Chapter 1
The first thing Lily said to me that morning was not hello.
It was not, “I missed you.”
It was not even my name.
It was, “I’m not Lily.”
I had arrived at Brenda Cole’s house at exactly eight in the morning to pick up my eight-year-old niece after a sleepover.
Before I could even turn off my engine, the front door flew open.
Brenda came storming outside.
She had one hand clamped around Lily’s upper arm.
My niece stumbled beside her, struggling to keep up.
“Take her,” Brenda shouted.
She shoved Lily forward.
I was out of the car before Lily nearly hit the pavement.
“What are you doing?”
Brenda grabbed Lily’s overnight bag and threw it onto the lawn.
The zipper split open.
Pajamas, a toothbrush, and one of Lily’s stuffed animals spilled into the damp grass.
“She has been impossible since the middle of the night,” Brenda snapped. “Crying. Wandering around. Saying bizarre things. I’m finished.”
I stepped between them.
“Do not touch her again.”
Brenda rolled her eyes.
Then I looked down at Lily.
My anger disappeared.
Something was terribly wrong.
She was shaking so badly that the sleeves of her pink jacket trembled.
Her face looked pale.
Her eyes were fixed on the ground.
And then I noticed her feet.
The shoes she was wearing were not hers.
They were old canvas sneakers.
Cheap.
Dirty.
Far too small.
Her heels were forced against the backs, and her toes looked painfully cramped.
Lily had arrived at the sleepover wearing the new purple sneakers I had bought her two weeks earlier.
I crouched.
“Lily?”
She flinched.
That terrified me more than anything.
Lily never flinched from me.
I had practically raised her since my sister, Rachel, died three years earlier.
Her father, my brother-in-law Daniel, traveled frequently for construction projects, so Lily spent almost half her time at my apartment.
I knew every expression on that child’s face.
I knew when she was lying.
I knew when she was embarrassed.
I knew when she was trying not to laugh.
This expression was new.
It was emptiness covering terror.
“Sweetheart,” I whispered. “Where are your shoes?”
She did not answer.
“Did someone take them?”
Nothing.
I reached carefully toward her shoulder.
She whispered, “I’m not Lily.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Her voice became quieter.
“I’m Chloe.”
Behind us, Brenda gave a disgusted laugh.
“You see?”
I slowly stood.
Brenda folded her arms.
“She started that nonsense around midnight. First she said she was Chloe. Then she said she had to remember her new name. Then she woke the other girls up crying.”
“Why would she say that?”
“How should I know?”
Brenda stepped closer.
“Your niece clearly has emotional problems.”
My hands curled into fists.
“Watch what you say.”
“I’m serious. She ruined Ava’s entire birthday sleepover.”
Ava was Brenda’s nine-year-old daughter.
Six girls had been invited.
Lily had been excited for days.
She packed her own bag.
She even made friendship bracelets.
Now she looked as though she wanted to disappear.
I pulled out my phone.
“Maybe the police can help us understand what happened.”
Brenda’s face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw it.
Fear.
Then anger covered it.
“That is ridiculous.”
“Then you won’t mind.”
I started dialing.
Lily grabbed my wrist.
Hard.
Her fingers were ice cold.
“Aunt Maya.”
Hearing my name nearly broke me.
I leaned closer.
“What is it?”
Her eyes moved toward Brenda.
Then toward the open front door.
She whispered against my ear.
“Mrs. Cole made all of us switch names before the man arrived.”
My entire body went still.
I looked at Brenda.
She had heard enough to know Lily was talking about her.
“What man?”
Brenda’s jaw tightened.
“No one.”
I took one step toward her.
“What man came here last night?”
“No one came here.”
Lily squeezed my wrist harder.
“He did.”
Brenda pointed toward the street.
“Get off my property.”
I ignored her.
“Lily, what happened?”
Brenda raised her voice.
“I said leave!”
Then I noticed something inside the house.
The front door was still open.
From where I stood, I could see part of the hallway.
Backpacks had been lined neatly against one wall.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Six backpacks.
That made sense.
Six guests.
But beyond the hallway, through the living-room opening, I could see sleeping bags arranged across the carpet.
I counted automatically.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
My mouth went dry.
There had been seven sleeping bags.
I moved closer to the porch.
Brenda blocked me.
“You are not entering my house.”
I looked past her.
Something white rested on the seventh sleeping bag.
A plastic name badge.
Large black letters were printed across it.
CHLOE.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Who is Chloe?”
Brenda said nothing.
“Who was sleeping there?”
“No one.”
“Then why is there another sleeping bag?”
“It belongs to Ava.”
“Ava has a bedroom.”
Brenda stepped backward.
For the first time, she looked nervous.
Lily suddenly began crying.
Not loudly.
Silently.
Tears rolled down her face.
I crouched beside her.
“Lily, we’re leaving.”
She shook her head violently.
“The others.”
“What about them?”
“They’re still inside.”
I looked toward the house.
“Which girls?”
“All of them.”
Brenda snapped, “That’s enough.”
I stood and dialed 911.
This time Lily did not stop me.
Brenda lunged toward my phone.
I backed away.
“Do not come near us.”
“You’re making a huge mistake.”
“Good.”
The dispatcher answered.
I gave the address.
I said there were children inside.
I said my niece appeared frightened and confused.
I said an unknown adult man had apparently visited during the night.
Brenda’s face lost its color.
Then she turned.
And ran back into the house.
I grabbed Lily’s hand.
“Stay behind me.”
A second later, we heard a door slam somewhere inside.
Then another.
Lily started shaking again.
“Aunt Maya?”
“Yes?”
Her next words chilled me.
“She’s going to hide the red box.”
I stared at her.
“What red box?”
Lily looked toward the house.
May you like
“The box with all our real names.”
And somewhere inside Brenda Cole’s house, glass shattered.
