Her eyes were wide, fixed on the spotless, gleaming tiles.
“Clare? Are you sick?”
“Get out. Right now.” She flinched, her ice-cold fingers clamping around my wrist. “Do not touch anything in this room, Natalie. Step back.”
She pulled me backward into the hallway, using her elbow to push the wooden door shut.
Then she turned toward me, breathing shallowly.
“Has Ethan cleaned this room today?”
“No,” I stammered, rubbing my wrist. “He rushed out early. Clare, you’re scaring me.”
She drew her phone from her pocket, her jaw rigid.
“I need you to call the police, Nat.”
I stared at her, unable to process what she was saying.
“The police? Why would I call the police over a clean bathroom?”
Clare looked directly into my eyes.
Her voice dropped into a clinical, detached whisper.
“Because, Natalie, someone has been systematically cleaning up blood.”
PART 2 👇👇
For several seconds, I couldn’t move.
