Doors
Stephanie had just drifted to sleep when a sharp knock roused her. “Oliver, the door?” she slurred. No answer. Not home. She drearily shambled to the door, hoping it wasn’t the police with more questions about Mr. Evans. Looking through the peephole, she was surprised to see Bea MacArthur with a package in her arms. Maybe a late wedding gift? Her brows furrowed, and she unlocked the door. After signing for the box, she returned inside and opened the box with her keys, not bothering to track down the ever-moving scissors. Still half-asleep, she fished out a note: To Stephanie: Good luck. A line formed between her eyebrows, and she glanced around before delving deeper into the box’s contents. She pulled out two photos: one of her driving and one of her walking. They were each labelled with her name, the date, and a location. A knot developed in Stephanie’s throat. Her breathing became rapid. Eventually, her curiosity overcame her feeling of impending doom, forcing her to examine t...