It wasn’t just the temperature. The house was bare, but not like an empty house awaiting new residents. An absence. Or even a presence. Their heels echoed obscenely on the timber. “What’s with the masking tape on the floor?” she asked Peter as they moved through the living room with its two rows of four rectangles marked under their feet. There seemed to be a narrow walkway between them, and there were a few discarded duffel bags against the walls. He paused near the hallway and looked at the floor. “Apparently he put all their rucksacks and supplies there. One rectangle for each person.” He lifted his hand in the direction of the hallway, inviting her to go ahead of him. “The thing we need you to see is down here.” She was still staring at the floor. Each rectangle was marked with a name, in the format of surname and then initials. Girls one side, boys the other, in alphabetical order. “Like plots in a cemetery,” she muttered. She wriggled her shoulders and shook her head, trying to dispel the sinister thought. As she stepped into the hallway, she saw him glance back at the masking tape grid, his eyes narrowed.
