I looked at Chase. “Is it safe for him to look around?”
“You go right ahead, buddy,” Chase said. “Everything’s solid in here. We’ll get in to paint and repair the cracks in the plaster soon. The rugs need replacing, but that can wait a bit. You’ve got hardwood in the bedrooms. Looks rough, but the boards themselves are good—not rotting or anything.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Is there a kitchen? Bathroom?”
“’Course,” Chase said. “Kitchen’s through there.” He gestured toward the arched doorway off the living room. Then he pointed toward the short hallway off the other side of the room where Henry had gone exploring. “Bedrooms and bathroom are down that way. You go ahead and take a look around. I’ll start bringing up your stuff.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that!” I said quickly. “We really didn’t bring that much.”
Chase winked. “Well, all the more reason for me to take care of it. Y’all get settled.” He set the manila folder and keys on the credenza. “I’ll just leave all this here for you to look over. The code for the front door is in there, too. Be back in a few minutes.”
“Thanks,” I called after him, bemused. The apartment was far better than I’d dared hope. The first person I’d met was as friendly as I could ask for. If they were all as welcoming as Chase, it was going to be hard to leave when Whit decided it was time for us to go. But, for now, I wasn’t about to complain.
Starting to feel cautiously happy with my decision and maybe even a little excited, I went to find Henry to get his reaction.
“Henry?” I called, heading to the first bedroom. “Where are you, baby?”
I peered inside, taking it all in. Everything in this room was covered in sheets as well and was thick with shadows. “Henry?”
I heard him giggle in the next room and smiled, turning to go see what he found so amusing. When I poked my head around the door jamb, I saw him sitting in the middle of the floor, playing with a pile of action figures he’d apparently dug out of a toybox I could see just inside the open closet. All the sheets had already beenremoved from the furniture—a simple twin bed, dresser, and bookshelf filled with children’s books. The drapes were open, revealing a small air conditioning unit in the window.
The paint on the walls was chipped and worn down to plaster in some places and the white paint on the ceiling curled up in one corner where I guessed there’d been a leak. Across from the closet, a large crack spanned a good portion of the wall, but it was still an improvement over what Henry had had in the one little bedroom at the old house.
Henry giggled again, drawing my attention back to him.
“What were you laughing at?” I asked, coming in and turning on the air conditioning unit. It kicked on with a loud whir, the cool air blasting me in the face and chilling the sweat that had accumulated beneath my hair. I closed my eyes, briefly enjoying the artificial breeze.
“The funny pictures in the closet,” Henry answered before returning his attention to the action figures. “I’m gonna get you this time, Doc Ock! No way, Spiderman!”
My heart filled with such happiness at seeing my son enjoying our new home, that the tears stinging my eyes weren’t tears of frustration for once. Blinking rapidly before Henry could see them, I went to the closet to see the pictures he’d mentioned.
Several crayon drawings were taped to the back wall of the walk-in closet. One showed a little boy stick figure holding hands with a mommy and daddy stick figure and a house with smoke coming from the chimney. A sweet little family scene. The next was a child’s rendition of what I suspected was supposed to be Spiderman.
“Hey, Henry, which of these pictures did you think were funny?” I asked, frowning at the sweet drawings—drawings I wouldn’t have parted with for anything if they’d been Henry’s. In fact, I had a whole folder of them in one of the boxes in the car.
Henry scrambled to his feet and ran to the closet. “Not those,” he said, pointing to the ones on the wall. “The ones in the desk.”
On another wall of the closet sat a little desk just the right size for a child. It had a top that lifted like an old-timey school desk I’d seen once in an antique shop, and initials had been scratched into the corner—DP.
I grinned, running my fingertips over the carved letters, wondering if they belonged to the little boy who had apparently stayed in this room before his parents had skipped town.
“Here,” Henry said, lifting the desktop. He pulled out a stack of crayon drawings and handed them to me.
The first couple of drawingswerecute. A puppy making a silly face. A bunny with green ears and a purple nose. More attempts at various superhero characters—a happy-looking Hulk and a broadly grinning Thor. But the next in the stack showed a stick figure of a child with curly blond hair—the little girl downstairs, maybe? Or was it a little boy? Hard to tell. Next to the child figure was a stick figure of a woman with long dark hair. Her eyes were black circles, and her mouth was a squiggly line, making her appear angry.
Definitelynota happy little family scene…
The next drawing was even more disturbing. The angry woman again, but this time, she held a knife that dripped with blood. Next to her was the child, its head of golden curls lying on the ground at the woman’s feet.
“Jesus,” I murmured, horrified by the disturbing drawings. “What the hell?”
Whatever had been going on with the previous tenants, one thing was certain—their kid was deeply troubled.
“Maybe we should put these somewhere safe in case he comes back for them,” I suggested, hoping Henry had only seen the first few.
Henry’s mouth turned down in a pout. “But David said I could have them.”
I paused in gathering the papers, my brows drawing together in confusion. “Who?”
