108

The door was only slightly open but I knew we hadn’t left it that way.

I’d watched Donovan lock up and toss John’s keys into the corner of his yard. But I also knew that Sam had a key to John’s place. He’d shown me that he still had his keys and then he’d zipped them inside his backpack.

But why would he have entered John’s home?

I felt a tightening across my scalp.

I didn’t move. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

It was deathly quiet all along our street.

Five minutes until the emergency services would be here.

I felt a pang as I thought about John. I knew how vulnerable he was, how upset and agitated he’d been earlier.

I checked on Bethany, who looked petrified and spent, then looked down at Donovan.

Sam had stabbed him, kicked him.

And that’s when a deeper realization struck home.

Sam was a monster. He’d brutally attacked Donovan. He’d killed Oliver. He’d trapped me here under false pretences for almost two years.

And throughout that time, Sam had visited John every single day.

I’d believed it was because Sam was a kind person. A good neighbour. I’d thought he’d been caring for John.

But suppose I’d been wrong about that, too? Suppose he’d been just as big a threat to John as he’d been to me?

Oh no.

A hollowness formed inside me as I looked from Bethany to the street once more.

There was still nothing to suggest that any of our neighbours were reacting to the fire in our home. With the box hedge shielding our front yard and most of the shutters closed, nobody could see in easily.

I should have yelled, ‘Fire!’

I should have let this all be somebody else’s problem.

But again, something stopped me.

That molten rage. It was flooding my veins.

If Sam was in there, I wasn’t going to let him get away with this.

Bending down, I picked up the hammer from where I’d dropped it.

‘Wait here,’ I told Bethany, and then I pushed out through our gate onto the street and crept up John’s path towards his front door.