Sam put the car in park with an irritated thrust. “Dammit Camille.” He took the front steps two at a time, stopping abruptly. The door stood ajar. “Camille?” He said, easing it open. She obsessed over locked doors. Silence. Fear slithered down his back.
He moved through the house, calling her name, looking in closets and under beds. Panic rose in his throat like sour food as he ran down the drive. “Camille?”
Then, he saw it and dropped to his knees. Her shoe. It lay on the street drain like a discarded, terrifying clue, written in red.