According to me I was following my plan.

And according to Everly . . . she was right . . . the best way to manipulate people you were at the mercy of was to learn their point of weakness and use it against them.

For Timothy that point was becoming his greatest fear. I was now the man who only had interest in an anomaly, and when it became too much work, too close to home, I bolted like a coward.

And Everly fulfilled her role. She became the girl I warned him about-too caged up and bright enough to figure out how to flee.

But to believe that this was so simply orchestrated and achieved wasn't allowed. I wasn't that nave.

So when the police showed up at my house two weeks after Everly Anne Brighton went missing, I wasn't surprised. But what preceded that event was a permanent game changer.

We had been so careful to follow routine and never falter, but while I was banking on everyone's weakness in order to win, what I hadn't banked on was the strength of a lonely woman who wondered too many nights as her husband slept at her side, dreaming of another woman he couldn't shake from his memory.

And when you have nothing to lose, threats are pointless.

I wasn't watching or listening to the happenings of my house as I had all the days before, because I was too focused on a girl with a sad yellow scarf.

"It was a big day in Knitting Club." She waved her hand to the cut-out paper dolls she had assembled on the chaise. "We made you a scarf to keep you warm and to keep me sane from boredom."

I smiled. "I didn't know they allowed anyone under ninety to join such clubs."

"How do you know I'm not ninety?"

I took the gift from her. "Because I pay sixty-five dollars annually for my Optometrist to report I have perfect vision."

"Does he charge to make sure how well you see souls, Callum?"

"Souls?" I laughed.

"How do you know my physical form is the same age as my spiritual being? I might be ninety in spirit."

I had to look away or else I'd bring her back to the hospital with me. There would be no denying that she lingered in a smile I couldn't erase.

But she took it all wrong. "You don't have to wear it. I was just bored."

"No," I said, "I love it. I . . . I miss you. That's all. I'm tired, too. That doesn't help my mood any."

She slid slowly across my lap until she was settled with her knees at my hips, arms around my shoulders. We sat on the floor of the attic and kissed with abandon. It felt as if I had never touched her before. As if my memory was trying to claw its way back to Everly and hold on with all its might.

So I allowed myself the delight of her skin as I slid my hands up the back of her sweater, under her bra strap and hooked my fingers over her shoulders. I submersed myself in how her quickening pulse felt against the millions of kisses I had dreamt about giving her neck as I fooled Cecily with a charade.

Too much blood rushed through my body as she stroked her cheek along my face, her long soft blonde hair covering my eyes and suffocating my senses with her warmth, essence.

My memory pulled so firmly toward this moment-refusing to waver until it was committed to my mind infinitely. And this is why I didn't hear Marta.

It was three hard knocks on the front door that broke our kiss.

When my eyes opened she stood there, shell-shocked at what she found in the attic. I quickly pulled myself up and checked the window. Two squad cars sat below. Everly was as still as the paper dolls she created. I crossed the floor and quickly yanked the ladder up before my father had a chance to open the front door.

"I swear to God if you say a single word ..." My threat was useless-I knew that-but desperation leapt before it took sense along for the ride.

Marta kept her voice hushed as she looked at Everly. "Are you all right?"

She nodded and then reached for my hand. I pulled her to my side and she whispered back to Marta, "Please don't say anything. Callum is keeping me safe. My father is hurting me. Please."

I ignored Marta and sunk carefully to my knees so I could put my ear to the floor and listen to the muffled conversation below.

They wanted in the house and he allowed them. My mind prayed I hadn't left anything behind of hers. I prayed that I had been so careful. Mixed with the officer's voice I also heard Timothy. He wanted to know when the last time my dad saw her was. He said Fourth of July. Timothy didn't believe him and asked about Thanksgiving.

"Callum had friends over, but she wasn't one of them."

Timothy pressed him, but was interrupted by an officer.

"Actually Dr. Brighton, I had a call here on Thanksgiving. Andrew's son was setting off fireworks with his buddy. When he came to the door he had a girl with him, but she wasn't Everly. They seemed pretty . . . friendly."

"What did she look like?" he asked.