“Actually, I heard you were a thirty-year-old Slovakian serial killer with a rare form of dwarfism masquerading as a teenager.”
“I’m that obvious, huh?”
“The accent gives it away. I’m shocked they even let you into the country.” His smile grows and his eyes crinkle. There’s a lightsmattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He puts out a hand. “I’m Miles, by the way.” He points vaguely to the dog. “And that is Chardonnay. Yes, my mother named her, and she says it with a straight face, if you can fucking believe it.”
I laugh and shake his hand. “Nate.”
“Yeah, you said that. And I told you about the LISTSERV; remember, this all happened less than three minutes ago. Wow! Your old age must be catching up with you, Slovak.”
My face burns because I remembered as soon as I said it that I already introduced myself. I was a little distracted by Miles being cute and how his dark brown eyes contrast sharply with his light hair.
I grin and blink at him a few times. “Well, this was a sufficiently embarrassing introduction. I think I should go back inside and try not to replay this over and over tonight while lying awake in bed.”
Miles’s face changes again. This time it looks sad, like maybe he doesn’t want me to go yet. But then he nods. “It was nice meeting you. And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Slovak.”
I wave goodbye as my stomach does a little flip, but it’s not a good one like I want it to be. This is yet another person I’m lying to. And lying to cute boys isn’t the best way to start any new relationship, friendly or not.
I shut the back door behind me and go to the alarm app to reset it. But the keypad beeps in the front hall and I get a notification.
Sensor issue: FRONT DOOR. Bypass?
What does that mean? I walk out to the front hall and see the front door is open. My stomach drops and I look around the room.Did someone come home? Maybe Valencia got too anxious about me being here alone. Or Easton and his friend came back early?
I open my mouth to call out but something in my gut stops me. What if itisn’tsomeone from the family? I peer into the dining room, but it’s empty. I listen for creaking upstairs. Easton or Valencia. Nothing.
Then I remember the front doorbell camera app on my phone. I open it up and see there’s an error message there as well.
FRONT DOOR CAMERA OFFLINE
My hands are trembling. Something isn’t right here. If it was someone coming home early, the camera wouldn’t be offline. The only reason to disable the camera is if you don’t want to be seen.
I walk to the front door, glancing back and forth between the dining room and living room, expecting some costumed psycho slasher to pop out from the doorway with a knife. But the house remains still.
At the top of the front stairs is the doorbell camera. I reach down and pick it up to look. There’s space for six double-A batteries, but only three are still inside. I find one on the steps and look around for the others. One has rolled down the stairs and landed on the walkway. The other went to the right of the door into the mulch bed.
I replace the batteries and remount the doorbell while the power-up light above the camera lens circles in white. The way it’s mounted, I need to flick a lever on the bottom to resecure it.
I open the doorbell camera app and look at the last video taken. It’s from seven minutes ago. I click it and wait for it to load.
The clip is short. Only a few seconds of the front yard before the camera shifts and falls forward onto the concrete. I replay it, turningup the volume. Right before the camera falls, there’s a loud click. I turn back to the doorbell and unlatch the lock on the bottom of it, and it makes a similarsnicksound.
I play the video again, only this time I use my finger to play it frame by frame.
The camera shifts. Tilts. Falls. And then I see it.
It feels like I’ve fallen through ice into a frozen lake.
There are two fingers in the bottom right corner of the screen. At least, they look like fingers. They’re pink and rounded, but only an inch or so was caught on the video. When I search the front step, I don’t see anything that could possibly be confused for fingers. Nothing growing up from the mulch beside the door. No trick of the light.
Someone’s here.
I spin quickly, expecting to see someone waiting behind me. But the doorway is empty.
What the hell do I do? Call the police? I can’t do that; they’d show up and ask more questions, and right now I amnotcalm. My heart is beating so hard I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared in my life. It’s like my whole chest is pounding.
I step inside and listen to the silence of the house. Trying to hear anyone walking around. This is the creakiest fucking old house I’ve ever been in; I should be able to hear something!
But the silence is even worse.
