He’s burned. Badly.
The sirens blast my ears as a fire truck and ambulance arrive. Everyone along Main Street has gathered to watch, and my mind blanks as the professionals take control. Dad steps aside as they load Mr. Beck into the ambulance.
That evening, I’m back home, alone. Dad dropped me off and left straight for the hospital to wait with Mr. Beck’s son and meet Mom there. She’s a neonatal nurse working a twelve-hour shift, and so far, neither has called me with an update.
The news plays in the background as I pace the living room. The fire department managed to stop the fire from spreading, and there were no other casualties. I’ve called Hopkins a half-dozen times, and I keep getting sent to his voicemail.
I told him about the fire and left it at that.
I’ve finally settled into the couch with a bowl of cereal when a banner rushes across the TV screen with the wordsBreaking Newsflashing across it. Leaning forward, I clutch my phone, ready to dial my parents at a moment’s notice.
The screen switches from an interview with one of the people at Bread & Bean to another newscaster standing before a gray building with barbed fences all around it. It’s surrounded by state and local police cars.
“We’ve come to tell you that there’s been a breakout at Honey Falls Prison this afternoon. Twelve prisoners have escaped and are currently at large.”
My heart plummets into my stomach. I stand as the reporter accounts for the incident and pictures of the escaped men appear on the screen. All of them have been convicted of major offenses, from arson and robbery to kidnapping and homicide.
Honey Falls is the next town over.
My phone rings, vibrating in my hand—I jump and shriek. It’s Dad.
“Summer, lock the doors and windows,” he says the moment I answer.
“I already have.”
“Good. I’m going to wait until your mom gets off. Keep the news on. Maybe take Oyster and go upstairs.”
“I will. Stay safe,” I murmur, wishing I had more to say.
“You too.”
It goes to the dial tone. For a few minutes, I stand there, trying to make sense of everything. When I finally manage to move, I head for the front door, double-checking the lock and bolt. I lift the curtain and peek out the side window. It’s barely eight o’clock, and it’s already dark as midnight, making me miss the long days of summer. The front lights are on, and I debate whether or not to turn on the flood lights above the garage.
Honey Falls is only forty miles south of Elmstitch and is twice the size. No one would brave a forest trek to end up here…Right?My eyes narrow as I try to calculate the possibility.
There’s a thud. I think it came from upstairs, and I jerk away from the window.
Oyster darts down the stairs.
I curse under my breath.
He sees me and purrs, asking for attention only because Mom isn’t home. He’s a stray she took in while I was away at college, and she’s the human he really wants. After a few pets, he scurries off before I can pick him up, never one to linger if Mom isn’t nearby.
Another thud sounds upstairs. I frown, heading back to the hallway. At the railing, I peer up, listening for any strange noises. There’s another distinctthud, thud, thud.
My hand tightens on the banister as Oyster returns with a hiss.
“Hello?” I can’t help calling out.
Gooseflesh rises on my arms.
Something hit the roof, that’s all…
Except there’s no storm, no wind—there’s little more than a breeze. There shouldn’t be any branches falling from the oaks. I wait a minute longer, ears straining, but the thudding doesn’t sound again.
Snatching my late grandpa’s cane, I creep up the stairs. Trying not to make a sound, the floorboards still creak under my deliberate steps. My breath catches and my legs cramp as I check each room, finding nothing untoward. I double-check the window locks.
All that’s left is my attic bedroom.
