door open and smile thinly at him. “Hi,” I say. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Mr. Rogers. I’m here from Child Protective Services. May I come in?” He’s got a thick beard and a hat pulled down low over his eyes, which is strange. It looks like he’s sweating, even though the day is cool. Something about him sends a chill prickling down my spine.
I blanch immediately. “Oh, I don’t know, I’m alone and my, um, husband isn’t here—” I start to stammer.
But to my surprise, Mr. Rogers pushes his way in without another word. I could swear his eyes lit up when I said I was alone, too. Between the sudden shock of this man’s appearance, the slip of saying “my husband,” and the menacing aura this guy radiates, I’m suddenly feeling very off-kilter.
He turns around inside the house to face me again. I can tell by the way his face scrunches that something isn’t right, but I don’t want to jump to conclusions and start getting worried if I don’t have to.
What would Matvei do? I think to myself.
The answer is obvious: he’d play it cool. Slow and steady. Don’t freak out, just stay calm and be ready.
“I apologize for making such an impromptu visit, but I have some concerns about Nikolas and his home life that must be investigated promptly.”
I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”
“Well, I’ve just come from Nikolas’s school, and his teacher gave me this.” Rogers reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a folded piece of construction paper. When he opens it, there’s so much red on the page. A stick figure lies on the ground, covered in blood, while a man above him holds a knife.
“Oh my God,” I whisper. I can’t believe Nikolas would ever draw something like this. Rogers stares at me expectantly.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asks.
“I … It looks like we need to have a very serious talk about the video games he’s been playing,” I say, thinking on my feet.
Rogers is unimpressed. He scratches his beard idly, still looking around the room with a weird intensity. “Ma’am, you and I both know that this has nothing to do with video games. Quite frankly, I’m worried that he’s been in an environment that isn’t the safest. I’m worried there are some, shall we say, not exactly above-board things happening in this house that are influencing his artwork. Would you know anything about that?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “His parents just died in an explosion, Mr. Rogers. Children process things in weird ways. If anything, this is a conversation I should be having with his therapist.”
Rogers stands up straighter and walks around the counter. His presence is immediately intimidating, and I take a step back, against the counter. “I’m afraid that isn’t going to be possible, ma’am. This is something I should be reporting to the higher-ups at CPS. Hell, this might even be something to take to the police.”
“I don’t think—”
He cuts me off before I can finish, “Unless you’re willing to work out something to keep me quiet.” He steps closer yet, and I feel the counter press against my back. My heart pounds in my chest, and it takes everything I have not to scream for help. Someone in the house is bound to hear me and come running.
“You should convince me to keep this quiet,” he says. Rogers’s left hand slides up my hip and over the curve of my breast. He presses his lips to my cheek, kissing me softly. I cringe and push him away, but he seizes my wrist in a hard grasp.
“Who the fuck are you?” I gasp.
He licks his lips like a fucking psychopath and reaches for me again. Without thinking, I lash out and slap him across the face as hard as I can. My rings cut his cheek open and he starts to bleed. But all it does is piss him off.
Oh, no.
I might’ve just made a terrible, terrible mistake.
He winds up his hand to slap me in return. I close my eyes and brace for it. It’s pathetic, it’s weak, but I never asked to get put in situations like this. I don’t know what else to do.
But the slap never comes.
I hear the garage door groaning open, and when I open my eyes, Rogers is fleeing through the open front door. He’s full on sprinting. Right as he disappears, Matvei strides down the hallway. He steps into the foyer. I’m