I set the whiskey down as The Fear starts to leak into my bloodstream, slow and toxic. I look at the living room. The throw blanket on the couch is folded differently. One of the cushions is turned the wrong way. The remote isn’t resting neatly in the basket; it’s hanging halfway over the edge of the coffee table like it’s thinking of taking a suicidal leap onto the hardwood floor below.
They’re all small things that nobody else would catch.
But I catch them. When you spend as long locking doors as I have, you’d never miss things like that.
I reach for my purse on the counter and dig around for my phone so I can call Rae to ask if she’s been here.
Before I can find it, though…
… the lights go out.
“And you, you knew the hand of a devil / And you, kept us awake with wolves teeth”
— “
