Chapter 2 - The Jacket That Was Never Steven’s
Steven stopped.
For the first time, fear crossed his face.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Thomas?”
Another crash came from downstairs.
I ran.
Lucy followed.
Steven did not.
That bothered me immediately.
Thomas’s guest-room door was locked from the inside.
I hammered on it.
“Thomas!”
No answer.
Lucy reached the door and went pale.
“He never locks it.”
“You sleep with us every night. How would you know?”
She looked ashamed.
“Because I check.”
I stared at her.
“Why?”
Before she could answer, Steven appeared at the top of the stairs.
He was no longer holding the strange object.
His hands were empty.
“Stand back.”
He forced the guest-room door.
Thomas was sitting on the floor beside the bed, breathing hard.
Alive.
His hands shook.
A lamp lay shattered beside him.
“What happened?”
Thomas looked at Lucy.
Then at Steven.
“I heard someone inside the wall.”
Nobody spoke.
Steven laughed once.
“Inside the wall?”
Thomas pointed toward the closet.
A faint scraping sound came from behind it.
Lucy immediately grabbed my arm.
“That’s the sound.”
“What sound?”
“The one I hear every night.”
My skin tightened.
Every night Lucy came to our bed.
Every night she lay perfectly still between Steven and me.
Listening.
She wasn’t afraid of nightmares.
She was listening to the walls.
Steven walked toward the closet.
“Old house. Mice.”
Thomas shouted:
“DON’T.”
Steven stopped.
My brother stood.
“You know it isn’t mice.”
Their eyes met.
Something passed between them.
Recognition.
History.
I had never noticed how carefully Thomas avoided being alone with Steven.
“Thomas?”
He looked at me.
“We need to leave.”
Steven laughed.
“This is ridiculous.”
Thomas ignored him.
“Emily, get your phone.”
Steven’s voice hardened.
“No one is leaving at one in the morning because Lucy heard a rat.”
Lucy suddenly held up the stained cloth.
“This isn’t yours, is it?”
Steven’s face changed.
She continued:
“You told Emily that jacket was yours.”
“Yes.”
“Then why does Thomas have a photograph wearing it?”
Silence.
Thomas went white.
I turned toward him.
“What photograph?”
Lucy pulled out her phone.
A wedding picture.
Thomas and Lucy.
Taken six months earlier.
Behind them stood Steven.
And beside Steven was another man.
Same height.
Same dark hair.
Same jacket.
For one terrible second, I thought the man was Steven.
Then I zoomed in.
Different face.
Thomas whispered:
“His name was Michael.”
“Was?”
Steven closed his eyes.
May you like
Thomas answered:
“He disappeared before I moved into this house.”
