“Come on  , Delaney, hurry up  and get going.”

She never did.

A house that had become silent

He made the trip in under thirty minutes, running a yellow light and slamming on the curb so hard his tires hit it. The front steps felt strange even before he got out of the car. No toys. No music inside. No sign of life.

He ran towards the front door and punched it.

“Micah, it’s Dad. Open the door.”

There was no response.

When he pulled the handle, the door opened inwards.

The silence that reigned in the house was so total that it knotted his stomach. He then saw Micah sitting on the floor in the living room, a cushion pressed against his chest, his blond hair tangled on one side, his cheeks dirty, and his small body frozen in that very particular, almost frightening immobility, characteristic of children when they have stopped crying to plunge into pure and simple waiting.

Micah looked up and murmured,  “I thought you might not come.”

Rowan crossed the room in two strides and knelt down.  “I’m here. Where’s your sister?”

Micah pointed at the sofa.

Elsie was curled up under a blanket, her face pale and flushed, her lips dry, her breathing short and irregular. Rowan touched her forehead and felt a wave of heat so intense it tightened in his chest. He immediately lifted her, and her head fell onto his shoulder with almost no resistance.

“We’re leaving right away,”  he said, trying to remain calm for Micah.  “Put on your shoes. No questions. Stay with me.”

Micah sat up so abruptly he almost tripped.  “Is she asleep?”