When Lyla returned home after school, she discovered a man and woman dressed in suits sitting in a dark sedan at the curb in front of her house. They may as well have been holding signs that read: HI. WE'RE COPS.

When she climbed the stairs to the porch, Lyla's dad draped his arm around her shoulder. Her stomach churned and she felt her cheeks flush pink as she watched the officers climb out of the unmarked police car.

"I'm Detective Morales," said the female officer in a fake friendly tone of voice. Morales wore a tight, nubby ponytail. A scar zigzagged from her hairline across her forehead to her temple. "This is my partner, Detective Steiger."

He looked like an undertaker.

"You're Lyla Perry?" Morales continued.

She nodded.

Lyla's dad introduced himself. "Ryan Perry." He turned toward his daughter. "What's this about?"

"Keenan Ames," Morales replied. "Do you mind if we talk inside?"

Lyla's heart pounded.

The detectives entered the modest brick home, their eyes taking in the simple furnishings. Morales got straight to business. "So, Keenan Ames was your boyfriend?"

"No. Not really." Lyla drummed her fingers nervously on her book bag.

"What do you mean not really?"

"It didn't work out."

"Which one of you ended the relationship?" Steiger continued.

Lyla's dad obviously didn't appreciate the interrogation. "What difference does that make?"

"I did," Lyla answered firmly.

Morales sat on the couch. "When was the last time you saw Keenan Ames?" she asked, trying to steer the conversation back toward a cordial tone.

The figure standing across the soccer field suddenly flashed into Lyla's mind.

She said, "I saw him at a party. On Saturday."

"The party at Coughlin's Farm. The bonfire."

Lyla's eyes shifted to Detective Steiger who stood like a statue, eyes fixed on her. He looked as though he hadn't smiled since grade school.

Morales leaned forward in her seat. "People said you and Mr. Ames got into a loud fight at the party. And he got rough with you."

Lyla could tell that the detectives were trying to trip her up, watching her for telltale signs. She wasn't sure how long she could keep it together.

Ryan became agitated. "Did he put his hands on you?"

"We just got into an argument. Like always."

"Sounded like more than an argument," Steiger added.

Ryan huffed, "That damn kid is--"

A loud BANG at the front door interrupted him. Lyla watched her dad open the door, his eyes on the floor of the porch.

"What? What is it?" she asked.

"It's a blackbird," he said. "A big one. I think it's dead."

"Looks like its neck is broken," said Steiger, peering over Ryan's shoulder.

FLASH.

Lyla found herself kneeling beside Jack's car on the deserted road. Keenan's body lie sprawled in the gravel, his neck twisted and broken.

"Miss Perry?" Morales' voice brought Lyla back to her living room.

"Huh?" She snapped out of the memory.

"You're positive that you haven't seen him since the party? Didn't bump into him at school?"

"He doesn't go to my school."

"Has he contacted you? Text? IM? Phone call?"

"Nope." She clasped her trembling hands behind her back.

"Well, if you should hear from him, please let me know." Morales handed Lyla her business card. The detectives stepped over the dead bird and made their way to the police car.

Lyla wondered who the police had questioned. Had anyone told them that Keenan left the party in a rage determined to find her? How long would it be before the police put the pieces together? She felt sick to her stomach.

Using tongs, Ryan stuffed the bird into a plastic bag. "You okay?" He watched his daughter climb the stairs.

"Fine." She forced a weak smile.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really." She continued up the staircase and went to her room.

As the sun melted behind a bank of clouds on the horizon, Lyla tried to nap, but it was impossible. Although physically exhausted, she felt currents of anxious energy pulsing through her body. Her muscles twitched. She sat up and looked out across the landscape of her room.

"Looks like a crime scene," she sighed.

Lyla picked up the clothes strewn across the floor. She balled up the gray and white striped top she had worn Saturday night.

A sharp tapping at her window startled her. From her vantage point, she could see nothing on the window sill. Cautiously, she made her way to the window, which overlooked the backyard. She peered out.

At the rear corner of the yard, a motionless figure stood in the shadows, looking up at her.

Lyla darted away from the window. She caught her breath, then tentatively tip-toed back to her original position.

The figure had vanished.