Chapter 5: Seven Months
Tyler didn't sleep.
I knew because I didn't either, and the house is small enough that I could hear him moving in his room — the creak of the desk chair, the soft sound of his laptop opening, the occasional exhale that wasn't quite a sigh.
At two in the morning I made tea and left a mug outside his door without knocking.
By three, he came downstairs.
He sat across from me at the kitchen table, both hands around the mug I'd left him, and he looked like he had aged five years since that afternoon.
"Tell me what you remember," I said.
"About the seven months."
"Mom—"
"Not to blame you.
I need to understand what happened."
He looked at his tea.
"He was smart.
Really smart.
Not just academically — he was good at reading people.
He always knew what to say.
I thought that was just — I thought that was who he was."
"What did he ask about?
Specifically."
"Normal things at first.
Family stuff.
Whether I had siblings.
What you did for work." Tyler's jaw tightened.
"Then later — whether you traveled.
Whether you had a security system.
I thought he was asking because he cared.
Because he wanted to know about my life."
"Did he ever ask about Lily?"
Tyler went still.
"Once.
He asked if I had cousins.
I mentioned her.
He asked how old she was, where she lived." He set the mug down.
"I thought it was small talk."
"It wasn't small talk."
"I know that now."
I reached across the table and put my hand over his.
He didn't pull away.
"Tyler.
Look at me."
He did.
"This is not your fault.
Do you understand me?
He is practiced at this.
Whatever he is, whatever he does — he is practiced at making people trust him.
That is not a reflection of you."
Tyler's eyes went red at the edges.
"I brought him here.
I brought him into your house."
"And I locked him in the basement," I said.
"So between the two of us, I think we managed."
It surprised him into something that was almost a laugh.
Almost.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
"I really liked him, Mom."
"I know."
"I thought he was — I thought this was going to be something real."
"I know that too."
We sat there in the kitchen with the tea going cold and the back porch light on, the way I always leave it, because the dark at the edge of the yard has never sat right with me since his father passed.
At some point Tyler said, "What do you think he actually wanted?"
I had been thinking about that since Rourke left.
"I think he wanted access," I said.
"To this house.
To me.
To Lily, maybe, or to whatever he thought we had."
"We don't have anything."
"He didn't know that.
Or he didn't care.
Some people don't need a reason that makes sense to anyone else."
Tyler was quiet for a moment.
"The click," he said.
"The sound we heard.
That was the window."
"Yes."
"He had already found it.
Before we even heard him move."
I hadn't let myself think about that too directly yet.
He was right.
Marcus had not panicked.
He had not shouted or knocked or pleaded.
He had gone straight to the window, quietly, without hesitation — which meant he had already identified it as an exit before I turned the key.
He had walked into my basement and immediately looked for the way out.
"Mom," Tyler said.
"He's still out there."
I looked at the back door.
The deadbolt was turned.
The chain was on.
May you like
My phone lit up on the counter.
Unknown number.
