I shot up from my chair, nearly tipping it over. It was an instant reaction. Hearing that scream brought me directly to being in my mom’s house, hearing her yell in her bedroom. It was never a shout filled with as much terror as the one we just heard, but still, it triggered a fight-or-flight response in me. I was already at the front door by the time I realized Noah was at my side. The other book club members were close behind, Eric putting a hand on my shoulder before I could open the door.

“Let me. I used to be a cop.”

“We’ll all check it out,” Noah said. There was fear in his eyes, but there was also a swell of courage in the way his jaw set and his brows furrowed.

“Fine, but I’ll go first,” Eric insisted, his tone taking on an authoritative edge. I stepped aside. It would probably be smart to let the tattooed and muscular ex-cop take the lead on this.

The night air was exceptionally warm and sticky, especially for the very beginning of spring, foreshadowing an even hotter summer in Atlanta. The street was flooded with light coming from an open door, where Noah’s neighbor currently stood, haloed by the white light as he clamped a hand over his mouth. He must have heard the same shout we had.

The shout that came from the older gentleman standing on Noah’s front steps, his head turned downward toward what appeared to be a cardboard box at his feet.

Eric moved forward, Noah and I right behind him. The rest of the book club stayed inside the house, Tristan already calling the police.

“What happened?” Eric asked the man, “We heard the shout from next door. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he said, shock filtering through his voice.

“Mason, you’re paper pale. What the hell happened?” Noah asked. His side was pressed against mine, our fingertips brushing together. I had the urge to reach for his hand and give him a comforting squeeze. Not sure where that came from, but instead, I settled for a gentle nudge against his side. He looked up at me and offered a shaky smile.

You’re okay. We’re good. No reason to be scared.

“That happened,” Mason answered, pointing at the box at his feet. It appeared like the sides were soaked through with some sort of liquid. The flaps were open but angled so that I couldn’t see what was inside without leaning over Eric. Mason had a plate covered with aluminum foil in his hands. “I was just bringing over some of this cake I baked and, well this package was here, the flap was open. I took a peek inside…”

“Oh, fuck,” Eric said. He took a step to the side, allowing me to see into the box.

“Holy shit.”

Oh no, we do have a reason to be scared.