“I do believe the child you saw in that window was Terry Dayton.”
“But, you just said—”
“I know what I said. If Terry were still alive, he’d now be a man. But I don’t believe he’s alive.”
“You mean…”
“I believe something happened to him in that house, Mrs. Nobles. I also think he’s haunting the place.”
Chapter Twelve
Jessica drove home more than a little shaken from her meeting with Steven.
He’d told her all about Mrs. Weaver, the woman who’d lived next door to the Hawthorns.
Jess had learned about Sandy Weaver’s sightings of Terry Dayton months after his disappearance, and how she’d packed up and left in the middle of the night shortly thereafter.
Steven had also divulged more insight into the Weaver woman and why her statements hadn’t been taken seriously by the police. Sandy Weaver had claimed to be psychic.
Jessica didn’t believe in psychics any more than she believed in ghosts, yet the evidence of the supernatural had appeared in that window in the form of Terry Dayton.
Pulling into her drive, Jess noticed Owen’s car parked in the garage. She glanced at her watch, surprised to find that she’d been gone for two hours. Still, Owen was home earlier than usual.
She exited the car and trailed up the walk to the front of the house.
The door opened before she reached it. Owen stood there, his tie hanging askew, and his brown hair standing on end as if he’d ran his fingers through it several times. “I’ve been worried sick.”
Jessica avoided his gaze and slipped past him through the open doorway. “You’re home early.”
“I wanted to surprise you. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”
She’d left her cell in the SUV during her meeting with Steven. “I’m sorry. The ringer must have been off.”
Owen followed her into the kitchen, stopping directly behind her as she opened the fridge in search of a drink. “I’m just glad you’re okay. Where’d you go?”
Jessica couldn’t tell him of her meeting with Ruckle. She grabbed a diet soda and turned to face her husband. “I had lunch in town and then drove around for a while after. It was a nice day, so I decided to do some sightseeing.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed as if trying to decide if she were being honest with him. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
Nodding, Jess stepped around him and strode toward the bedroom. She didn’t blame Owen for questioning her. She had, after all, been suicidal not too long ago.
She changed out of her clothes and donned a soft, pink robe before slipping her feet into a pair of slippers. “Are you hungry?”
Owen answered her from the living room area. “Not really. Would you like to go to an early movie in town?”
The last thing she wanted was to see a movie, especially not with everything she’d recently learned still spinning through her head. Instead, she said, “Sure. Let me put my clothes back on.”
Peeling off the robe and slippers, Jessica redressed and met Owen in the living room. “Any idea what you want to see?”
“A comedy if they have one playing.”
It didn’t matter what they watched to Jess. If it made Owen happy, she would sit through ten documentaries. “Let’s go.”
The two of them stood in a long line at the small movie theater in town. Apparently, they weren’t the only ones looking for a brief escape from reality.
The feeling of being watched suddenly slid down Jessica’s spine. She shivered from the sensation, her gaze scanning the lobby of the movie theater to find people laughing, talking, and ordering popcorn. But no one seemed to notice her.
She shook off the suspicion and reached for Owen’s hand.
“I’m glad we decided to do this,” he informed her, giving her palm a gentle squeeze.
Jessica titled her head back to look into his blue eyes. “Me too.”
With their tickets in hand, the two of them strode through the lobby, taking a left toward the designated theater room. Yet, the feeling of being watched only intensified.
Jess moved in closer to Owen’s side, glancing over her shoulder as they entered the darkened auditorium.
Owen led her to a seat on the seventh row and lowered himself into the chair next to her. “What is it?”
She shook her head. Really, what could she tell him? I feel like I’m being watched? He would think her crazier than he already did. “Nothing. I just thought I saw Mrs. Hawthorn,” she easily lied.
The movie previews abruptly started, saving Jessica from further explanation. She sat through the first ten minutes, pretending to watch alongside Owen before the comedy they’d came to see finally began.
Owen’s hearty chuckles warmed Jessica’s heart. She would give anything to be able to laugh again, to find humor in life the way she’d done before Jacob’s passing.
A chill passed along the back of her neck as if a winter wind had blown through the room. It reminded her of the icy breeze she’d felt outside the Dayton house the night they’d moved in next door.
She shivered, hugging her arms tightly around her waist, and slowly twisted her head to look behind her. There, seated in the back of the theater was Terry Dayton.
Jessica quickly faced forward, her heart racing to the point it became painful.
He suddenly walked past, taking the ramp down toward the exit.
She wasn’t about to follow—couldn’t if she’d wanted to. Her legs shook so bad, she was afraid to stand, yet she found herself doing exactly that.
“I’ll be right back,” she whispered in Owen’s ear on her way out of the aisle.
He nodded, attempting to see around her as she stepped over his booted feet.
What am I doing? she silently chanted, hurrying down the ramp she’d seen the Dayton boy take.
She emerged in the hall in time to see him disappear into the men’s restroom.
Jess stopped outside the door, glancing up and down the hall to be sure she wasn’t seen, and then slipped quietly inside. “Terry?”
A giant of a man stepped from a stall, his hands on the zipper of his pants. “Uh, lady, this is the men’s room.”
Embarrassed beyond words, Jess said the first thing that came to mind. “Did you see a little boy with dark hair come in here? He was wearing jeans and a striped T-shirt.”
The man shook his head and moved to the sink to wash his hands. “No one’s in here but me.”
“But I saw him come in here less than a minute ago,” she argued, her gaze searching under the doors of the stalls.
“As you can see, he’s not here.” The man moved away from the sink, turned around, and began pushing all the stall doors open. “Empty.”
Jessica muttered her thanks and hurried from the restroom. She staggered to the side once she reached the hallway to lean heavily against the wall. After more than three years since her son’s death, Jessica had finally lost her grip on reality.
Chapter Thirteen
Jessica kissed Owen goodbye as he headed out the door to work the following morning.
She’d spent several hours the night before on the internet, searching for the psychic who’d lived next door to the Hawthorns—the only other person to see Terry Dayton after his disappearance…Sandy Weaver.
Listening for the sound of Owen’s car to leave the drive, Jessica pulled the woman’s number from the pocket of her robe and went in search of her cellphone.
It took several attempts to dial Sandy’s number before the call finally connected.
“Hello?” a nervous sounding voice answered.
Jess could relate. She was as nervous as a cat covering shit. “Mrs. Weaver?”
Silence.
“Mrs. Weaver? My name is Jessica Nobles. I was hoping to have a minute of your time to talk to you about—”
“I know what you want,” Sandy Weaver blurted, cutting off the rest of Jessica’s words.
Jess cleared her throat. “I need your help.”
“Leave me be, Mrs. Nobles. There’s nothing I can do to help you.”
“But—” The line went dead.