I returned to the kitchen, examining the glass. Blood. Not fresh, but dry, caked.

I took a quick step back, the room beginning to spin as my mind struggled to play catch-up: Between Vera’s note and the prints on my neck, it was clear that Davis had broken the window last night, probably before I even came home … but why?

A chill ran through me, and not from the air spilling in through the cracked glass. Dusty seemed to sense it; he began to whine.

I’d been so sure. It had been like a movie playing on repeat …

After learning my whereabouts from Ellie, Davis had come to my cottage that night, had seen me with John. The door had accidentally been left unlocked, and he’d stolen my key, made a copy, and returned it. He’d taken one of my knives, and he’d used it to kill John. He’d planted my underwear at the crime scene. He’d deposited the knife … somewhere. He’d returned in the days since, to let Dusty out, to take the photos and the note and my mother’s scarf. To screw with me.

He’d gone around town, asking about his ‘missing girlfriend,’ just so I would know he was up here, just in case I hadn’t yet figured it out, and then he sat back and watched as I quaked with fear.

Then he’d come here to confront me. He’d come here to … smash my phone … to threaten to take Dusty?

I shook my head, swallowing back a thick feeling in my throat. Davis had seemed genuinely confused when I’d asked him about the knife, about John. I thought it was all an act, but what if, what if …

I tossed Vera’s note in the trash and then, digging through the junk drawer until I found my roll of duct tape, I added swath after swath, covering the hole in the glass. With a broom and a dustpan, I swept up the glass and dumped it into the trash. Back in the living room, with all the drapes pulled shut, every lock twisted and retwisted, I began to pace. Dusty watched me as I moved about the room.

Could it be possible?

Could I have gotten it all wrong?

That night with John was little more than twenty-four hours after I ran into Ellie. Unless she’d lied and Davis had been here with her, he would have had to come up almost immediately, somehow find my exact address, and happen upon us. I grabbed a scrap of paper, since the police had taken my notebook, and began to write, detailing every strange thing that had happened since I’d moved in.

– Door ajar

– Faucet running

– Dusty getting out

– Scarf gone

– Photos gone

– Note gone

– Knife gone

– Underwear in the cabin