Chapter 1
The first lie Vanessa told me that morning was that my mother had changed her plans.
The second was that Mom had called again.
I was eight years old, but I knew the difference between my mother being late and my mother disappearing.
Natalie Hale forgot things.
She forgot her coffee on the roof of her car once.
She misplaced her keys almost every week.
One Saturday, she drove halfway to my preschool before remembering there was no school.
But my mother never forgot me.
Not once.
She was supposed to pick me up from Dad's house at ten that morning.
At ten-thirty, I stood by the front window holding my backpack.
Vanessa walked past me with a basket of laundry.
“Your mom texted.”
I turned.
“What did she say?”
“She had something come up.”
“What?”
Vanessa kept walking.
“Work.”
Mom didn't work Saturdays.
I followed her.
“She said she'd come later?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Vanessa stopped.
Her smile was too quick.
“I don't know, Sophie.”
I looked at the phone in her hand.
“Can I call her?”
“She said her battery is dying.”
That made even less sense.
Mom carried a charger everywhere.
I knew because she made me carry one too.
“Did she say she loves me?”
Vanessa stared at me.
“What?”
“Mom always says that.”
Her smile disappeared for a second.
Then returned.
“Of course she did.”
I didn't believe her.
Dad was at work.
He managed a construction company and had been called to a job site after an accident.
He had kissed my forehead before leaving.
“Mom will get you at ten.”
Vanessa had been standing behind him.
She smiled.
“I've got her until then.”
I didn't like Vanessa.
I had tried.
Dad married her seven months earlier.
She bought me clothes.
She braided my hair too tightly.
She called me sweetheart whenever Dad was listening.
But when he left the room, she looked at me differently.
Like I was furniture that had come with the house.
At eleven, I asked again.
“When is Mom coming?”
Vanessa opened the refrigerator.
“She changed her plans.”
“You said later.”
“I said she had something come up.”
“That's not changing plans.”
She shut the refrigerator hard.
“Sophie.”
I stepped back.
She softened immediately.
“I'm sorry.”
Then she crouched.
“Your mom is probably having one of her days.”
“What days?”
“You know.”
I didn't.
Vanessa smiled sadly.
“Adults get overwhelmed.”
“My mom doesn't.”
She sighed.
“You're too young to understand.”
I hated when adults said that.
It usually meant they didn't want to explain.
Near lunchtime, Vanessa made grilled cheese.
I didn't eat mine.
I sat on the kitchen floor because that was where Mom and I used to play cards before Dad remarried.
Vanessa was folding towels beside the washing machine in the laundry alcove.
My hand rested on the old wooden floor.
Then I felt it.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
I froze.
A pause.
Knock.
Knock.
I looked toward Vanessa.
She hadn't noticed.
I pressed my palm against the floor.
“Mom?”
Vanessa's head snapped up.
“What did you say?”
Before I could answer, the knocking came again.
Three.
Pause.
Two.
Vanessa dropped a towel.
Then she turned on the washing machine.
The sudden roar filled the kitchen.
I stared at her.
“Why did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Turn it on.”
“Because clothes need washing.”
“There was knocking.”
“Old houses make strange noises.”
I looked at the floor.
“That wasn't the house.”
She stopped folding.
“What was it?”
I swallowed.
“My mom's knock.”
Vanessa's face changed.
Only for a second.
But I saw fear.
Mom had always knocked on my bedroom door the same way.
Three little knocks.
Pause.
Two.
She invented it when I was three.
“Our secret knock,” she called it.
I pressed my ear to the floor.
Vanessa grabbed my arm.
Hard.
“Get up.”
“Ow!”
“You're going outside.”
“Why?”
“Because you've been indoors too long.”
“I heard Mom.”
“No, you didn't.”
“I did!”
Her fingers tightened.
“Your mother is not here.”
The certainty in her voice frightened me more than yelling would have.
“How do you know?”
She released me.
I saw four white marks on my arm where her fingers had been.
Vanessa looked toward the basement door.
That was when I noticed something else.
A padlock.
There had never been a padlock there before.
The basement door was beside the pantry.
Dad kept tools downstairs.
Christmas decorations.
Old furniture.
I sometimes went with him to find paint.
But now a silver lock hung through the latch.
“Why is the basement locked?”
Vanessa stared at me.
“It isn't.”
I pointed.
“Yes, it is.”
She turned.
As if seeing the lock for the first time.
“Oh.”
“Why?”
“Your dad has chemicals downstairs.”
“He didn't lock it yesterday.”
“Maybe he should have.”
I walked toward the door.
Vanessa moved faster.
She stepped between us.
“Go to your room.”
“I want to see.”
“No.”
“Mom!”
I shouted toward the basement.
Vanessa grabbed my shoulders.
“Stop it.”
The washing machine shook behind us.
Then beneath all that noise, I heard it.
Three knocks.
Pause.
Two.
Vanessa heard it too.
I knew because every bit of color left her face.
I screamed.
“Mom!”
Something slammed beneath the floor.
Vanessa covered my mouth.
I bit her hand.
She cried out.
I ran toward the front door.
She caught my shirt.
I kicked.
“Let me go!”
She dragged me back.
“You are imagining things!”
“Dad!”
“He isn't here!”
Those words came out too quickly.
Too angrily.
I stopped fighting for one second.
Vanessa seemed to realize what she'd said.
Her expression softened.
“Sophie.”
I backed away.
“You locked my mom downstairs.”
“No.”
“You did.”
“No.”
“I'm calling Dad.”
I ran upstairs.
My tablet was on my bed.
Vanessa followed.
I slammed the bedroom door and locked it.
She hit it once.
“Open this door.”
I grabbed the tablet.
Dad's contact was pinned at the top.
I called.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
I sent one message.
Dad, come home. Mom is under the kitchen.
Vanessa stopped pounding on the door.
Silence.
Then I heard her walking away.
That scared me more.
I opened my door a little.
She was downstairs.
Talking quietly on the phone.
“I don't care,” she whispered.
“The girl heard her.”
A pause.
Then:
“Owen will be home soon.”
My heart hammered.
I recorded the rest on my tablet.
“You said she would be unconscious longer.”
Another pause.
“No, I'm not moving her alone.”
My hands went cold.
I stopped recording when Vanessa came toward the stairs.
I locked myself in Dad's office until I heard his truck.
By the time Dad came through the front door that evening, I had stopped asking when Mom would come.
I ran into him so hard he almost dropped his keys.
“Sophie?”
I grabbed his jacket.
“Mom is downstairs.”
Dad looked confused.
“What?”
Vanessa appeared behind me.
“She has been worked up all day.”
I pointed toward the basement.
“Someone locked the door.”
Dad looked.
His expression changed.
“Why is there a padlock?”
Vanessa folded her arms.
“I was worried about Sophie getting into your tools.”
“I didn't put that there.”
Vanessa went still.
Dad slowly turned toward her.
“Where did you get the lock?”
“I bought it.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
“Why?”
“I just told you.”
I started crying.
“She lied about Mom.”
Dad crouched.
“What happened?”
“I heard Mom's knock.”
Vanessa snapped.
“Owen, don't encourage this.”
Dad stood.
“What knock?”
“Our knock.”
I knocked against the wall.
Three times.
Pause.
Twice.
Dad stared at me.
Then at the basement door.
Vanessa moved toward him.
“Owen.”
He ignored her.
He walked to the door.
“Do you have the key?”
“No.”
Dad looked back.
“You locked it.”
“I misplaced it.”
His face hardened.
“Move.”
“Owen, you're being ridiculous.”
He grabbed a hammer from the mudroom cabinet.
Vanessa stepped between him and the basement.
For the first time, Dad noticed how afraid she was.
“Why don't you want me opening that door?”
Her lips parted.
No answer.
Dad raised the hammer.
Then from beneath our feet came five faint knocks.
Three.
Pause.
Two.
May you like
Dad's face turned white.
He swung the hammer at the lock.
