She returned to the notebook and flipped past the page where Katie’s writing ended. There was a blank page, and another blank page. Alexa continued flipping. There was a little more writing on the next page. It was smaller and more scrunched up than the other writing, as though the person who was writing it wanted to both hide it and put it out there.

There’s one more thing I haven’t told anyone.

Whatever you do, diary, you can’t tell.

The writing ended there. Alexa flipped again.

Here it is. Secret #4. This is what I want to say when Mom asks me why I wake up screaming. I don’t want her to get that sad and worried look on her face so I don’t say what I’m thinking.

Which is that I’m scared that the bad men are still out there. I’m scared the bad men are coming for me.

Alexa slipped the notebook back under Katie’s pillow.

Sherri came home around ten. They did the how’d-everything-go-oh-totally-fine routine, and then Sherri reached into her shoulder bag (front rack at Marshalls, Alexa guessed) and pulled out her wallet. Alexa thought of the large Silk Stockings sum she’d recently deposited into her secret account, and she shook her head.

“This one’s on me,” she said.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” said Sherri. “I’m not expecting you to work for free!”

“No, really,” said Alexa. Granted, she had only a nebulous idea of how much it cost to be a real person, but she was pretty sure sixty thousand dollars didn’t go very far in Newburyport, and Sherri was working just part-time, which couldn’t pay very much. How could Alexa possibly take money from this woman, this government witness, and sleep comfortably at night? “It was fun for me,” she told Sherri. “I promise. Honestly, we watched TV and hung out. It doesn’t feel like work at all. I insist.”

“Really?” Sherri stopped rummaging in the bag and looked at Alexa, relieved. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.” Alexa squinted at Sherri and tried to see the woman from the newspaper articles. Sure, hair color could do a lot. So could makeup. And clothes. Alexa squinted harder. It was difficult to see, but the other woman, the former Sharon Giordano, was in there somewhere.

“Is everything okay?” asked Sherri. “Anything wrong with your eye? I swear the people who lived here before kept cats even though the landlord swore up and down that nobody has had pets in here. Are you allergic?”

Alexa recovered, blinking. Yes, she could definitely see the woman from the newspaper. “Everything’s great,” she said. I’m scared the bad men are coming for me, Katie had written. Her heart thumped. “Couldn’t be better.”

She was gathering her keys and her phone when Sherri said, “Alexa? Can I ask you something?”