Caleb shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded.
Then he looked at me seriously and said, “I’ll see you.”
We said goodbye, and he walked away.
The next morning, loud pounding rattled the front door.
Still half asleep, I came downstairs and froze instantly.
My mom had opened the door, and standing there were police officers.
Beside them stood Caleb’s parents.
Everyone turned toward me.
A knot tightened in my stomach.
One officer stepped forward. “Cindy, when was the last time you saw Caleb?”
“Last night after prom.”
“Did he mention where he was going afterward?”
I slowly shook my head. “No. Why? Officer, did something happen?”
The officers exchanged uneasy looks.
Then one of them asked something that made my stomach sink even further.
“Miss, do you really not know what Caleb has done?”
I stared at him blankly. “What?”
The officer spoke carefully.
“Our department recently reopened several old reports connected to incidents from years ago to get resolutions. During that process, Caleb admitted he was near your house the night of the fire almost 10 years ago.”
For several seconds, I couldn’t even process the words.
“What do you mean he was there?”
The officer inhaled slowly.
“You need to listen carefully and try not to get overwhelmed. Caleb witnessed something connected to your house fire when he was nine years old.”
I stared at him.
“What kind of something?”
Before the officer could continue, Caleb’s father suddenly spoke.
“He never meant for any of this to happen.”
His voice sounded desperate and strained.
The officer explained that Caleb’s older brother, Mason, had a long history of trouble as a teenager. On the night of the fire, Caleb secretly followed Mason on his bike and saw him climbing out of my house shortly before the fire began.
Recently, Caleb had finally confessed part of what he witnessed because Mason was about to be released after serving time for another crime.
But that morning, Caleb had disappeared.
