The Forgotten Summer 4

Chapter 1

With her heart still beating loudly in her ears, Abigail pressed her back against the locked front door and squeezed her eyes shut. Counting slowly down from one hundred, she felt approximately no better by the time she reached one, but she was no longer hyperventilating, which had to be a win.

She pulled out her phone and brought up Byron’s contact page, her thumb hovering over the call button. She had to tell him the gun was missing; he’d know what to do… but he had also run out of there like he had seen a ghost, taking one of the surveillance photos from her dad’s safe with him.

Abigail felt her stomach twist around the last ten minutes of her life and a sob threatened to escape from her throat.

Swiping away from Byron’s contact, she selected Cleo instead.

It only rang twice but even that felt like it took forever.

“Hell—”

“Cleo?” Abigail said, cutting her off, “Where are you? Are you all right?”

“Uh, yeah?” her friend said, “I’m just leaving work. What’s up?”

“Byron was here and needed to see the office to assess the repair situation and… I kind of panicked and told him about… you know, what we found?”

Abigail sped through what had just happened—admitting to Byron there was more to the story than she had told him before, telling him about the paperwork and the photos, him seeing the photographs and freaking out. She paused, hesitant to say what had happened next over the phone, even though simply acknowledging the thought made her feel paranoid and ridiculous.

“Wait,” Cleo interrupted, “he stole one of the photos?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, “but that’s not all… it’s gone, Cleo…”

“The photo?” Cleo asked, clearly confused.

“No. Well, yes, but… the other thing… the thing that freaked me out when we found it?”

She could almost hear the cogs turning in Cleo’s head and suddenly clicking.

“Look, I’m coming over,” she said abruptly. “Don’t panic; just stay where you are.”

Abigail let out a wry laugh. Her legs were jelly even as she sat on the floor, and her nauseous stomach clenched at the mere thought of going back into the office to stare at the empty safe. She mentally ran through every entry point of the house, sure she had locked them all after she’d used them. She also thought about the other entry points—like the side back door—she hadn’t even used. All were secure, she was sure of it. Byron had assured her that he did a monthly security check as part of his caretaker and maintenance contract and showed her the checks he did on that first day when he gave her the house tour.

Though his reassurances were retrospectively less effective, the whole of the upstairs of the house loomed, unexplored above her. What if the person who’d broken in hadn’t left?

The thought sent a wave of anxiety through her, undoing all the calming breaths she had been taking.

What if they are still here? she thought wildly.

With considerable effort, she held her breath and silently raised her hand above her head to unlock the front door. Gripping the handle so hard that it hurt, she pulled herself upright without turning her back on the hallway.

Stepping out as quietly as she could, Abigail moved to the side of the house and perched on the bench that sat against the fence. If someone was going to come out of the front door, they wouldn’t be able to see her. Her hand flew up to her forehead as she realized—all this time, someone could have been there and she would never have seen them!

Abigail glared at the bench and vowed that as soon as she knew the house was empty, she would move the bench and fill in the spot with something spiked. She glanced down at her phone and saw her call log; Hannah’s name glowed.

Should she call her daughter back, right now? If she waited then Hannah might think something was wrong. Alternatively, if she called her back and sounded terrified, her bright and clever kid may also figure it out. She opened their direct chat. Hannah had called her directly rather than through the group chat shared by the twins and their mom.

From Mom: Hey sweetie, the signal is terrible right now—I could barely hear you. Are you okay?

At least if she split the difference, she would know if something was wrong but also avoid having to modulate her voice into a semblance of calm.

From Hannah: Hey Mom. No, everything isn’t fine! Sid is being the worst. She’s told Dad that I’m bullying her! All because I don’t want her hanging around me and my friends ALL THE TIME! Can you PLS talk to her!?!? I can’t deal with her level of annoyingness this much of the time. And tell Dad it’s HER not ME.

Despite the spike in anxiety the first line caused, the routine drama of having a pair of pre-teen twins was remarkably calming in the moment and Abigail drew her attention entirely to her phone. By the time Cleo arrived, the drama was still alive and well but at least Hannah had told her the rest of the background story and explained why she was so annoyed at her sister.

“Abby?” Cleo called from her car, “Are you all right?”

Abigail quickly finished the text, suggesting they all have a proper discussion soon, and rose to greet Cleo.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice wavering, “I think so… I mean, not really but… technically speaking, yes.”

Cleo blinked a few times as she stopped in front of Abigail, “Wow, how convincing. I’m convinced. One tip, though, for future believability, try not to sound like you’re going to burst into tears when you say it.”

Abigail stifled a laugh and opened her arms for a hug, which Cleo happily provided.

“Now,” Cleo said, squeezing Abigail tightly, “tell me what the hell is going on.”

As Abigail recounted the exchange with Byron, from his reaction to the information about the gun to him racing out of the house, she could feel Cleo wanting to go inside.

“…and I freaked myself out and now I’m kind of afraid to go in.”

“Afraid?”

Abigail nodded, “because what if they’re still in there? Except now they have a gun. I don’t even know if it was loaded…”

Cleo shook her head. "No way. You’re way too obsessed with cleaning to miss a whole person in your house.”

She cringed and Cleo’s expression turned curious.

“What?” she asked, “why do you look like that?”

Taking a deep breath, Abigail turned and opened the front door to usher Cleo inside. The house was eerily silent as Abigail stood in the entryway and surveilled the hall.

“I… may not have been entirely candid about how little I’ve gone upstairs,” she admitted, “you know how I said I was sleeping down here because sleeping up there in my old childhood bedroom felt too weird? Well—it’s more like, I haven’t been up there at all since Byron did the initial walk around with me on that first day.”

Cleo’s double take was almost cartoon-ish. “Wait, you’ve been living in this house for months, and you haven’t stepped upstairs at all!?”

Abigail shook her head, “No, and now I’m kind of too freaked out to even try.”

“Nuh uh, no way,” Cleo said, “we’re going up there right now.”

She took Abigail’s hand and dragged her towards the stairs.

“Cleo! No! What if there IS someone up there?”

"Then we will find them and actually know!”

"That does NOT make me feel better, Cleo!!"

She was too late, though. Cleo was already pushing past her to the stairs, and her two options were to follow her friend or let her go upstairs, where a home invader may or may not be hiding with a gun that may or may not be loaded.

In moments like this, Abigail wished she was less moral.

"Ugh! Fine!"

Cleo was already halfway up the stairs by the time Abigail caught up with her.

"Oh good, not going to breach alone," Cleo said, winking at Abigail over her shoulder.

"Yeah, yeah, just go."

Abigail could feel her heart crashing against her ribs as they reached the top of the stairs. It was a small upper floor, with just three bedrooms, and one small bathroom. Looking up and down the hallway, she latched onto Cleo’s arm and pointed.

Footprints.

Ever so light, but definitely footprints, in the thin layer of dust that had settled on the floors.

"Those could be from when you and Byron had walked around up here," Cleo hissed.

"No, there’d be two sets," Abigail whispered back, her stomach churning, "and he said he did a whip around before I got here and swept all the floors."

The two women looked at each other as they descended back down the stairs as quietly as they could manage. Abigail pulled Cleo towards the front door, pulling out her phone as she went.