The location of the door quickly became clear, and they strode up a winding path to the entrance, Brad pushing the button for the bell and then, after a second’s hesitation, knocking. They waited, but there was no response, so he did it again. Another moment or two passed, and he was about to try a third time, when the door opened.

“Mommy!” Jillian and Sue cried together.

The expression on Patty’s face was not just one of surprise but one of fear. The fear turned instantly to anger, and she glared at Brad. “Why did you bring them here?”

Sue started crying.

“Them?” Brad said pointedly. “You mean your daughters? I brought them here because Jillian called me at the station, where Jasper Brooks had just confessed to murder, because it was getting dark and you’d left the girls alone and they were scared.”

Jillian was crying, too. “I’m sorry, Mommy! I’m sorry!”

“I think you’d better come home.” Brad kept his voice quiet, though he wanted to yell.

Patty glanced behind her.

“Tell them you have a family you have to take care of. You’ve spent more than enough time babysitting this couple.”

“I—” she began.

Brad frowned. Patty was standing in a Mexican-tiled foyer, and behind her was the room in which they’d seen her through the window. She’d glanced back there a few seconds ago, and he had, too, and while he’d thought nothing of it, he realized now that there was something in the scene did not seem quite right. He peered over her shoulder and saw a person seated on a couch in the other room.

Only…

The person had not moved this entire time. And his or her head was slumped forward at an extremely unnatural angle.

Was the person dead?

Could Patty have—?

“Stay here, girls,” he said, letting go of their hands. “Don’t move.” He strode past Patty, who was caught off guard by his action and slow to react.

The figure was a dummy. He could see that even before he reached the other room, but when he did reach it and walked around to the front of the couch, he discovered that it was wearing his clothes: a pair of his jeans, one of his weekend yardwork shirts, his old shoes. The head was nothing more than a plastic bag stuffed with crumpled newspaper, on which a rudimentary face had been drawn. It was topped with a cheap thrift store wig.

Next to the male figure on the couch were two smaller females made out of Jillian’s and Sue’s clothes that had been filled with assorted rags. Creepily undersized doll heads were balanced atop the stuffed clothing. Brad seemed to recall Sue complaining a week or so ago that her sister had stolen some of her dolls. Apparently, it had been her mother who’d taken them.