The woman seems relieved. She points to the hallway. “She’s in her bedroom. Go on in.”
The linoleum flooring pops and crackles under my feet as I make my way down the hall. Possibilities run through my head. Maybe the Albanians attacked Noelle with some kind of chemical agent. A drug that can mess with her head or make her too weak to go after them.
I knock lightly at the door.
“She won’t answer,” Mrs. Levin says from the other room. “Just go on in. It’s okay.”
With a final deep breath, I turn the handle and open the door.
The room is airless. The moment I walk in, I feel choked. It smells like sweat and dust, and I want to open the window.
But all of those thoughts fade when I see the lump in the middle of the bed.
Noelle is curled into a pitiful ball beneath the comforter. I can’t
