It led out to the low wooden deck, and beyond that, the dark tree line of the Oakhill woods.

I remembered what Arthur had whispered to me earlier near the town square.

He had told me to watch the trees behind the house if Thomas ever did not come home.

I glanced toward the window, trying to keep my eyes from lingering too long.

Through the dark glass, for just a fraction of a second, I thought I saw a pale shape moving near the old oak tree.

“You are hurting me, Marcus,” I said, my voice rising.

“I don’t care,” Marcus spat.

He let go of my arm with a sudden shove that sent me stumbling backward against the counter.

He walked past me, heading straight for the small living room.

He began tossing the sofa cushions onto the floor, one by one.

“Thomas!” Marcus shouted toward the stairs. “I know you are hiding here!”

He kicked a small wooden end table, sending it crashing into the plaster wall.

The wood splintered, and a shower of white dust settled onto the rug.