Chapter Twenty-Nine
Twenty-Nine
Shoes
Could it be the hypothetical linen-changer? The bringer of supplies who didn’t actually bring supplies?
And yet, this person sounds very much asleep. Why would someone just come in to take a nap? Unless they’re Goldilocks, I don’t see a good reason for it.
Not moving a muscle, I consider the options. Most likely scenario: this is an asthmatic sociopath who has broken into the house, having somehow taken the key from the lockbox – perhaps having guessed the uncrackable code of 1234 – and was lying in wait for unsuspecting life failures to come stumbling into his fully plastic-sheeted kill space, presumably until the tedium became too much for him and he drifted off to sleep.
Unless it’s feigned sleep.
But what self-respecting serial killer would fake a snort?
I open the door a crack, then a little further, and peer into the dimly lit room. There’s definitely a figure in the bed. Suddenly, there’s a blur of movement, a small thud, and something barrels into my ankles.
A something that appears to be licking my shoes.