with my fingertips and start to pull gently.
Then a loud pounding on the front door startles me so badly I jump and accidentally rip the bag in two.
Popcorn showers around me.
Dropping my grip with one hand, I slap my palm over my heart.
“What the hell?”
I stand for a second, wondering if I really heard someone knocking, when it sounds again.
I set the bag on the table amid the scattered popcorn and head toward the door.
“Cassandra!” My name booms through the closed door.
Wait.
Is that…?
A fist pounds against the wood again, and it shakes in its frame.
“Cassandra, open the door.”
My heart keeps galloping but for a new reason.
Is that Hans?
And did he call me Cassandra?
Popcorn crunches under my slippers as I hurry to the door.
CHAPTER12
Hans
If I could forcemyself to let go of the book, I’d pick her lock and let myself in.
But I won’t let go.
“Cassandra,” I bellow a third time.
The deadbolt clicks, and the handle turns, and I step through the door as Cassandra opens it.
She lets out a squeak of surprise, but she doesn’t try to stop me. Doesn’t do anything except back up.
“What the fuck are these?” My voice is quieter than before. “Who took them?”
“Wh-what?” Cassandra blinks up at me.
