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Although Lock’s crimes are mostly forgotten in the present day, traces of them can still be found in the curious field of murderabilia. Modern-day collectors of the macabre have sometimes been known to trade objects associated with Jack Lock.

A sewing machine and needle set, believed to have belonged to Elaine Bell, attracted low five-figure bids during an auction in June 1982. The knife Jack Lock used to commit his murders is alleged to have been sold to an anonymous buyer in January 1987for an undisclosed sum. Reports have also circulated of pages of Lock’s writing changing hands for considerable amounts of money.

More broadly, rumors persist that Lock spent a substantial portion of his life compiling a much longer piece of writing—a “master work”—that filled the notebook he had carried since childhood. The existence of this item has been debated and contested over the years. The exact contents of the notebook, should it be real, remain unknown, although some believe, as per Lock’s claims, that careful study of it might be used to divine the future and reveal God’s will.

That was the end of the article.

Katie leaned back, feeling uneasy. While the murders had occurred several decades ago, and Lock himself was long dead, what she’d read had disturbed her.

My life was set in stone before my birth.

It made her think of the portrait Alderson had created of himself and Chris—a snapshot of the present, constructed from all the moments in the past that had brought the two of them inexorably together in that time and place.

She scrolled all the way back up, and looked again at the photograph of Jack Lock at the top of the page. Again, there was that knowing look in his eyes.

God has tested my faith.

But my faith is strong.

Katie picked up the wine and took another sip—a larger one this time—and watched as her pale reflection in the window did the same. She squinted at herself there, as though she might be able to read her own thoughts.

Her reflection grinned back at her. And then a part of it disappeared as whoever was standing outside stepped away from the glass.

She stood up too quickly.

The chair screeched and clattered over backward, and the glass she’dbeen holding shattered loudly on the floor at her feet. She stood very still for a few seconds, staring at herself—just herself now—with her heart pounding. Then her gaze moved slowly over to the black glass of the back door. And then down to the handle.

She saw it move slowly before the lock stopped it.

Click.

And then once more.

Click.

“Mommy!”

Katie whirled around. Siena’s voice—calling out from upstairs. It set her moving. She glanced back as she reached the bottom of the stairs, and then thudded up them as quickly as she could, desperate to reach her daughter, to make sure she was safe, certain somehow that she was not, and—

Siena was standing by the window as Katie flicked on the light. She had the flag pulled around her like a safety blanket, but she let go of one corner and shielded her eyes against the light.

“Ow.”

Katie moved quickly over and hugged her daughter to her. She could feel Siena’s heart beating hard against her. Then she leaned back and took hold of the sides of her arms.

“Siena?”

“I heard a noise. Did something break downstairs?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Is it okay?”

No, Katie thought.It’s not okay at all.

From somewhere outside, she heard a car revving its engine. A moment later, there was the screech of tires as a vehicle sped away too quickly down the street. She needed to call the police. But first of all she had to make sure her daughter was safe.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Are you okay?”