The first door on the left had a gold-plated 2A nailed into its center. I held my breath and knocked. The door creaked open half an inch at my touch.
Heart pounding, I peered through the opening. Inside, I could just make out the sleeve of one of Olive’s sweaters, thrown across the bed. Then, I noticed the incessant beeping and pushed the door wide.
Next to her neatly made bed, Olive’s alarm was going off.
“She’s not here.”
I whirled around, my hands flying out to brace against the open doorway. A tiny Chinese woman with white hair and huge eyeglasses stood behind me.
“Who’re you?” I asked.
“Mrs. Chen. I run this place,” she said, gesturing with a huge ring full of keys. “She never came home last night.”
“Oh…okay,” I said.
Then she shook her head and started down the stairs very slowly, her slippers making shushing sounds against the aging wood.
My heartbeat racing wildly, I turned back to Olive’s room. I knew going in was a huge invasion of her privacy, but I rationalized it with the thought that someone should really turn off her alarm before it started to annoy her neighbors. I walked inside and flipped the switch on the clock. Merciful silence.
Olive’s closet door was open and only a few pieces of clothing hung inside. Her guitar leaned against the chair on the other side of the room, and some sheet music was spread out on a low table. Fresh-cut flowers stood on the far windowsill.
A bike bell trilled out on the street, and I turned toward the window closest to me, above the desk. The second I did, a big blackbird took flight from the windowsill, its wings making a racket that sent my heart into my throat.
I leaned both hands into the desk, struggling to get a hold of myself. Clearly, I was on edge if an old lady and a bird could take this much out of me. I breathed in and out, telling myself to chill, but I just couldn’t.
When I lifted my hand, a piece of paper stuck to my palm. It was a pickup ticket for a bike repair, which was supposed to be done today. Beneath it was a piece of old-fashioned pink stationery. At the top, Olive had written the words DEAR MOM. The letter was only half finished.
I paused. I knew what it was, and I wasn’t about to read it.
I turned around and took in the room one more time. The made bed. The strewn clothes. The empty cup on the bedside table. It was eerie. Like someone had frozen Olive’s life in time. Suddenly, a horrible, unsettling feeling took root inside my chest. Something had happened to Olive. Something awful.
And I knew who’d done it.
I ran home so fast anyone who saw me would have thought I was being chased. I felt like I was being chased. Every time I took a turn, I was sure I was about to run headfirst into Steven Nell. Every time I thought about stopping to take a breath, I saw him jumping out from behind a hedge. I couldn’t believe I’d just ignored the warning signs, that I’d chosen to turn a blind eye and pretend to be safe when everything was pointing to the opposite. Steven Nell was here. He was stalking me, taunting me, and now he had Olive. I had to warn Darcy. I had to warn my dad.
I skidded around the corner onto our block and sprinted across the street to our house, my hair sticking to the back of my neck. When I barreled through the front door, my dad and Darcy were both sitting at the kitchen table, eating from ceramic bowls.
“Rory? What’s wrong?” my dad asked, standing. He was wearing his running gear and a baseball cap. Laid out in front of him on the table were stacks of typed pages. I recognized them with a start. Those pages had been laid out on our dining room table my entire childhood, but had disappeared when my mom got sick. It was his novel. He’d stopped working on it years ago. I would have been excited that he was taking it up again, if I wasn’t about to burst with terror.
“He’s here!” I gasped, staggering toward them. “Steven Nell is here.”
“Rory—” Darcy began.
“You saw him? Where?” my father asked, going pale.
“No. I didn’t…I didn’t see him.” I leaned into the back of Darcy’s chair, my hand to my chest, trying to catch my breath. “But he’s here. Darcy, tell him! Remember the other night, when we heard the laughter in the fog? That was him!”
Darcy sighed. “Come on, Rory. I’m sure that was just someone messing with us.”
“Yeah, and Steven Nell’s the someone!” I shouted. I turned to face my father, desperate. “Dad, listen. Our first morning here, I heard someone outside the house humming ‘The Long and Winding Road,’ which Mr. Nell always used to hum in the halls. And then someone put it on the jukebox at the Thirsty Swan the night we snuck out. I’ve heard him laughing, I’ve heard him whisper my name. And there was this scrap of tan fabric exactly like the fabric of his jacket, and a messenger bag hanging from our fence a couple of days ago just like the one he used to carry to class.”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” my father said, reaching out to hold both my arms. “You’re basing all this on a series of random coincidences?”
My heart sank. He didn’t believe me. I felt like I was about to explode.
“No! I’m basing it on the fact that all these things happened, and now Olive’s disappeared!” I blurted.
“Who’s Olive?” he and Darcy both asked at the same time.