Of course I open it first when I get back upstairs. No use mentioning that I’m not one to delay gratification.
Inside, the single sheet says only five words. And I feel a chill.
“I’ve been inside your house.”
I lock the front door. Hurry through the kitchen and lock the back door.
* * * *
Wren clicked out of the document, unsure if he could bear to read any more. If this really was Rufus’s life, it was sad. Sad especially because the young man he had met only yesterday did not seem like the bright young man in these pages, someone who had the wherewithal to write a book based on a play by Shakespeare.
Wren powered down the laptop, closed it, and did his best to return it as it had been in the duffel bag, burying it under Rufus’s clothes. As he was doing so, he wondered what had happened to all Rufus’s belongings—the furniture, the car. Did he still have them? Were they at the other home he had mentioned?
Or did he lose them all?