“THOMAS!” AERIN SCREAMED, crashing through the weeds. Her foot caught on an exposed piece of pipe, and she flew into the dirt. When she stood, another screech pierced the air. There was a pounding sound, too, like metal against bone. Aerin thought of the pile of twisted objects in the backyard. The bones on the ground. What was Brett doing to Thomas?
She leapt to her feet and ran. As she circled to the front of the house, she caught sight of Thomas on the porch. He was standing, but his body was contorted, and there was blood on his arms. “Thomas!” she called again.
Thomas turned, his eyes full of warning. “No!”
Aerin darted forward anyway. She wasn’t going to let Brett hurt him. He’d hurt too many people already. She was only a few feet away before she realized something was scuttling on the ground, a tail swinging, teeth gnashing. She stopped short, disoriented. This wasn’t Brett…but an animal.
Thomas raised a rusty shovel over his head and smashed it down, crushing the creature’s skull. The thing let out a wail and flattened to the ground, and a bald, pale tail whipped back and forth. Aerin screamed and covered her mouth. Two other rodents lay near a dilapidated porch swing. One had a gaping wound in its side. The other was missing half its head.
“Oh my God,” Aerin gurgled.
Thomas stared at her from the porch. He was breathing hard, and his shirt was spotted with sweat. “Jesus.” He sounded freaked. “Those were the biggest rats I’d ever seen.”
Aerin took huge gulps of oxygen. “We have to get out of here. There are weapons in the backyard. And bones.”
Still holding the shovel, Thomas shot off the porch and grabbed her, first hugging her tight, then looking at her with fear. “Where?”
Aerin led him around the side of the house. She pointed past the flies on the slab. “There,” she said, averting her eyes.
Thomas crept over. He glanced down at the bones, then lowered the shovel. “It’s okay. These aren’t human. I think it’s a deer.”
“Are you sure?”
Thomas nodded. He eyed the rusted pile of saws and mallets. “I don’t know what to make of that stuff, but I’m not sure it qualifies as a weapon.” He touched her arm. “Are you up for checking inside the house?”
“Uh, no.” Aerin wiped her eyes. The smell of death was making her stomach turn. “But I don’t want to wait out here alone, either.”
On the porch, the rats squeaked and moaned. Aerin willed herself not to look in their direction. Thomas touched the doorknob with his thumb, and the whole piece crumbled and fell to the porch with a thump. He gingerly tapped the door with his foot. A cloud of dust billowed, and half the structure crumbled inward, leaving a small space for them to climb through into the room.
Aerin was instantly greeted by a stale, earthy, rotting stench. She glanced at Thomas, and he nodded encouragingly. Holding her breath, she stepped over the boards and into the space. Thomas followed behind her, holding her hand.
The room was dark, wet, and stinky. Aerin cocked her head and listened for sounds, but she heard nothing. Thomas clicked on his flashlight and shone it across the floorboards. An ancient wood-burning stove was barely attached to the wall. The corners were littered with spiderwebs, dry leaves, and animal droppings. The bones of a carcass lay against another wall, but when Aerin turned fearfully to Thomas, he squeezed her hand. “They’re a mouse’s, or a squirrel’s. Not a person’s.”
He stepped into the room, shining his light to the windows and the ceiling. The floor creaked precariously. “I don’t see a basement,” he said. “Or a trapdoor. Or…anything.”
Aerin licked her lips, then nodded. It seemed like a dead end. But suddenly, she noticed a flash of something bright on the windowsill. She crept over, careful of the rotting floorboards. When she saw what it was, her heart stopped…then pounded in double time. It was a red paper crane.
“What the…?” Thomas murmured.
Aerin held it in her trembling hands. It was exactly like the paper crane she’d found on Helena’s dresser after she went missing…except more faded, the creases folded and refolded until they’d turned almost white. She flipped it over, half expecting to see the initials H.I. on the bottom. Instead, there was something else, written in a cramped, tight hand: Jackson.
Thomas stared at her. “Do you know what this means?”
Aerin shook her head, swallowing hard. Instantly, she was transported to Helena’s bedroom, smelling her floral perfume, surrounded by her vintage clothes, feeling her sheepskin throw rug under her feet. It seemed like a million heartbreaking years ago. And now, as she stood in the musty, moldy shack, she slowly undid this new crane’s every fold, desperate to find another clue under a wing, or inside a beak—evidence that it was from Brett, and what it could mean. But in the end, all she was left with was a deeply creased square of origami paper, nothing more.