Chapter One
Charleston, South Carolina
Oh no. I’ve done it again. Eight-year-old Vicki blinked away the tears burning her eyes. I don’t want Sarah to die. But I can’t control it.
Perched on the barstool in her parents’ kitchen, skinny elbows on the cool granite countertop, she forced herself to swallow mouse-sized nibbles of the soft chocolate chip cookie Sarah had given her. How can I fix this? There’s got to be a way.
The vision had come to her at the breakfast table, the symbols flashing in her mind regardless of how hard she tried to stop them. Two, four, six, and eighteen. Numbers. But what do they mean?
She sighed then took another bite of the cookie. She might not be the one to end her nanny’s life, but having the vision meant the result might be the same. And although Sarah Rosen hadn’t been the nicest nanny in the world, she hadn’t been the meanest either.
“You’re just a waypoint on my journey to bigger and better things,” Sarah had told her on the day she arrived. “You watch. I’m gonna be rich and famous. You’d better grab an autograph before I hit the big time.”
The pressure of the situation bore down on Vicki, and she struggled to find a solution to save Sarah. But she was a kid. What could she do?
She stared at the cookie in her hand and counted the chocolate chips. Eighteen. She glanced at the bag, which boasted the cookies inside were stuffed with chips, and decided it might be the truth. She’d have to eat a few more before coming to a final decision.
“You better finish up, Vix.” Sarah rinsed a glass, placing it in the sink. “Waste not, want not.”
“Okay.” She took a bigger bite and struggled to swallow without choking. What in the world am I going to do? While she didn’t really care for the skinny, childless, thirty-something nanny, she didn’t want anything bad to happen to her.
But the vision of numbers had come. Two, four, six, and eighteen. Something’s gonna happen to Sarah. Soon.
Vicki studied the huge cookie and froze. “Eighteen chips,” she murmured.
Oh, no. It’s already started. One of the numbers was already here, and she hadn’t figured out how to save her nanny.
“I forgot to tell you.” The nanny dug in her pocket and produced a square piece of paper. She waved it in the air, a huge grin splitting her narrow, horsy face. “This one’s it. I feel it.”
Of course she did. Sarah always thought her most current lottery ticket was the big winner. Vicki started to nod, but stopped with the downward stroke of her chin.
Numbers.
With wide eyes, she scanned the lottery ticket. All four numbers were there, printed in bold, black type. Hope fluttered in her chest. Maybe something good would happen instead. Maybe this time Sarah really would win.
A huge weight lifted from Vicki’s shoulders.
Maybe she hadn’t triggered the nanny’s death. Maybe she’d helped her get what she’d always wanted. Money. Lots and lots of money.
“Finish up quick, Vix. The drawing’s in five minutes.” Sarah turned, heading for the living room. “And make sure you clean the counter when you’re done.”
She didn’t mind. Sarah would win the lottery—she could feel it. Swiping the cookie crumbs into her palm, she dashed to the sink and brushed her hands. She hurried to the couch.
The doorbell rang.
“Some people’s timing sucks.” Sarah grunted in frustration and pushed from the recliner. She crossed the room, her attention glued to the television.
The bell chimed a second time. Vicki grinned. Two. Another number from my vision.
“All right already.” Sarah’s eyes narrowed. “If it’s somebody trying to sell something, I’m going to smack ’em upside the head.”
Vicki refocused on the television. A woman sat in a restaurant, complained about her split ends then listened while a friend told her about a new shampoo. Animated graphics proved that with regular use, the woman’s hair would grow stronger than ever. One shampoo later, the woman smiled. Her split ends were gone forever.
Thump.
Vicki’s attention snapped toward the foyer. Voices came from the entryway—one deep and jagged, the other shrill. Had someone made the mistake of ringing the bell and attempting to sell something to Sarah?
“Welcome to tonight’s Power Four Lottery drawing,” a woman announced in a breathy voice on the television. The muffled sound of Ping-Pong balls bouncing around inside a twirling bin reminded Vicki of popcorn popping in a hot air cooker.
She scooted off the couch and eased toward the front of the house. If Sarah followed through on her threat—which she always did—then Vicki wanted to see the guy get smacked by her nanny.
Slipping beneath a table draped with a linen cloth, she tilted her head and smiled in anticipation. Sarah yelled at him, read him the riot act—at least, that was what Dad always said Mom did whenever he did something she didn’t like. Vicki couldn’t understand every word, but it sure sounded as though Sarah was giving him an earful.
“Our first number in the Power Four drawing is two,” the spokeswoman announced. “Two.”
Vicki peeked around the corner, not wanting to miss the blow sure to occur at any moment. It would be better than any of the wrestling matches Sarah watched on TV when she thought no one was looking. This would be for real.
But instead of her nanny smacking a salesman, the guy at the door backhanded her. She stumbled across the foyer and into the skinny table against the wall, her head slamming into the oval mirror hanging above it.
Crack.
Glass spider-webbed, breaking into a million fragments.
Moaning, Sarah staggered in the direction of the kitchen. The guy grabbed her before she’d taken two steps and spun her toward him. A hank of greasy, blond hair fell across his eyes, and he swiped it out of the way.
“Where?” rasped the scarecrow head with hollow, unshaven cheeks. His stained and dirty jeans hung low on his hips. A ripped T-shirt fluttered on his skeletal frame while he struggled with her. His wild eyes searched her face with greedy hunger, and his long fingers needled her arms. “A house like this? You gotta have money stashed someplace. Tell me where.”
“Our second number is four,” the Power spokeswoman declared. “Four.”
Sarah’s head lolled. Blood from the gash on her forehead trickled down the side of her face. Raising her arms, she slapped at the guy, but he easily avoided her feeble assault.
“Time’s up,” he snarled, his face contorting with monstrous rage. Scarecrow hurled her away with a lightning-fast pitch.
The nanny thudded into the wall then toppled forward, crashing to the floor face-first.
Something tiny skittered across the tiles, stopping inches from Vicki’s hiding place. Cringing, she stared. Four bloody molar roots pointed toward her. The urge to grab the tooth washed through her, but she didn’t dare. The bad man might see her.
“The third number is six,” the female’s voice wafted from the living room. “Six.”
A sharp click drew Vicki’s gaze from the tooth. She peered up at Scarecrow and gasped.
A knife.
He straddled Sarah’s body on the foyer floor, the act bringing whimpers and growls from deep inside the nanny’s chest. She clawed at him, flailed, and managed to land a few blows. But the downward force of his arm as he plunged the knife into her chest was more than she could fight. After the sixth stab, she quit moving.
He stopped at eighteen.
Vicki knew—she couldn’t help but count every one.
Slinking back farther beneath the table, she held her breath. Scarecrow would come past her hiding place. She couldn’t let him find her, or he’d do to her what he’d done to Sarah.
“And the last number in our Power Four drawing is….”
She scrambled through the living room. The familiar ping-pong sound of a ball dropping and rolling down a plexiglass tube followed her.
“Eighteen,” the spokeswoman’s voice rang out. “The Power Number for tonight’s drawing is eighteen.”
The lottery didn’t matter. Not anymore.
She scurried through the kitchen and up the back stairs. She ran as quickly and soundlessly as she could down the hardwood-floored hall to her bedroom. Pausing inside the doorway, she glanced around the room. Where to hide?
The closet.
After slipping through the half-open door, she eased back into the farthest corner behind her toys and stuffed animals. Her breaths came short and shallow. Her heart pounded so hard, surely Scarecrow would hear it the moment he stepped into her bedroom.
She knew he would. He had a wild, you-can’t-hide-from-me look about him. He would know right where to find her.
She burrowed deeper into her pile of toys. Grabbing Mr. Brownsy, she held the overstuffed dog tight to her chest. He couldn’t protect her from Scarecrow—nothing could—but he made her feel less alone while she huddled in the dark.
The door to her room creaked open.
Scarecrow. He’s found me.
Footsteps whispered over the thick emerald carpet. She held her breath. He would grab her, shake her, and break her just as he had Sarah.
Vicki bit down hard on Mr. Brownsy’s ear, dared not make a noise. If she stayed quiet like the church mouse her mom had told her about, maybe Scarecrow would leave her alone.
The closet door opened, and light flooded the little space. Her already shallow breath hitched. Buried beneath her trusted stuffed friends, she shivered, and tears welled from the corners of her eyes.
“Victoria.”
She squeezed her eyes closed and wished with all her might. Go away.
“Victoria Spiere.”
Opening her eyes, she tried to peer past her fuzzy companions, but she’d buried herself too deep. All she heard was Scarecrow.
Except…it doesn’t sound like Scarecrow.
“You can come out, Victoria. It’s safe.”
She frowned. How does he know my name? I don’t know him. Never seen him before in my life.
“The bad man’s gone, Victoria. You’re safe.”
Safe? A ray of hope shot through her so hard she all but jerked from its force.
“I know you’re in there. You can come out. You’re perfectly safe.”
It sure didn’t sound like Scarecrow’s raspy monster voice. This one was rich and deep and clear. Instead of sending chills down her spine, the tone infused her with warmth. Like her dad’s voice.
“Hoo ah oo?”
The man knelt, his knee brushing over the carpet. “What was that?”
She pulled Mr. Brownsy’s ear from her mouth. “Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Friend?” She peeked around an enormous gray rabbit for a better look. Still clutching her stuffed canine, she stared up into a pair of brown eyes. “I don’t know you.”
“Well, I’m Matthew. But since we’re friends, you can call me Matt.” He gave her a sun-filled smile, which created good feelings inside her. “Why don’t you come out so we can shake hands properly?”
Vicki eased forward. “How do I know you aren’t friends with Scarecrow?”
“With who?” His brow wrinkled then cleared. “Oh. I promise. I am not friends with him.” When she didn’t move, he tilted his head. “The scarecrow guy, he wasn’t very nice. I got rid of him, so you’d be safe. I won’t let anything happen to you.” He held up his hand. “Promise.”
She pushed through her stuffed animals and stood on wobbly legs. “Pinky swear?”
He reached toward her, offering her his grown-up finger. “Pinky swear.”
Well, if he knew about the pinky promise, she could trust him. She took two steps forward and wrapped her finger around his. They shook twice, and he grinned.
He lifted her from the floor, carried her to the bed, and placed her on its edge. Sitting next to her, he breathed deep and released a long whistle of air between his lips.
“You’ve got something bad to tell me. Don’t you?” she said.
“What gave it away?”
“Whenever Daddy has something bad to tell me, or like, when I’m in trouble or something, or when he’s really, really angry with me, he makes that sound.” She examined Matt’s face and found kindness. He looked young, but his black grown-up’s suit made him seem much older.
“It’s Sarah. Isn’t it?” Tears filled her eyes. Guilt bore down on her.
“Yes.” He ran a hand through his short dark hair. “I need you to stay right here until the police arrive. I’ve already called them, so you won’t have to wait long.”
“Why did he do that? Scarecrow.”
“Sometimes people do bad things.” He rose, walked to the door, and turned back to her. “You wait here. Don’t leave this room. When the police get here, you tell them everything you saw.”
“Even about you?” She didn’t want to get her new friend in trouble.
“Yes. Tell them about me, too.” As if deep in thought, he tugged his earlobe twice. “Might even work better for them in some ways.”
“Okay.”
He stepped into the hallway and looked around. “You probably won’t see me for a while, but know I’m keeping an eye on you. So stay out of trouble. Okay?” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“’Kay.”
With a final nod, he left her. She sat on her bed, waiting for the police. The silence after Matt’s departure teased and tortured her. Was he really gone? What had he done to get rid of Scarecrow? What was taking the police so long to arrive?
She wanted to do what Matt had told her and stay put, but the stillness of the house drove her from her bedroom. She eased down the back stairs to the kitchen. On the other side of the counter, she discovered Scarecrow.
He lay faceup in the floor, a small round hole in the middle of his forehead. A skinny red streak ran down the side of his head and gathered in a puddle on the tile before soaking into the grout lines.
Had Matt killed Scarecrow to protect her?
Her gaze tracked the path the blood had followed, trickling between some tiles but not others. Tilting her head, she narrowed her eyes and let her focus blur. Her breath caught.
Six.
The blood from Scarecrow’s body had created the number six on the kitchen floor.
A shiver coursed through her, raising goose bumps on her skin. Backing away, she skirted the body and continued to her original destination. She found Sarah on the foyer floor where Scarecrow had left her.
In the distance, sirens whined in earnest. She glanced toward the front door. Maybe she should have waited up in her room like Matt had told her. But she needed to do something first.
Kneeling next to Sarah, she pulled the white square of paper from her blood-soaked jeans pocket. Vicki knew the numbers but read them nonetheless. Two. Four. Six. Eighteen.
“You won, Sarah.” She stared down at her nanny’s ashen face. Guilt returned in force, and tears stabbed her eyes. Leaning close, she whispered, “I’m sorry I killed you.”