Chapter Sixteen
“How was your day?” Owen lay in bed, flipping through the channels on the television.
Jessica wanted to tell him everything that had happened since he’d left for work that morning, but she couldn’t. He would only become angry and probably insist she get back on her meds. “It was okay.”
He turned off the TV and rolled to his side to face her. “Something is different with you.”
“What do you mean?”
Owen shrugged. “I’m not sure. Did you cut your hair?”
“No. I applied a little makeup this morning. Maybe that’s what you’re seeing.”
A sleepy smile touched his lips. “That’s probably it.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “Goodnight, Jess.”
“Night, Owen.” Jess remained completely still, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling and listening to Owen’s soft breathing. It didn’t take long before the expected snoring ensued.
She inched back the covers, careful not to shake the bed, and got to her feet. She hated sneaking around behind Owen’s back, but he honestly left her no choice.
Back in the office, Jess seated herself in front of her desk and turned on the laptop. She typed in Jasper and Melanie Dayton, steadily glancing at the door while the page loaded.
A black and white photo appeared of the Dayton’s holding a press conference. The date below the image told Jessica the conference had been held four days after Terry’s disappearance.
The distraught look in Melanie’s eyes tore at Jessica’s heart. Jess knew all too well the pain Mrs. Dayton had felt in that moment. Nothing could ever come close to the agony of losing a child.
Jessica’s gaze touched on Jasper Dayton, taking note of the protective way his arm held tightly to his wife.
Jasper Dayton had been a handsome man thirteen years ago with his dark, semi-long hair and masculine jawline. He appeared to be tall as well, standing a good foot above his dainty wife.
Handsome couple, Jessica thought, clicking back and then onto the next link. A picture of the Dayton house appeared in the article currently loading. It amazed Jessica, how much it had changed over the years. Little Terry Dayton had lived in that house, probably felt safe, happy, and loved.
Jessica wasn’t sure how long she sat there scrolling through the different articles once again before her aching back demanded she get up and move around.
She ventured out into the living room, drawn to the front window like a moth to a flame.
With the glare of the streetlight shining in her eyes, Jess cupped her hands around her face and pressed her forehead to the glass. There, looking back at her from the second story window of the abandoned house, stood Terry Dayton.
Jess squeezed her eyes tightly shut, counted to ten and then eased them back open to find the Dayton boy…gone.
Doubt quickly surfaced. What if all of this was a figment of her imagination and she was back in Chicago, rocking in a corner somewhere in an institution?
She trailed over to the door, disengaged the locks, and stepped outside.
Though the night felt warm, a gentle breeze blew through the trees to cool Jessica’s bare legs.
Moving off the porch, she inched down the driveway, never taking her gaze from the window of that house.
“Looking for something?”
Jessica sucked in a startled breath and spun to face the owner of that deep voice.
A tall, blond man stood in the street wearing jean-cutoff shorts and a tank top. He held a can of beer in one hand while flipping a knife in the other.
“I—I—no, I was just taking a short walk.” She couldn’t look away from that knife.
The man glanced toward the Dayton house and then resettled his gaze on her. “Seems to me you were looking for something in that house over there. Now, what could be so interesting that you would be out here at midnight, creeping around to see?”
“I wasn’t creeping,” she whispered, backing up a step. “I told you, I was —”
“Out getting some air. So you say.”
Jess eased back another step. “Well, as you said, it’s rather late. I’ll bid you a goodnight, then.”
He didn’t respond. He simply stood there, flipping that knife in his left hand and staring at her through bloodshot eyes.
Once Jessica backed far enough away, she spun on her heel and fled to the safety of her house.
Throwing the deadbolt home, she scurried to the window to find the blond man staggering down the street, still flipping that knife.
She watched for several minutes more, taking note of which house he stumbled up to, before turning away from the window and heading to bed.