Forty-nine years ago.
Penelope woke up because she heard something fall.
It wasn't loud.
Just a small sound.
A dull thud from somewhere upstairs.
She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.
For a few seconds, she didn't move.
Then she heard it again.
This time, she knew exactly where it had come from.
Her son's room.
"Ezra?"
Nothing.
She sat up.
The other side of the bed was empty.
Ezra had probably gone out again.
He'd been doing that a lot lately.
Walking around town at strange hours.
Checking on things.
Not sleeping.
Not talking much.
Penelope slipped her feet into her slippers and left the room.
The hallway was dark.
She climbed the stairs slowly.
Her son's bedroom door was open.
She frowned.
He never left it open.
"Darling?"
Nothing.
She pushed the door wider.
And stopped.
Her brain refused to understand what her eyes were seeing.
Her son was hanging from the ceiling.
For a moment, Penelope simply stood there.
Seventeen.
