“The search party—”
Inside, the house breathed. Not a draft—a slow, deliberate inhale and exhale, as if the walls had lungs. Sam swept the flashlight beam across the living room. A single wooden chair sat in the center, facing away from him. On the floor beside it, a child’s shoe. Red. Size three.
“He’s out there, Sam. He’s always been out there. And he’s still calling.”
“Out where?”
