The slamming of a car door and a bloodcurdling scream cut her short. Mrs. Simmons had arrived home, and would be calling for an ambulance as soon as her horror subsided enough for her to remember how to use her hands.

“It’s my mom. She and my dad drove separately to the airport on Friday after work when they left on their trip,” Violet said as she stood. “We have to go upstairs.”

I didn’t want to budge. My eyes passed from the window to Henry. There was no way he was going to be able to walk upstairs on his own, and we couldn’t move him.

Desperate, I said into my phone, “Jennie, is it safe for us to move Henry?” But of course, all I heard in reply was static.

“It’s better to leave him,” Trey said decisively. “Your mom will call an ambulance, and we need to get upstairs before she comes inside.” He squatted next to me to be eye level with Henry, who was having difficulty keeping his eyes open. “Help is on the way, man. You’re going to be okay.”

We heard the voice of Mrs. Simmons, as clear as a bell, from outside as she shouted at a 911 operator on her phone. The sound of the automated front door lock being activated caused Violet to fold Henry’s right arm so that his right hand held the towel against his left shoulder. Then she rocketed upright. “Come on. Now.”

I reached for Mischa’s arm and pulled her to her feet as Violet tore out of the living room in the direction of the grand staircase. To my great relief, Mischa was able to stand on her own and seemed to sense the urgency in our dash out of the room.

The front door opened behind us as we ran across the foyer and up the stairs. I looked over my shoulder to see a bewildered Mrs. Simmons standing in the doorway. “Violet!” she shouted, as if she feared Violet was in danger based on the state in which she’d found her husband.

But then she saw the four of us running up the stairs. Violet weakly called out, “It’s okay, Mom!” Although, obviously, nothing was okay.

Mrs. Simmons threw the bag she carried over one shoulder onto the floor, balled her hands into fists, and screamed from the very bottom of her core, “What is happening?”

“Everything’s fine!” Violet shouted.

We reached the top of the stairs, and followed Violet to her bedroom. She slammed the door behind us and twisted the delicate lock above the knob. That lock might have kept Mrs. Simmons out, at least as long as she was in a wild state of confusion and trauma, but it wouldn’t take long for someone—likely the police—to make their way into the room.

We had only minutes remaining to solve a mystery that had baffled us for months.

CHAPTER 20

TREY WHEEZED, HIS CHEST RISING and falling as he caught his breath. He snapped at Violet, “What the hell?! You said your parents would be gone until tomorrow!”