She lifted the bag and now saw that the bottom of the brown sack was wet. So part of the gelato didn’t want to be in the container.
It wanted to get out.
Or maybe it wasn’t packed right, and that part never was in the container.
She looked more carefully, and everything in the entire universe was now focused on the pistachio gelato and the brown sack.
And then it all made sense.
She lifted out the container, and she could see that there was a split in the seam.
It had looked like a container that worked. But it was damaged. No one had seen that.
But now, yes. Now it was obvious.
Still holding the container, she watched a drop of liquid hit the cardboard top.
One and then two.
The tears streaked down her cheeks and were silent as they dropped from her chin.
Calmly, carefully, precisely, Emily opened the car door and dropped the gelato and the brown bag onto the street.
Out of the car, out of her life.
She had never littered like this before. She knew it wasn’t right.
But she didn’t care.
Then she shut the car door and put her foot on the gas and drove straight home.
29
Emily didn’t see the silver car parked just down the street when she pulled into the driveway.
Her eyes were functioning, but the images in front of her had no meaning. She had lost the ability to see detail, which was her gift. Now the world was just shapes.
But there was a car parked under a tree. And there was a man in the front seat.
He was very still, with his head sucked straight back into the headrest.
The man watched as Emily pulled the Subaru into the brick driveway and then entered the house through the kitchen door.
Her gaze was downcast.
He couldn’t see much more without getting out of his car, and he wasn’t going to do that.
No. He was going to wait and watch and understand what was happening inside the Bell house.
And then he’d make his move.
The three boys had spent almost the whole day digging in the Bells’ backyard.
The fish tank in the Binghams’ house had inspired an idea.
They were going to work together to dig a pond behind the garage.
They would fill it with water and then see if they could get fish to live there and maybe make money from neighbor kids who wanted to take fishing lessons.
But they weren’t going to have tropical fish or salt water or heat lamps. Just regular water from the green garden hose and probably goldfish. Jared wanted eels, but Beto couldn’t believe that would work.
So they made a deal to figure out the fish later. Today had been about the three of them trying to dig a pond, and that was harder than it looked. It was summer, and the ground was pretty dry even though they did have a sprinkler back there.
They’d been at it for hours when they finally quit and went into the house. They were covered in dirt and exhausted, but getting along. Beto was the glue holding them all together.
And then Emily had said that she was going to go buy them a treat. Hadn’t she asked what their favorite flavor of gelato was?
But she didn’t bring them anything.
She came back but didn’t even look at them or talk about the fish-pond progress. Instead she went right up to her room.
It wasn’t long before Riddle announced that it was time to do their chores at the neighbors’ house.
Jared took the key from under the loose bricks. But he was tired and careless, and it slipped through his fingers. Riddle bent down and picked it up.
For some reason, the lock was stiff, and they had trouble opening the door. They struggled, but finally Beto got the deadbolt to move. He pulled the doorknob hard against his body, and it worked.
They were all hungry and wanted to get the job done fast, and so Beto fed the fish and Jared took care of the mail. Riddle went to check on the plants.
He found that the rubber tree plant at the front window was dry. Riddle was surprised, because he’d watered it only two days before.
A wave of bad feeling washed over him.
Riddle decided that the plant was too close to the glass. The light came in low and strong at the end of the day. And so he bent down and pulled on the rim of the pot.
And when he did, his peripheral vision detected movement. In the bushes. Along the side of the house.
Was something there? An animal?
Was someone watching?
Riddle pushed his new glasses farther up the bridge of his nose and looked out at the street. It was quiet. Only a single new silver car was parked on the whole block. No one was inside the vehicle. There was nothing but late-afternoon sunlight and summer heat out there.
Before he could investigate further, he heard Jared holler from the kitchen that they were leaving.
But minutes later, when they were all back outside, Riddle noticed that the light was still on in the kitchen. The Binghams were pretty strict. They had timers for the fixtures and wanted their house to always look the same at night.
So Jared again got the key from underneath the loose brick. The house seemed more vacant the second time they went in.
Riddle walked over to the saltwater tank, and the fish that he liked the most, the transparent one that always hid behind the coral, wiggled out. It came right up to the glass.
Riddle bent down close to get a better look, and the fish darted away. It was there, and then suddenly gone.
Moments later Riddle was back with the two boys, heading across the lawn to the Bells’ home.
He wished that fish could talk.
He felt certain that the little see-through guy was trying to tell him something.
At first Clarence didn’t even recognize Riddle.
The boy was wearing glasses.
What was that about? The kid could see fine. More than fine.
It wasn’t just the crazy orange eyewear that made him look so different. His wheat-colored hair had grown out. That could be expected. But he had a real cut—a style—which was strange.
You couldn’t get that kid to do anything, so how did that happen?
But it wasn’t the glasses or the haircut or the striped T-shirt or the fancy running shoes that made the most impact. It was the way he moved. That had changed. His head was raised now when he walked. He wasn’t just staring down at the ground.
Riddle was part of something. And that made no sense. He was with two boys. Not Sam. And they all knew one another well. He could see that.
Clarence watched the trio cross the brick driveway. They were laughing. All of them.
But that wasn’t right, because Riddle didn’t laugh. He didn’t talk and he didn’t laugh and he didn’t wear glasses. And now he was doing all of those things.
Then it struck him.
Riddle looked… normal.
That was the only way to describe it.
For an instant—just a flash of a moment—Clarence wanted to shout to the world, “That’s my son.”
But the pride, or the realization that his flesh and blood was doing okay, vanished as quickly as it had surfaced.
And it was replaced by anger.
And then silent rage.
Clarence watched the boys from the shadows.
He had moved silently, with only the barest perception of a limp, to the tall shrubs on the side of the house. And it was there, hidden by the thick leaves of the foliage, that he’d listened.
He’d heard enough to figure out that they were in charge of feeding something.
And only seconds after they’d disappeared through the Bells’ back door, Clarence had the key out from under the brick and he was inside the neighboring house.
Score.
This required a change in the plan. Why not spend the night in a decent bed? Why not cook one of the steaks that was in the freezer and drink the expensive brandy from the fully st
ocked bar in the living room?
Upstairs he rifled through the medicine cabinets and found Percodan prescribed for a knee surgery. He popped two into his mouth and felt a swirl of happiness.
And then, moving in the long shadows of the hallway, he went to the bedroom window and looked out.
More good luck.
He could see right into the house next door.
The Girl.
She was slumped forward, sitting on her bed. And her head was heavy in her hands.
Happy people don’t do that.
He watched and was excited to see something else. She was crying.
And that made him laugh. Loud and hard.
30
Sam had never felt this ashamed or guilty.
He drove to his apartment, and he took a long shower to wash off what felt like dirt, but nothing was there. He scrubbed his legs and held his head under the hot water until his skin was fiery red.
He wanted to call Emily. To be with her. He needed to hold her and tell her everything that had happened.
But he was gripped with fear.
What if she didn’t want to see him anymore? What if she felt so betrayed that she needed him out of her life? What if he had now lost it all?
It was still light out, but he climbed into bed and shut his eyes just to rest. He needed a few minutes for the shouting in his head to stop. A nap.
A way to escape from himself.
When Sam opened his eyes, he knew right away that it was late.
He sat up in bed and immediately felt worse, not better. He’d done something wrong. Very wrong.
He reached down and picked up his phone, expecting to see a list of calls from Emily. And then text messages. She had to be looking for him.
But she wasn’t.
And that was as strange as anything else that had happened in the day.
Sam slipped out from under the sheet and put on his jeans and a T-shirt.
He stepped into a pair of flip-flops that Emily had given him and he walked out the front door.
The clock showed that it was 2:46 AM.
And Riddle was awake.
He took his glasses from the table next to the bed and quietly got up to go to the bathroom. He didn’t want to disturb Jared. Or Felix. But both of them were still snoring when Riddle stepped into the hall.
Right away something felt wrong.
It was brighter than usual.
Riddle looked up and saw that the small, round window at the end of the hallway glowed. And that only happened when the lights were on at the Binghams’ house next door.
But the Binghams weren’t going to be back from vacation until next Thursday.
Could they have come home early?
He knew for a fact that the light hadn’t been on when he went to sleep. So either the Binghams were home before they said they were going to be…
Or someone was in their house.
Since it was summer, the air, even late, was still warm. But tonight it felt heavy. Moisture from a storm on another continent had blown across the Pacific Ocean. It had crossed the Cascade Mountains and then swept into the Willamette Valley, raising the humidity and making the whole town feel sticky.
Windows were open, and fans were on. As Sam walked down the sidewalk, he could hear the hum of seldom-used air conditioners.
Every step forward was a challenge. He wanted to do the right thing and tell Emily what had happened with Destiny. But he also wanted to simply disappear.
If he knew that Riddle would be okay, and that Emily and the Bells wouldn’t go through pain trying to find him, that was what he’d do.
He would leave town and never come back. He wasn’t good enough to be loved by Emily Bell. And he never would be.
But he wasn’t even man enough to go.
So he walked down the empty streets toward her house, wrestling with how to explain himself. He decided that he would tell her exactly what had happened. And then he would ask for forgiveness.
As he worked his way through his plan, he was flooded with new anxiety.
Why hadn’t she called him? Was something already wrong? They saw each other every day. They spoke nearly every hour and sent text messages when they were apart.
He had been so concerned about himself that he hadn’t stopped to think about her side of things.
He started moving faster now. It was too late to call the house. Everyone would be asleep. But he had a key. He’d let himself in. He’d make sure that his family was all right.
And then he stopped.
He was right in front of the Bells’ house, and there was no mistaking what he saw.
The beam of a flashlight moved in the backyard.
Someone was there.
An intruder.
Suddenly all doubt disappeared. He would do anything to protect the people in this house.
There was a shovel leaning against the garage. He could see it. Someone had been digging in the yard, and there were tools left out.
A shovel was a powerful thing. He’s seen his father cut the head clean off a rattlesnake by coming down hard right on the unsuspecting reptile.
Sam moved silently in the shadows to get his weapon. In seconds he had the shovel in hand. He raised it high in the air, ready to use the large metal scoop as a blade.
And then the beam of light poked through the purple-black right in front of him.
And he heard:
“Sam…?”
His tense body doubled down in adrenaline. He knew that voice.
The light beam jerked and shifted up to Sam’s face, and Riddle could be heard: “You scared me!”
Sam was blinded by the flashlight, but he realized that he was now looking right at his little brother. Sam’s voice was hard. “What are you doing out here?”
Riddle moved the light away to the grass. He adjusted his glasses. “What are you doing out here?”
Sam lowered the shovel, his muscles twitching as he realized how close he had come to attacking his own brother. “Riddle, you’re not supposed to be outside with a flashlight at three in the morning!”
They both suddenly lowered their voices to whispers. “I saw a light on at the Binghams’ house.”
Sam’s problems with Destiny had momentarily been wiped clean. “So what?”
Riddle took a step closer to his brother. “They aren’t home. There shouldn’t be a light on in there.”
Sam looked up at the neighboring house. Something was, in fact, illuminating rooms upstairs.
“They’re on vacation. Me and Jared are looking after the place. We didn’t leave a light on. We don’t ever even go upstairs. I think someone’s in the house.”
Sam glanced from his little brother back to the Binghams’ second floor. “No one’s up there.”
Riddle aimed his flashlight behind the house. “I wanna go look. We hide the key back there.”
Sam was insistent. “No. You’re going inside to bed.”
The harsh tone of Sam’s voice reminded them both suddenly of their father. That sent a chill down their spines. The old Riddle would have turned and gone right back into the house. The new Riddle stood his ground.
“How come you weren’t here for dinner? Emily didn’t feel good. She didn’t even come downstairs.”
Sam cleared his throat as panic came back full force. His answer lacked conviction. “I was tired from school. I fell asleep. I just woke up.”
Riddle looked up into his brother’s eyes. He saw that something was wrong. “Sam… is everything okay?”
Sam put out his arm and motioned toward the house. “Go on. Get back to bed.”
Riddle stared up at him. “Are you coming in?”
Sam leaned the shovel against the house.
“No. I’m going back to the apartment now. I’ll be over first thing in the morning. I’ll see you then.”
Riddle didn’t respond. But the look on his face made it clear to Sam that he was unhappy.
Riddle crossed the grass and d
isappeared through the back door into the Bell house. He walked to the window, but his brother was gone.
Sam stood on the sidewalk and stared up at the Binghams’ house.
There was light coming from a window of the second floor, and for a moment it seemed as if something moved in the shadows.
Did he imagine that?
Sam’s mind was a jumble now as he headed to the Binghams’ walkway and proceeded up the two stairs to the porch and the large, dark windows.
He put his face right against the glass. There was a bluish glow coming from the aquarium in the den, but otherwise nothing could be seen but the vague shapes of furniture.
Sam moved to the front door, and there he thought he smelled broiled steak. He stepped back and the smell disappeared.
But if he stood right next to the door, by the little sliding peephole, the smell returned.
Had someone been cooking inside? No burglar would broil a steak.
The Binghams had to have returned early. That was the only explanation.
Down the street a car suddenly turned the corner and, as it drove past, the headlights brightened the area and Sam could see a silver sedan parked at the curb one house down.
That car had California license plates.
California.
When Clarence had hauled them around like bruised fruit, they’d spent a lot of time in that state.
The thought of his father pulled Sam away from the Binghams.
It brought him back to who he really was. The damaged son of a crazy person. He didn’t belong here.
Sam stepped off the porch onto the walkway and then headed down the sidewalk.
But when he was at the end of the block, ready to cross the street, something made him turn and look over his shoulder.
That was when he knew for certain that his messed-up mind was shattered.
Because there was now a figure on the Binghams’ front porch.
A body stood in silhouette.
And even from almost a block away, that thin, tall man was recognizable as his father.
Clarence held a gun.
He had missed an opportunity.