By 8:00, his nerves had become a live electrical field under his skin. He paced from kitchen to hallway to living room to kitchen again. He opened his laptop and pulled up nothing. He checked the driveway as if Marsha might suddenly appear. He drafted a text that said I’m coming to get him and deleted it. Then another that said This was a mistake and deleted that too. He hated himself with a quiet, growing clarity that was almost serene in its precision. Every minute now felt like an indictment.
At 8:30, his phone rang from an unknown number.
He answered on the first vibration. “Hello?”
“Is this William Edwards?” a woman asked. Her voice shook. In the background he heard movement, something metallic, a door maybe, and then a muffled sound like someone crying.
“Yes. Who is this?”
“My name is Genevieve Fuller. I live next door to Sue Melton.” Her breath caught. “Your son just came to my house.”
William’s heart lurched so violently he had to grab the counter.
“What?”
“He ran into my backyard through the fence. He’s here now.” Her voice dropped lower, more frightened. “Mr. Edwards, he’s covered in blood.”
The kitchen tilted.