Page 98 of The Perfect Son

I wonder if that’s anywhere near Albany.

I lay down my spatula and turn up the volume on the radio. The DJ’s voice fills the room: “Eighteen-year-old Kayla Rogers went out with her friends on Saturday night. Her friends stayed at a bar, but Kayla left alone. Police say she never returned to the apartment she shared with two other girls…”

My hands won’t stop shaking as I pick up my phone from the kitchen counter. I type Troy, NY into the map app. Then I calculate the time it would take for someone to get from Albany to Troy by car.

Sixteen minutes.

My eyes raise upward to the ceiling. I hear the shower running, and even over the droplets of water, I can hear Liam singing to himself.

It couldn’t be.

He wouldn’t. He’s not like that. He’s not like Jason. Not really.

It’s a coincidence. It’s got to be a coincidence.

I lean against the counter, my knees weak. I can still hear Liam singing in the bathroom above us, as the stench of burning eggs fills the kitchen.

THE END