It’s not what I expected.

The room under our staircase was just an empty space. But this one is filled with with stuff.

I can see why Nico was attracted to it. It’s like every toy he has ever played with or wanted in his life is in this room. Transformers, trucks, model cars, action figures. Most of them look like they have been played with recently. And the room is brighter than the one below our stairwell, lit with actual lights that require a light switch. Nico mentioned Mr. Lowell kept a camera mounted on the ceiling, but I scan the corners up above and don’t see one—maybe he took it down. But the strangest part of the room is what is in the far corner.

It’s a bed.

A small bed, meant for a child maybe even a little younger than Nico, but about that age. It has a white bedframe and a thin mattress with no boxspring. It’s more like a cot. It’s covered with a quilt, and each of the patches on the quilt has a different kind of insect sewn into the fabric.

Even though I know I shouldn’t, I walk over to the bed. I run my fingers along the quilt, which feels stiff, like it hasn’t been used in a long time. I guess when Nico was here, he played on the floor. I pull back the quilt and

Oh my God.

There’s a dark brown stain all over the white sheets. It’s darkest right in the center, but there are splatters of it all over the sheets. I don’t

know if Nico ever pulled back these sheets and saw what I am seeing. If he did, maybe that’s why he took Mr. Lowell’s threat so seriously.

“Ada?”

I whip my head around in the direction of the voice behind me. I thought no one was home because it was so quiet. That was really stupid. I saw the car pull into the garage. I should have realized Mr. Lowell was here. He was probably upstairs or something. Or maybe he was hiding. Waiting. Watching.

And now he is here. In the room, with me.

He is wearing a pair of tan slacks and a dress shirt that is unbuttoned at the collar as well as a tie hanging loose around his neck. He has a layer of moisture on his forehead, which glistens in the overhead lights. He has thinning hair on top of his head, and each of those strands seems wet from his sweat.

I open my mouth to squeak out a reply, but nothing comes. I had intended to tell Mr. Lowell that he needed to leave my brother alone. I had intended to tell him in no uncertain terms that Nico would never be back here. I had intended to keep my brother out of trouble.

But now I could be the one in trouble.

“What are you doing here, Ada?” Mr. Lowell doesn’t seem mad exactly. He almost looks like he finds it interesting that I am in here. “Did you move the bookcase?”

“I just ” I squeak out. “I’m sorry. I thought ”

Why am I apologizing? Ugh, I sound like my mom. She’s always apologizing for things she didn’t even do wrong, and now I’m doing it. I mean, I guess I am in his house without permission. But he’s the one who has been locking my brother in this room. And what are these stains all over the sheets that look suspiciously like dried blood?

“You were snooping,” he notes. I don’t say anything to that.

“Did you tell your parents that you were coming over here?” he asks

me.

“Yes,” I say.

His lips twitch. “You’re lying, Ada.” “I’m not!”

“I can always tell when children are lying. You are all so obvious.”

I want to run out of the room, but Mr. Lowell is blocking the exit. Not only that, but he has closed the door. Still, he couldn’t have locked it. Because he’s in here with me, so there’s no way.

Right?

“I think,” he says, taking a step closer to me. Which is too close, because this room is really, really small. “I think that you didn’t tell anyone at all that you came here.”

I take a step back, hitting the wall behind me. Mr. Lowell’s gaze briefly flickers down to the mattress. At the bloodstains on the sheets.

“Oh, Ada,” he says, “I really wish you hadn’t pulled back those covers.”

My breath catches in my throat. “I’d like to leave now,” I manage. He cocks his head to the side. “Would you?”

“Yes.”

“The thing is,” he says, “I’m not sure I can trust you. Your brother is very good at keeping secrets, but I get the feeling you’re not.”

I remember how Nico came home with pee all over his pants. And right now, I’m scared the same thing is going to happen to me. I don’t know if I’ve ever been this frightened in my whole life.

“I can keep a secret,” I squeak out.

Unlike me and my brother and my dad, Mr. Lowell has light eyes. So I can see when the black part in the middle grows larger. “I don’t think you can,” he says. “Which means ”

He’s close enough now that I can smell his sour breath. I squirm, wondering if I can get past him. I need to get out. The whole room is so small, and the door is so close. If only

“I can’t let you leave, Ada,” he says.

I remember when Gabe told me about that missing boy, Braden Lundie. I had imagined him being trapped in a room just like this. The thought terrified me, yet here I am. And just like Braden, nobody might see me ever again.

Except I have one thing that Braden didn’t have.

I reach into my pocket, and my fingers close around my dad’s pocketknife. After he gave it to me, I practiced in my room. I practiced opening and retracting the blade quickly, the way I have seen Dad do it. Mr. Lowell is staring at my face, so he doesn’t see me slide the knife

out of my pocket and extend the blade. He doesn’t see the glimmer of the knife in the overhead lights until I have jammed it right into his belly, exactly where my dad told me to put it.

And then I twist it.

Mr. Lowell howls. I got him right where it hurts. Well, like Mom says, it hurts more between the legs, but I didn’t really want to go for that area. This did the job anyway. Mr. Lowell sinks to his knees, clutching his belly.

“You bitch,” he gasps.

I don’t have time to think. I race past him, prying the door open, and then before he can get back up again, I shove it closed again.

The keyhole on the door is calling out to me, but I don’t have a key. I can’t lock it. So I do the only thing I can do, which is run out of the house as fast as I can.

When I came in, Dad was working in the backyard. But he’s gone. I don’t know where he went. Maybe back in our garage to get some more equipment? I don’t know. I want to look for him, but I also really want to go home.

When I get inside, I run up the stairs. I run to my parents’ bedroom, looking for either one of them, but the bedroom is empty. And then, while I’m standing in the doorway, I hear the footsteps behind me. Growing louder.

Oh no.

It’s Mr. Lowell. I should have figured out a way to block off that door. Or stabbed him again, just to make sure I finished the job. But I stupidly left him there. And now he’s followed me back into my house.

He’s ready to finish me off.

But then I turn around, and my shoulders sag. It’s not Mr. Lowell.

It’s Nico, standing in the hallway, his mouth hanging open.

“Ada?” He has a horrified expression on his face. “What happened to you?”

For the first time, I look down at my clothing. I have a few small bloodstains on my shirt, but my right hand is wet with it. Also, the knife has a lot of blood on it. I didn’t even notice.

“Ada?” Nico says again.

“Where Where’s Dad?” I stammer.

“In the garage getting some equipment, I think.” Nico frowns at my bloody hand, still clutching the knife. “Ada, what happened?”

“I ”

I can’t tell him. How can I tell anyone what I’ve done? “Ada?”

“I I think I might have killed Mr. Lowell.” The words come out in a jumbled rush. “I think he might be dead.”

“What?”

I wipe tears from my eyes, smearing blood on my face. I’m only making this worse. “I didn’t tell anyone what you told me—I swear. But I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him to leave you alone.”

“Ada ”

“He wouldn’t let me out of the little room.” My voice breaks. “So I had to ”

We both look down at the knife, glistening with Mr. Lowell’s blood. He’s definitely dead. I stabbed him with the knife right where Dad told me to—and I twisted it. I watched the color drain out of his face as he sank to the floor.

Oh God.

“I need to talk to Dad,” I blurt out.

Nico’s eyes widen with panic. “You can’t tell Dad. You can’t tell any grown-ups. You will be in such big trouble.”

“Dad won’t let anything bad happen to me ”

“It’s not up to him. You know what happens to kids who do bad things, right?” He chews on his lower lip. “They take you away from your parents. You have to go to this kid jail called juvenile tension. My friend said his brother had to go after he stole something. And that’s just for stealing. You killed someone.”

I start to cry. He’s right. I can’t just tell people I killed Mr. Lowell and expect not to get punished at all, even if he was the one doing something wrong.

“So what should I do?” I ask. “Did anyone see you there?” I shake my head no.

“Then nobody will know it was you, right?”

I look down at the knife in my hand and realize that he’s right. I can wash the blood off the knife and stuff it in the back of a drawer. I can wash the blood off the shirt and hide it in my closet. Nobody will know.

Nothing bad will happen.