“Her mother picked her up right after lunch. I’m sorry. What was your name again?”

Almost in tears, I slammed my hands down on the counter. “My mother wouldn’t have picked her up!”

The old woman huffed before drawing herself up to her full height, which was shorter than me and that wasn’t saying much. “Miss, we just don’t let anyone come into school and take our children. It was Ms. McWilliams who picked up Olivia this morning. Now, what is your name?”

Rage flooded through me like a hot wave in my veins. The urge to react surged. I wanted to reach out and wrap my hand around her fat fingers. I wanted to touch her.

“Miss, what is your name?”

“How could you?” My voice sounded eerily calm. “That wasn’t our Mom.”

The woman blinked rapidly, shaking her head in denial. “No. She’s listed in our system, and she signed her out! Who are you?” she demanded. Other people were starting to come out of smaller offices. “Are you a family member?”

I backed up, clenching my hands into tight fists. There was nothing else to say. Spinning around, I took off. I’d go home next. There was a chance—a small chance—that it’d been Mom. I’d have a better chance of waking up and discovering the last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare, but the small sliver of hope was all I had. Desperate, I clung to it. My throat constricted when our house came into view. Mom’s beat-up station wagon was parked in the front of the house. It hadn’t moved since Dad’s funeral. The old wooden swing swayed on the front porch, sending darts of panic shooting through me.

There was no breeze.

Heart pounding, I climbed the steps and flung open the front door. The extra set of keys sat on the table by the door.

“Olivia?” I called out. “Olivia, where are you?” I went into the kitchen, then the living room, and finally rushed upstairs. “Olivia! Answer me now!”

Still, there was no answer.

Her bedroom was empty. “Oh, my God.”

I didn’t know what to do. I had no idea how long I stood there, staring at her empty bed. Nothing seemed real anymore. Only the blood rushing through my veins and slow desperation spiraled inside me. A sob rose in my chest.

I was supposed to take care of Olivia.

A sudden noise, like someone knocking into a piece of heavy furniture, raised the tiny hairs along the nape of my neck. Swallowing down icy fear, I wheeled around and stepped back into the hallway. I pulled off my gloves, clenching them in one hand. Could I kill again—on purpose?

Yes, if Olivia was in danger.

Sunlight spilled out into the hallway through my bedroom door. The room appeared to be safe, inviting even. Had I left my door open this morning? I couldn’t remember. Slowly, I inched toward the open door. For a moment, I thought the room was empty.