Some of the fights Alex overheard were about what to do with Katie's things. One day he came home and her room was empty- a desk, a chair, a stripped mattress and bed. Alex closed the door behind himself and checked her closet, her drawers. Everything was gone. It was like Katie had just… vanished.

He looked around the empty room, dumbfounded. He remembered how once, when he was a little kid, he'd broken the arm off one of Ben's G.I. Joes, which Ben had specifically forbade him to touch. Petrified, he ‘d gone to Katie. He remembered the way she had smiled and shushed away his tears and helped him glue it back. And no, of course she wouldn't tell, not even Mom and Dad, pinkie promise. And when Ben had noticed anyway and confronted Alex, Katie said it was her fault, she had done it. And Ben had just let it go. Alex wondered if Ben knew- after all, what was Katie doing with a G.I. Joe?-and thought maybe Ben just couldn't stay mad once Katie stepped in. She was like a force field against anger and hate and accusations.

He dropped to his knees beside the bed, buried his face in the denuded mattress, and sobbed her name over and over. Where was she? How could she be gone, without even any evidence that she'd been there? It was impossible. He couldn't get his mind around it.

He cried until his throat was raw and his back throbbed, until he was so exhausted and drained he couldn't feel anything anymore. Then he stood and took one more slow look around the room.

Katie was gone. And if something like this could happen to Katie, who was as joyous and good and alive a person as Alex had ever known, who liked everyone and laughed at everything and had not a single enemy, then the best thing you could say about the universe was, it was random.

But randomness was merely a logical possibility. What Alex felt in the deepest places within himself was different. In his gut and his bones, he knew the universe wasn't random, or indifferent, or in any way benign.

The universe was hostile. You couldn't count on anyone against that. And Alex wouldn't forget it.

He lay in the tub for twenty minutes and was just thinking it was enough, he could sleep now, when he heard something downstairs. It sounded like the mail slot in the front door. These days he was never home when the mail came, but he knew the sound well enough from when he was a kid. This time it was softer than he remembered- stealthier?-but he recognized it just the same.

He sat up, water running down his back. Oh, come on. No one was looking through the mail slot at two in the morning. He was just keyed up, that was all, which was why he was in the bath in the first place.

Right. He was being silly. Even so, he sat very still for a moment, breathing silently through his mouth, his head cocked, concentrating on listening.

There was nothing. He was definitely being silly.

He closed his eyes and settled back. Maybe he'd soak for a few more minutes.

He heard a quiet click from downstairs.

His breath caught. He sat up and listened.

A few seconds went by. There was nothing.

It's an old house. The floor settles, joints groan. How often are you awake at two in the morning to hear anything? This is just what the house sounds like this late.

He let out a long breath. Christ, he really was jumpy. At this rate, he was going to have to stay in the bath all night.

He heard another sound. A quiet scraping, the movement of a rubber weather strip over a metal threshold. The front door.

Suddenly his heart was hammering so hard he could hear it echoing in his ears. He almost called out, Who's there? but managed to stop himself. Who do you think is there? he thought, fighting panic.

A burglar. There was no other explanation. If he called out, it might scare him away. But if it didn't…

Without thinking, he placed a shaking hand on the edge of the tub and eased himself soundlessly out. Water ran down his body onto the floor and he was suddenly freezing. He thought frantically of what he might use as a weapon. Knives in the kitchen. Golf clubs in the garage.

Here, goddamn it. Something here.

His heart was thudding like a war drum. He fought to control his breathing.

There were some cleaning products in the cabinet under the sink. He didn't know what exactly; whatever the maid used. But there might be something. If he could just stay quiet, quiet…

He heard the sound of rubber over metal again. The front door, this time being closed.

He eased the bathroom door shut and quietly locked it. Even as he did so, he knew it was pointless. It was nothing but a little privacy button, you could pick it with anything. But he didn't care. He just wanted a barrier, any kind of barrier. He didn't dare turn on the light-it could be seen from under the door and probably through the edges, too.

He dropped down to his knees in front of the cabinet and opened it. It was dark inside. He felt around, his hands shaking. Toilet paper. A bar of soap. A plastic bottle.

He pulled the bottle out and rotated it until he could see the label. Toilet bowl cleaner.

He set it aside, thinking, Come on, come on…

Another bottle. Some kind of scouring powder.

He reached in again, his hands shaking so violently he was terrified he would knock something over and give away his position.

Mildew remover. That meant bleach, right? He tried to read the label but couldn't make out the small print in the dark. He unscrewed the spray cap and sniffed. Immediately he jerked his head away and had to fight back a coughing fit. It smelled like pure bleach.

He stood and looked around the counter for something to put it in. Nothing. Not even a cup. The only thing he ever used this bathroom for was the bath.

A light flashed across the bottom of the door. A flashlight beam, cutting through the dark. He realized closing the door had been stupid. It had exposed where he was.

He felt paralyzed. He couldn't think.

Please, he thought. Please, come on…

He dropped down again and felt inside the cabinet. A scrub brush. More toilet paper…

His fingers touched something cold and hard. He pulled it out. A mug, a big ceramic coffee mug. The maid must have put it there, part of her cleaning supplies, or to rinse the tub or something.

The doorknob rattled.

God, oh God…

He backed away, shivering violently, and somehow managed to get most of the mildew cleaner into the mug. He set down the empty container as quietly as he could and took hold of the wall that divided the bath from the toilet, steadying himself. He held the mug in his right hand at waist level and ground his teeth together to keep them from chattering.

A second went by. Ten. Ten more.

Maybe he's gone. Maybe when he figured out someone was home-

The lock popped. The door crashed open and slammed into the wall. A dark figure stepped through. Alex saw a flashlight and maybe a gun, and then the light was in his eyes, blinding him. With a wild yell he flung the contents of the mug forward toward the figure's head. A long blob of liquid cut through the beam of the flashlight. The man cried out and stumbled back. Alex shot forward and slammed his shoulder into the man, knocking him on his back. He leaped straight over him and onto the stairs, taking the six steps in another leap. He grabbed his keys from the table in the foyer, yanked open the front door, and went tearing down the flagstone walkway to the driveway, where his car was parked, barefoot, naked, and still dripping from the bath. Somehow he had the presence of mind to hit the unlock button on the fob on the way. He practically dove into the car, slamming the door behind him and locking it. He was shaking so badly he had to use both hands to get the key in the ignition. He pushed the clutch in and turned the key. The engine growled to life. He popped the gearshift into reverse and used every ounce of rational thought he still had to force himself to let the clutch out slowly. He made it out of the driveway, shifted into first, and didn't think to shift again until he was doing forty at the end of the street and the engine was screaming so loudly it sounded like it might tear right through the hood of the car.