The Forgotten Boy

THE FORGOTTEN BOY A GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER EMILY SHINER Copyright © 2022 by Emily Shiner All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For you, dear reader. Yes, you. You’re making my dreams come true. CONTENTS 1. Prologue 2. Mina 3. Rebecca 4. Mina 5. Rebecca 6. Mina 7. Rebecca 8. Mina 9. Rebecca 10. Mina 11. Rebecca 12. Mina 13. Rebecca 14. Mina 15. Rebecca 16. Mina 17. Rebecca 18. Mina 19. Mina 20. Rebecca 21. Rebecca 22. Mina 23. Rebecca 24. Mina 25. Rebecca 26. Mina 27. Rebecca 28. Mina 29. Rebecca 30. Mina 31. Mina 32. Mina 33. Epilogue Thank you for reading! 1 PROLOGUE Only one person saw the little boy go under. His perfect curls floated on the surface above him like a halo, the sun hitting the water at just the right angle to make it look like everything was glowing. Nobody else saw the bubbles rise up, nobody else noticed how quickly the water stilled above him again like he’d never even gone into the pool. He’d been wearing floaties earlier in the afternoon, but those were long gone, taken off when he had gotten out and demanded something to eat. Everyone else was standing around the grill, mouths watering, watching the next round of burgers to see when they were going to be ready. Music thrummed through the backyard. Without any neighbors, the party goers didn’t have to worry about anyone complaining about how loud they were, so they always turned the speakers up as loud as they could. The music filled the air, making some of the women dance, moving their hips side to side while they waited on dinner. Everyone was laughing. Everyone but the little boy, and the person watching him. She wasn’t laughing. She was frowning, her brow furrowed, her mouth in a straight, tight line as she watched to see if he was going to come back up. He always had before. She was actually pretty convinced that he was a good swimmer, even though it was probably silly to think that when he was barely a toddler. But still. He always came back up. Always. No matter how many times she pushed him under. This time, it felt different. She wasn’t sure why, but she wasn’t about to take her eyes off him, not even for a moment. Because when she took her eyes off him was always when he bobbed back up to the surface. And she didn’t want that to happen this time. Not today. Today he’d been even more obnoxious than usual, running around, wanting attention, tugging on people’s legs and crying for something to eat. He wasn’t loud now, not there under the water. He was so quiet, so perfect, suspended there with his curls swirling around his face, making him look even more gorgeous than he did when he was sleeping. She hadn’t thought he’d really stay down this time. He never had before. But this time was different, and the little boy never came back up. 2 MINA It’s not just me who hates going back to the old family home, right? There is literally nothing on the planet that could make me want to go there. It doesn’t matter that my parents are dead and buried in the cemetery across town. It doesn’t matter that I had the locks changed and I’m the only one with a key, or that I still pay monthly for the alarm monitoring on the place my folks set up. I know I’m going to be alone in the house, probably for the first time in my life. I could just turn around and drive away and nobody would ever know. That thought keeps echoing in my mind as I pull into the driveway and park in the same spot I always did, just in front of the garage door, to the right of the old peach tree that never bore fruit but it might someday so my dad never wanted to get rid of it. The house seems to tower over me, which is ridiculous since it’s just a one-story ranch. The windows stretch high across the front of the building, but heavy curtains keep anyone from peering in. Or looking out. Sighing, I get out and slam the car door behind me, fumbling with my key fob to make sure the door is really locked. It beeps loudly and I wince, turning to look at the shadows from the woods that creep in and encroach upon the house. Why my parents ever wanted to live in an area without any neighbors, I’ll never know. Maybe, if there had been other people around, things would have been better. But then again maybe they wouldn’t. There’s another fob on my key ring that turns off the alarm in the house and I press it before opening the front door, stepping inside, and immediately locking it behind me and resetting the alarm. The entire process takes less than thirty seconds but I can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’m moving too slowly, that someone is watching, that I need to move faster to barricade myself in. “Mina, get a grip.” I speak louder than I meant to and I shiver as the words echo around the museum. No, house. This is a house, not a museum, no matter what it felt like growing up. And now that Mom has been gone for a year, eight years after Dad, it’s high time that I clear it out. And I will…but first I think I deserve a drink. Shrugging off my coat and leaving it where it falls on the floor, which would have given my mom a heart attack had she still been alive, I kick off my shoes