Chapter 31
A fog has rolled in, making the night seem blacker than normal. I cut my headlights as soon as I turn onto Stonebrook Avenue. At nearly eleven thirty on a Sunday, I’m not surprised to find the street quiet and still, the houses dark.
I pull up in front of the dream home, about where Jack’s Audi was parked that first day here, when he nearly saw me sneaking out of his backyard.
Where would I be now if he’d caught me that morning?
If my timing had been off by only a split second?
It’s funny how fate works. And that’s what this is—what it has been, all of it, all along. Fate.
The brass porch lanterns are on, and though the curtains are drawn, I know that nobody’s inside.
The afternoon of the open house, when I slipped through the side gate and down to the basement to make sure the latch on the Dutch door hadn’t been fixed, I overheard one of the agents on the patio talking to his clients.
He said the sellers were out of town until Monday, on the Eastern Shore somewhere, so they wouldn’t interfere with everyone touring the place and doing their home inspections over the weekend.
And just like that, the biggest risk of this whole operation disintegrated.
See what I mean about fate? It’s like the house wants me to do this, like it’s in on the plan.
Perfect house. Perfect baby. Perfect dog.
I check all the mirrors before getting out of the car, reconfirming that the street is deserted behind me.
I close the driver’s-side door as softly as I can—hood up, latex gloves on, KN-95 mask over my face—and move quickly to the rear, unlocking the hatch.
After wriggling the suitcase all the way to the edge, I pull it free with one final yank, its wheels hitting the pavement with a smack that echoes down the block.
I freeze, waiting for a dog to bark or someone’s lights to come on.
A jolt of adrenaline brings every rustling leaf, every beat of my own heart, into sharp, surreal focus.
The houses stay silent and dark.
I tug the suitcase over the curb and onto the sidewalk.
I’ll have to wheel it up the flagstone path that leads to the front door, then hang a right just before the porch, onto an offshoot path that’ll take me through the side gate to the backyard.
It’s not a long way, but I’m already pretty sore from earlier.
Clutching the handle with both hands, my back to the house, my masked face watching the street, I pull the suitcase from the front.
Its wheels rumble slowly over the smooth stone, just loudly enough to keep my eyes shifting manically from side to side.
When I reach the turnoff, I switch my grip and face forward, towing it from behind.
I’m almost there, only a couple feet from the gate, when I see headlights slicing through the mist.
I drop between the suitcase and the front of the house.
Tucked down like this, I can’t see the car itself, but I can see the lights washing over the street, hear its tires mucking louder over the wet asphalt.
It seems to be slowing down. Does the driver see me back here?
I hold my breath, waiting for the sound of a car door opening.
But it doesn’t come. The tires fade, the lights disappear.
I rise cautiously, taking a quick scan of the block before resuming my slog to the gate.
As soon as I’m through it, safely in the backyard and out of range of the porch lanterns, I slump down for a break.
I stretch out my hands, cramped from squeezing the suitcase handle, and shake out my arms. The air is humid after the earlier rain. Sweat clings to my back.
The flagstone path continues from the patio around the deck, to the top of the basement stairs.
This will be the longest leg of the journey, but also the safest, shrouded almost entirely in darkness.
The tightness in my chest eases, I bring a palm to my belly.
We’re going to make it. Mommy’s got this.
At the top of the basement stairs, I pause to consider my options. It’s a short flight, only eight steps, but narrow and steep. If I go first, pulling the suitcase behind me, the increased weight of it on the incline could knock me off balance. The best plan, I think, is to send it down first.
I scoot it to the edge of the landing and give it a shove.
It topples over, sliding about halfway down.
I maneuver around it to get to the Dutch door, pushing open the top half just like Penny showed me, then reaching down to unlock the bottom half from the inside.
Now I jog back up, positioning myself behind the suitcase for one more thrust. This time, it makes it all the way to the bottom.
I drag it through the open door into the gloom of the basement; the silhouettes of stacked moving boxes, packed and ready for the voyage to London, loom like ghosts. The ceiling height really is impressive down here. Wonder what it would cost to add a bathroom?
My destination in sight—a spot at the foot of the stairs to the main level—I begin my trek across the concrete floor. But a noise—a thud—turns my muscles to stone, my blood to ice.
What the fuck was that?
I strain to listen through the darkness, my whole body a tense knot, the roaring of my pulse threatening to give me away.
There it is again. The same sound.
Sweat soaks through the back of my T-shirt now, my cross-body bag heaves up and down in sync with my rapid, shallow breathing.
Thud.
It’s getting closer.
I place a hand on my belly. We are not alone.
As quietly as I can, I stand the suitcase upright and let go of the handle. If someone’s upstairs, I still have a chance to book it out of here the same way I came in. Slowly, I start to turn back toward the Dutch door.
But as my exit comes into view, there are hands on my shoulders, shoving me, urgently, to the ground. A scream catches in my throat.
While I’m face down, my wrists stinging from the impact, adrenaline takes over. I scramble onto my back, preparing to face my attacker … just in time to see a fluffy, four-legged shadow scamper out the back door.
Not human hands. Not human anything. Lunchbox. The goddamn neighbor cat.
Once I stop shaking, I clamber back to my feet and finish wheeling the suitcase into position.
My eyes strain through the dark for something to use as a doorstop, coming to rest on a set of free weights forgotten in a corner.
I grab a ten-pound dumbbell, then run up the stairs and use it to prop the door at the top wide open.
I don’t see how they’ll be able to miss that.
Before I leave, I pull a silver luggage lock from my bag and secure it around the suitcase’s zippers. If Penny finds this first, I don’t want her to see what’s inside.