Chapter 2: The Marks on the Wall
Brenna's hand steadied just enough to push the key into the lock.
The door swung open.
The smell hit me first — stale air, something burnt, and underneath it all, a heaviness I couldn't name.
The curtains were drawn in every room.
The only light came from a small lamp in the corner, its shade cracked down one side.
The kitchen counter held a single bowl, a single spoon, and nothing else.
"Where is everyone?" I asked quietly.
"They're at Grandma's," Brenna said.
"Radley stayed home.
He always stays home."
She led me down the hallway.
At the last door, she stopped and pointed at the gap beneath it.
No light.
No sound.
She knocked twice, very gently.
"Radley.
It's me.
I brought someone safe."
A long pause.
Then the slow scrape of something being moved away from the door — from the inside.
The boy who opened it looked about ten.
Thin.
Eyes too careful, the same way Brenna's were.
He looked at my uniform and didn't run.
He didn't smile either.
He simply said, "She told me you'd come.
I didn't think anyone actually would."
Then I saw what was on the wall behind him.
Dozens of small marks.
Counted in rows.
Neat and deliberate.
"Radley," I said carefully.
"How long have you been keeping track?"
He looked at the wall, then back at me.
"Since the last time someone promised and didn't come back."
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What those marks meant — and what Radley finally told Officer Lionel next — is more heartbreaking than anyone expected.
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