The children both screamed. Coyle pounced on Troy, stabbing him deep in the chest, killing the child instantly. Caitlin ran past him. Coyle yanked the knife from the boy and chased Caitlin down the hall. Eve followed them both.

Caitlin scampered into her room, jumped onto the bed, and struggled desperately to lift the double-sashed window. But it wouldn’t move. Coyle burst in, grabbed her by the upper arm, lifted her off the bed like a rag doll, and slit her throat, the blood spraying the walls and her shelf of stuffed animals. He dropped her on the floor and lumbered out of her room to continue butchering her mother in the bathtub.

The image of Caitlin evaporated and Eve was left staring at the bloodstain on the floor where the child had bled out. Something about the chain of events didn’t fit. It was something she felt rather than knew. What was wrong with the scenario?

Eve glanced at the bed. All the bedding was still there, except for the pillowcase, which she assumed CSU took with them for evidence analysis. Her gaze strayed to the headboard and the walls beside it. She didn’t see any blood spatter, which struck her as odd. She bent down and examined the sheets and comforter. There was no blood there, either. How did blood get on the pillowcase but not on anything else around it?

She turned, faced the door, and began searching for any other blood drops she might have missed before. Her head was down, her attention focused on the walls and floor, and she bumped her side into the standing fan. She caught the fan before it fell and, while she was at it, examined the blades and grille to see if there was any blood on them and noticed the power cord dangling from the back of the unit. The cord appeared to be way too short. She gathered up the cord and came up with a ragged end. The plug was gone. The cord had been cut.

Eve was puzzling over that when she heard the front door open and a man’s voice say: “Oh my God.”

She hurried out of Caitlin’s room into the hall and saw Jared Rawlins standing in the living room, staring wide-eyed and horrified at all the blood.

His gaze settled on her. “What did he do to them?”

Eve gently grasped his upper arm and tugged him toward the door. “Let’s go outside, Mr. Rawlins. You don’t need to see this.”

He wrenched his arm free of her light grasp. “I lived with Tanya and her kids. They were part of my life . . . and you thought I could . . .” He struggled to find the right words, his eyes panning over the trails of blood on the floor, the streaks and splatter on the walls, before returning to her. “. . . slaughter them? Me?”

“I’m sorry,” Eve said.