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hurried to his room.
    The bed was made, the dresser drawers closed, the shade open. All in order. You see, you’ve been hearing ghosts.
    Kevin sighed and peeled off his dress shirt and slacks. Thirty seconds later he’d changed into a pale blue T-shirt and jeans. He had to get back to a semblance of normalcy here. He tossed the dress shirt into the laundry bin, hung up his trousers, and headed for the door.
    A flash of color on the nightstand caught his eye. Pink. A pink ribbon peeked out from behind the lamp.
    Kevin’s heart responded before his mind did, pounding into overdrive. He walked forward and stared at the thin pink hair ribbon. He’d seen it before. He could swear he’d seen this ribbon. A long time ago. Samantha had given him one exactly like it once, and it had gone missing years ago.
    He spun around. Had Sam heard about the incident and driven down from Sacramento? She’d phoned recently but hadn’t mentioned coming to visit him. The last time he’d seen his childhood friend was when she’d left for college at age eighteen, ten years earlier. She’d spent the last few years in New York working in law enforcement and had recently moved to Sacramento for employment with the California Bureau of Investigation.
    But this ribbon was hers!
    “Samantha?” His voice echoed softly in the room.
    Silence. Of course—he’d already checked the place. Unless . . .
    He snatched up the ribbon, ran for the stairs, and descended them in three long strides. “Samantha!”
    It took Kevin exactly twenty seconds to search the house and rule out the possibility that his long-lost friend had paid him a visit and was hiding like they had as children. Unless she had come, left the ribbon, and then departed, intending to call him later. Would she do that? Under any other circumstance it would be a wonderful surprise.
    Kevin stood in the kitchen, perplexed. If she’d left the ribbon, she would have left a message, a note, a phone call, something.
    But there was no note. His black VTech phone sat on the kitchen counter. Number of messages: a big red “0.”
    What if Slater had left the ribbon? He should call Milton. Kevin ran a hand through his hair. Milton would want to know about the ribbon, which meant telling him about Samantha, which meant opening up the past. He couldn’t open up the past, not after running from it for so long.
    The silence felt thick.
    Kevin looked at the pink ribbon trembling slightly in his hand and sat slowly at the dinette. The past. So long ago. He closed his eyes.

    Kevin was ten years old when he first saw the pretty girl from down the street. That was a year before they met the boy who wanted to kill them.
    Meeting Sam two days after his birthday was his best present. Ever. His brother, Bob, who was really his cousin, had given him a yo-yo, which he really did like, but not as much as meeting Samantha. He would never tell Bob that, of course. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d tell Bob about Samantha at all. It was his secret. Bob might be eight years older than Kevin, but he was a bit slow—he’d never catch on.
    The moon was full that night, and Kevin was in bed by seven o’clock. He always went to bed early. Sometimes before supper. But tonight he’d been under the covers for what seemed like an hour, and he couldn’t sleep. He thought maybe it was too bright with the moonlight coming through the white shade. He liked it dark when he slept. Pitch-dark, so he couldn’t even see his hand when he put it an inch from his nose.
    Maybe if he put some newspapers or his blanket over the window, it would be dark enough.
    He climbed out of bed, pulled off the gray wool blanket, and hefted it up to hook over the rod. Wow, it was really bright out there. He glanced back at his bedroom door. Mother was in bed.
    The shade hung from a spring-loaded roll at the top, a smudged sheet of canvas that covered the small window most of the time. There was nothing to look out at but the backyard anyway. Kevin