“I suppose they’ll send someone for Felix’s stuff,” Dan was saying, shoving the last of his books into a suitcase. Sandy and Paul busied themselves with stacking the packed bags near the door. His side of the room was virtually empty now, but Felix’s things remained untouched, a half-full Gatorade sitting on his desk.

“Poor kid,” his mother said, joining Dan at the bed. He’d already stripped the mattress and balled up the sheets. He didn’t let any of it put a hitch in his packing; even if he wasn’t eager to say good-bye to his new friends, he wanted to be out of Brookline. Every second he stayed felt like a second too many.

“Knock, knock?”

All three of them turned to find Abby at the open door. She rocked shyly on her heels, waiting to come in.

“Oh, hey. I’m glad you stopped by,” Dan said. A night’s rest at the hotel in town had done them all good—Abby looked amazing in an off-the-shoulder tunic and rubbery leggings. Her combat boots were splattered with pink and yellow paint.

“We’ll take these down to the car,” his father offered, giving Dan a look that was anything but subtle.

Even so, Dan welcomed the privacy.

“Nice to meet you both,” Abby said as his parents trooped by.

“You too, sweetie.” His mom gave him a little wave of encouragement from the door, unseen by Abby.

The balled-up bedsheets joined his books. Dan had to lean hard on the suitcase to get it to close. “You all moved out?”

“Not quite. Things are packed but I’m still waiting for Pops. . . .”

Dan hauled the overstuffed suitcase from the bed to the floor. “He’s coming to pick you up? Does that mean . . .”

Abby shook her head, her face suddenly sad.

“It turns out—” she said, and then stopped, choked up. “It turns out that she was married to a man in town, and he—and Felix—Felix killed him.”

She burst into tears.

“Oh my God, Abby, how horrible,” Dan said, wrapping his arms around her protectively. He hated that he’d gotten himself to a point where it was easier to lie and act surprised than tell the truth. He was sure she still had her secrets, too.

At last, Abby pulled away and wiped her eyes.

“I just feel like this whole summer was cursed,” she said. “Like I made Aunt Lucy’s life worse instead of better, and dragged you and Jordan into this whole mess.”

“No, no, Abby, listen—this summer? This was not your mess. We all had our own stuff to work through, and I am so glad I met you and Jordan so we could work through it together. I mean, we’re going to stay in touch, right? And what happened to your aunt is truly horrible, but she has you and your father, right? She’s not alone, either.”

“I guess you’re right,” Abby sniffled. “And yeah, we’ll definitely stay in touch.”

“Then see? At least the summer wasn’t a total—” Something at the door made him stop. A silhouette appeared, the shadow falling across the open door a second before Professor Reyes appeared, dressed in her usual black. “Professor? Is something wrong?”

“Hm?” She hovered in the doorway, a huge, clinking set of skeleton keys looped over her wrist. “Oh, no, I only wanted to stop by and let you know that Felix Sheridan has been moved to West Hill General. They have an excellent psychiatric team there, and he’ll get the care he so dearly needs and deserves. It’s . . . such a shame about all of this, but I thought you might want to know what happened.”

“Thank you,” Dan said, nodding. “I just want him to be okay.”

Professor Reyes nodded, her expression unreadable. “We all do.” Then she seemed to remember something, starting and lifting the hand with the key ring. “And by the way, the old wing is locked up for good and a policeman has been posted until everyone is out of the dorm. No one will be seeing the lower levels until my seminar next year. Which, by the way, the offer is still open for you to join.” With a quick, shallow smile, she was turning to go. “Don’t worry, Dan. I’m sure this will just be a bad memory soon.”

That was hardly comforting. The thing about memories was, you never could control when they came up again.

She closed the door softly as she left, and Dan stared at it for a long moment afterward. He kept picturing the keys in her hand and the door. . . . The door that seemed to hold in all of Brookline’s secrets . . .

“Dan? Dan, what is it?”

He couldn’t shake the feeling that the keys were important somehow. Felix had said the door to the old wing had been open the day they moved in—that that was how he got inside in the first place. If Professor Reyes possessed the keys, she would have been the one to leave the door unlocked that day. And she could easily have entered the ward whenever she wanted. Like to follow them. Like to trap them in with a cabinet.

“It’s nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just being paranoid. It’s this place. . . . I’m not myself here.” That was an understatement. “Want to follow me to my car?”

“Sure,” Abby said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek. “I can’t wait to be anywhere else.”

Together, they each took one handle of the suitcase, lifting it and turning for the door. He wondered if he ought to give her one final kiss here, before they parted, or wait until he got down to the car. It seemed like such an important moment, he really didn’t want to spoil it. Turning that thought over, he started out.

Definitely at the car, he decided, that was more romantic. He grinned and opened the door for her, dreading saying good-bye but happy to know they’d see each other again, when all this trauma with Lucy had blown over. They’d call, of course, and email, and she might even want to visit, especially if Jordan came to stay.

“Daydreaming?” she teased, bumping the suitcase against his thigh.

“Nah,” Dan chuckled, beaming at her as they stepped out into the hall. “Okay, maybe a little . . .”

“Hey, what’s that?”

“Hm?” He followed Abby’s gaze to the floor, where a small piece of paper waited, half-trapped under his shoe. Dan moved his foot aside and squinted, his heart dropping to his toes as he read the chillingly familiar handwriting.

It was in black ink, centered, in confident, almost playful script.

I’ll be seeing you real soon.

Daniel Crawford