Opening the laundry room cupboards, I removed the handful of small bugs from my pocket. I’d managed to get enough for almost every room in the house, so I slipped from one room to the next and installed my little devices. Jogging up the stairs to the second floor, I started the process again and finally made my way to the holy grail spot—Sunshine’s room.

The room was painted a soft purple with a dark floral comforter to match. Nothing was out of place, not a book, pen, or even a dirty shirt that didn’t belong. Pulling the simple canvas bag from my pocket, I wandered the room and imagined myself in here as if I were Kirby. What spoke to me as her favorites? What did she love above all else?

An art easel was set up by the large window that would look out toward the backyard and the park across the street. Thumbing through the assortment of paintings and sketches, I pulled out one that caught my eye. It was a self-portrait of Kirby sitting among a field of purple flowers, but she wasn’t laughing or smiling as you’d think. Instead, her knees were drawn up to her chest, her cheek laying upon her knees, and a loose braid of her hair fell across her shoulder, but her eyes were breathtaking. The tears sliding down her cheeks were very telling.

I set the piece aside and grabbed the small box of paints and the large sketch pad. Rifling through her dresser, I pulled out a few more items, including a lacy purple underwear set and a diary that was tucked in the far corner of the drawer. A stuffed bear was on the dresser with a ribbon around its neck and a simple frame of Kirby in a graduation outfit with the man from her phone contacts. It was her father. Both the bear and the picture got shoved into the bag that was starting to groan.

The lights of a car flashed against the wall, telling me that Margaret was home. Pulling out Kirby’s phone, I remotely armed the home and placed the bag and painting inside the closet before making my way to the doorway to listen. As soon as the front door opened, the hallway light upstairs turned on, and I knew Margaret wasn’t alone. The sound of a male voice echoed up the stairs, and I smirked. It was Peter.

“Well, well, well, what do we have going on here,” I mumbled as I listened to them talk.

The alarm was turned off, and the sounds traveling up the stairs were no longer of them talking. Long shadows of two people kissing could be seen as they moved close to the stairs, and I backed away from the open door and the light as I shrank into the shadows.