So Eden had seen her back then and recognized her. Amazing, after all this time. She would never have identified Eden. Time had not been kind to the girl . . . no, the woman in front of her. Only the blue eyes, which had seemed so familiar when Abby first saw her, remained the same.

“So how did you get my number?” Abby asked.

“I don’t remember. I probably found it online.”

She hadn’t. The number wasn’t listed anywhere. Abby had a feeling she knew how she had gotten it. She waited, letting the silence between them stretch.

Eden glanced sideways uncomfortably. After a few seconds passed, she blurted, “You know something? I saw someone. A man I didn’t recognize hanging around the block. Saw him three times in the past few weeks. He was just . . . standing there. Do you think he could be involved?”

“Can you describe him?” Abby asked, more out of instinct.

“I think so. He had black hair. And he had a beard—”

“Not to me.” Abby shook her head. “We should get you to the station. Take a look at some pictures. Maybe get you with a sketch artist.”

“But . . . the man said they were watching me. I can’t go to the police.”

“I’ll drive,” Abby said. “I’ll make sure nobody is following. This is the best thing for Nathan.”

Eden’s shoulders relaxed as Abby told her what was to be done. Up until now, Eden had been lost, helpless. Now Abby had taken charge.

Abby checked the rest of the house quickly, making sure she hadn’t missed anything glaringly obvious. Eden’s bedroom was in the attic, cramped and dark, a single tiny window facing the street.

The rain was even worse when they left. Eden insisted that Gabrielle join them, terrified to leave her daughter alone in the house. Eden’s umbrella flipped on the way to the car, and she was drenched as she bundled into the passenger seat. Abby looked at the woman, strands of wet hair sticking to her cheeks, her face wet with rain, or tears, or a mix of both. And those eyes, peering from more than thirty years before.

Abby started the car, praying Eden wasn’t bringing their shared past hurtling into the present.

CHAPTER 10

When Nathan’s eyes blinked open, he had that feeling he got when he slept at a friend’s home. That unfamiliarity of the bed, the sheets, even the way the air was not the same. He got up, fragments of his recent memories resurfacing as he rubbed his face with his hands.

He was in his room after all. These were his bedsheets, that was his desk on the far side of the room, his drawings on the wall. He yawned, shaking the cobwebs of sleep away. But he couldn’t. His head was foggy, heavy, the world blurry at the edges.

He couldn’t remember what day it was. Saturday? If it was Saturday, it was already Mom’s birthday. He and Gabi had agreed they’d bring Mom breakfast in bed on her birthday.

Thinking of his mother’s birthday brought back the car ride with Gabi’s friend. They were going to get supplies for Mom’s surprise party, right? What had happened? He remembered eating the burger and fries and drinking the Coke that Gabi’s friend had bought him. And then he became sleepy. It was a long ride.

He must have dozed off. And maybe Gabi and her friend had decided to take him home after all. He pulled off the blanket and saw he still wore the clothes from the car ride. Maybe it wasn’t Saturday after all. It didn’t feel like he’d slept all night.

“Mom?” he called out.

He waited and then called again, “Mom!”

No one answered. The door to his room was shut, which was strange. It was never shut. He liked sleeping with the door open.

He got off the bed and stood up. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he wavered unsteadily. It was as if he had cotton balls in his head; it was hard to concentrate. The room felt . . . weird. Like the walls were closing in on him, everything seemingly more cramped. The desk was too close to the bed, the door too close to the desk. He didn’t like it.

He shuffled to the door, his hand went to the doorknob, and he froze. The doorknob was different. This one was shiny, its shape rounder. Had Mom switched the doorknob of his room? Last year, she’d said she wanted to make some changes in the house. She’d even brought a guy who said the walls needed painting and that they could fix the bathroom window. But later she said it was too expensive and that they’d have to wait.

He grabbed the strange doorknob, twisted it, and pushed the door.

It was stuck.

He twisted harder, pulled and pushed. “Mom, the door is stuck!” he shouted. “Mom!”

There was no answer, and he started panicking. He didn’t like being in his room alone, didn’t like the door closed, and he didn’t like this new doorknob that didn’t work properly. He shook the door, then kicked it and hurt his foot. He whimpered in pain and sat on the floor, holding his bruised toe.

“Mom! Gabi!” he cried. “I’m hurt.”

They didn’t come. They never left him home alone. Well, sometimes Mom would leave him alone for only ten minutes to get something from the store across the street, but she always told him she was leaving. And while she was gone he always watched TV because otherwise he noticed all the empty rooms in the house, and he would start to imagine they were filled with creepy monsters.

His heart beat faster as he breathed from his nose, gritting his teeth. They’d left him alone without telling him, and they hadn’t even noticed the door was stuck because of the new doorknob. He would yell at them when they came back. And tomorrow he wouldn’t bring his mom her birthday breakfast in bed, because of what she had done.