“I want you to be really nice for Mildred and if you need anything, you call me.”

She nods again and rubs her eyes.

I hug her tightly. “I love you, pumpkin.”

She hugs me and whispers in my ear. “Don’t go back in there.”

Mildred steps back onto the porch.

“Everything’s ready for you, Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn lets go of me and goes inside.

With Caitlyn gone, Mildred’s demeanor goes from warm and welcoming to concerned.

“I called the school and told them Caitlyn’s sick and won’t be in today.”

“Daniel, what’s going on?”

“There’s … It’s something with the house. I need a few days to sort it out.”

“What? Like a gas leak or something?”

“… Yeah.”

She cocks her head in disapproval at me.

“You know, for an author, you’re a terrible liar.”

“It’s only for a few days.”

“She can stay here as long as she needs … and so can you.”

“Thanks. I may take you up on that.”

“But you’re not going to, are you?”

“We’ll see.”

She throws up her hands in disgust. “Fine. You do what you have to. Don’t worry about Caitlyn. I’m going to make that girl some pancakes.” She turns to go inside but stops. “Be careful, Daniel.”

“I will.”

She shakes her head one last time and goes inside.

24

I should go. I know I should simply take Caitlyn and go someplace else. We’ll stay at a motel until we find a new home. I’ll sell the Nightingale House and never set foot in it again.

But I can’t do that.

I can’t just leave because of what Caitlyn said—that sometimes, Katherine can hear Nicole.

She also said that Katherine can’t leave because of her dad.

I’ve seen Nicole in there and I chalked it up to grief and fatigue, but now?

What if Nicole’s in there? What if we leave and Nicole is trapped? Caitlyn said that Thomas Carrington won’t let Katherine leave. What about Nicole?

I can’t leave without knowing. It’ll forever be on my mind if we walk away now. Caitlyn is never going back in there. That’s done, but I have to know.

But how? How do you do that?

There’s two ways that I’ve heard of … and they’re not from the most reputable of sources.

*

The plastic bag containing my purchases hangs from my hand as I walk into the Nightingale House.

It’s mid-afternoon and, ironically, the house feels warm and welcoming. Golden sunlight streams through the windows and birds are singing outside. It’s just as beautiful as it was the day Nicole and I visited for the first time, but I know better.