Chapter Twenty-Five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I don't call out for the others or beckon Rose to come to us.

Instinct guides me. It leads me back to the house. I keep my pace even and my movements small, but no one notices I've reversed direction. They're too focused on searching.

I enter the kitchen and make my way to the staircase. I feel as if Rose is summoning me. As if her appearance is a signal that she wants to see me alone.

I hurry up the first flight and turn into the hallway. I don't know which door leads to the attic, so I open two—one for a guest bedroom and the other a bathroom—before I find the correct one.

The attic stairs are cramped and narrow, and the ceiling is so low I have to duck my head. But once I clear the top step, the space opens up.

Beneath the slanted, dark-paneled walls is the queen bed with the blue-and-white quilt I glimpsed in the video Pete sent. There's a tall dresser on the opposite wall, and a reading chair and matching ottoman, nightstand, and knotted rug.

The space is as impersonal as a hotel room. There's no sign a vivacious young woman once lived here.

And no sign of Rose.

For a second, I imagine this space as it must have been: The counter topped with colorful jars of makeup, the closet filled with pretty clothes. A cluster of photos on the bureau. A book splayed open on the nightstand. Perfume scenting the air.

I step into the attached bathroom. The claw-footed bathtub is empty. I call Rose's name softly, then check the big cupboard beneath the sink. I step back into the bedroom and look in the closet, then duck down to peer under the bed.

Everything is scrupulously clean, as if all evidence of Tina has been scrubbed away.

I look around the room again and notice two small doors that blend almost seamlessly into the walls. Only their dark knobs and hinges give away their existence.

I bend down and pull open the first one. It reveals a storage space containing a half dozen suitcases. I lean in to make sure Rose isn't curled up behind one of the bags; then I check behind the second door. It holds a big plastic bin, the kind people use to store holiday decorations or old clothes.

It's big enough to seal a child inside. An involuntary tremor sweeps through me as I reach for the lid.

It's difficult to pry open, but once I do, I see it contains folded towels, floral sheets, a blanket, and a bath mat.

The Barclays must have provided these things for Tina when she moved in. After the police finished their investigation of this room, someone must have packed everything away.

I reach into the bin, feeling around in case there's something else at the bottom. My index finger touches a sharpness, and I yank my hand away. I lift out the pillow and towels to see what jabbed my skin.

It's a single gold hoop earring. Just like the one Ashley mentioned.

I reach down and pick it up. The metal feels warm, as if it has recently been touching someone's skin.

Something about this old, creaky house conjures creepy sensations and thoughts in me. My rational mind battles back; I tell myself my hand is cold, and that's why the metal feels warm.

If Tina simply lost the earring and it was discovered during the cleaning out of her room, why not return it to her mother along with the rest of her things, or simply throw it away? The gold is fake, and so are the little diamond-like crystals scattered on it, so it's not like it was kept because it was valuable. Beth or Harriet would never own something like this, and Rose's ears aren't pierced.

I'm certain it was Tina's.

There's not a single reason I can come up with for why this earring is hidden away in the bottom of a bin.

Unless it was kept as a kind of trophy.

I slide the hoop into my pocket, then replace the contents of the bin and close the door.

I need to go find Rose. But first I hurry to the window overlooking the backyard. I may never get the chance to examine this space again.

The window is about five feet high and perhaps two and a half feet wide. It's set very low—only a foot or so above the floor. Even though sturdy plexiglass now fills the frame and a safety bar has been installed across its center, being near it fills me with deep unease.

I look out the window, then abruptly spin around, trying to mimic what I imagine were Tina's final movements.

What made her violently crash through it?

I pull out my phone and take a video of the area; then I film Tina's bedroom. Only when I've captured the entire space do I make my way downstairs to the second-floor hallway.

Rose's bedroom door is cracked open.

I can't remember if it was like that when I came through the hallway a few minutes ago. I tap on it twice, wait a beat, then push it open.

D é j à vu sweeps over me.

Rose is holding Anne of Green Gables . She's in the exact position as when I first met her, down to the way she's resting her wrists on her white wooden desk.

She doesn't acknowledge me—another echo of our initial encounter.

I walk over and crouch down so I'm at her eye level.

"Rose, I'm so glad to see you," I say gently. "I want to help you. Is there anything you can share with me?"

The pencils and school notebooks are still on a corner of her desk along with a small whiteboard and attached marker. Perhaps Rose will write down a message. Or maybe I can ask questions and she can nod or shake her head to provide answers. I'll do anything to foster our communication.

But Rose doesn't lift her eyes from her book.

I quickly glance at it, because now I'm close enough to read the title and author on the page headings.

The Stranger Beside Me has disappeared. The correct novel is back in its dust jacket.

My stomach twists. Does Rose know I came into her room and rifled through her things? I left a spot of blood on her true-crime book as well as the envelope containing the photograph—clear evidence I'd been investigating her private space.

As if she can read my thoughts, Rose closes her book.

She slowly shifts in her chair and meets my eyes.

I can't help it; I instinctively shrink back.

Everything about her appearance and room are like an eerie replica of our first meeting. But there's one staggering difference.

Before, Rose's eyes looked blank.

Now they're burning with anger.