The bare moon kept me awake as I tossed and turned in bed. Last time I checked the time, 2:00 AM mocked me. It felt like an hour had passed since then. Between the unsolicited package and my latest interaction with Robert, I didn't know which of them was bothering me more. All I knew was I couldn't sleep. And when I couldn't sleep, I was anxious and cranky. Terrible mix.

I sighed, then rolled over, tapping my phone screen.

2:45 AM. Just great.

An overwhelming urge to google the group home again had been haunting me since I laid in bed, and I could feel it creeping through my veins. The tips of my fingers twitched in approval. But I relented. After all, Google had little to no information to offer me. That was equally surprising as it was concerning. Mostly due to the fact that the reasoning for the group home's closure raised a lot of questions. A lot of disturbing questions.

I reached for my phone, then pulled up one of the blogs I'd found earlier. I had saved it for further inspection. But no matter how many times I read the blog over, it served me no purpose.

After opening in 1965, Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens' long run was short-lived when an incident took place between several of the residents. An incident that resulted in three minors being severly injured—one of them even ending up in the hospital. This is not the first time there's been claims of neglect and general mismanagement within the group home.

Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens reportedly had a repeated history of misconduct, foul play, and bullying. After its closing in 2001, the group home was deemed unfit for the teens and had been put out of service. No one, however, bought the property when it was being sold, which resulted in Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens falling abandoned.

Those two paragraphs stuck with me like white on rice. I'd tried to find more information but it appeared that the specifics of the incident hadn't been publicly disclosed. Articles were vague, and with an incident so controversial, it sparked debate online on several other blog sites. Just a bunch of theorists concluding their own opinions on what might've happened.

In a way, I supposed it made sense that specifics—like names and ages—wouldn't have been publicly revealed if they were minors. But that's what made it even more alarming. And mismanagement? Well, that could mean anything. Most importantly though, that could mean the teens might've been doing something they weren't supposed to be doing. Something that could have been prevented without poor management. It was all in theory though.

I sighed again and closed out the blog.

Christian and Logan were the next best things I could think of to look to for information. Surely, a detective would be able to obtain records about the group home. They needed it for their case. So, I hoped so. I guess asking Christian was worth a shot.

It didn't feel like sleep was going to visit me any time soon, so I accepted defeat and pushed the blankets down my legs. My feet flattened on the floor as I rolled out of bed. I then maneuvered towards the window as carefully as I could—so as to not make too much noise.

Robert's house was encased in darkness as all the other houses along the strip were. Still, I felt the need to stalk him from a distance. The same thought had been passing through my head since this afternoon. What if Robert was amongst the teens living in the group home at one point?

I didn't know his age but he seemed old enough to fit the time frame. Not to mention that vision. I'd also thought, what if the victims once lived in the group home too? Was that what my stalker wanted me to know? It was possible. But if that were the case, that meant it was also possible that their murderer came from the group home as well.

Normally, my first thought would have been awesome. This was the kind of information that made Logan and Christian's lives ten times easier when solving a case. However, there was a terrible feeling in my gut and a soft voice whispering in my head. Call it intuition or whatever, but it warned me not to be too hasty. I had a bad habit of doing that.

It went like this—everything seemed simple on a surface level. However, my stalker offered this information up with no issue. That could either mean one or two things. One: Whoever was behind this wasn't as careful as I gave them credit for. Or two, which I was betting all my marbles on: This was just the beginning of a long game that I didn't want to be a part of. The harsh reality of the second option was already weighing down on me.

If true, that only meant my stalker was smarter than I thought, and the goal in question may have been a little more complex than I'd have liked. Hell, what could this person have wanted from a seventeen-year-old kid? This was way too aggravating.

I groaned through clenched teeth and pushed my head against the window.

"Where are you?" My voice got lost in the silence. Not that I particularly wanted to see who'd been stalking me. But knowing they were there was a lot better than wondering if they were, and when they'd show themselves. Guess tonight was going to be another night of wondering.

* * *

My knuckles were rapid fire as I banged on Christian's door. His first mistake was telling me that I could show up any time I wanted to when he responded to my text yesterday. Maybe it was my paranoia, but I'd circled the block three times on my bike to make sure I wasn't being tailed, followed, or watched. I couldn't risk leading a trail back to Christian.

Even then, there was still room for error. So making sure he let me in as fast as possible didn't hurt. Besides, I'd have felt immense guilt if someone found out where my brother lived. Regardless of him being a detective who could defend himself. It'd still have sucked.

"Geez! What the hell, Tyler?" Christian swung the door open, a glare sitting pretty on his face, aimed at me. He had a spatula in one hand, his other hand tight on the door. The apron hanging from his neck—that I'd admit, he looked quite silly in—caught my attention. Mr. Good Lookin' is Cookin', it said in bold white letters.

"Seriously?" I cringed and pointed to the words.

"Shut up and bring your ass inside," he huffed. I chuckled. The door closed behind me with a thud, then Christian slipped past me into the kitchen. It was then I sniffed the mouth-watering aroma in the air. Cheeseburgers and tater tots, it smelled like. My stomach growled.

"Is this why you couldn't pick me up yourself?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'm hungry and I figured you'd want something to eat too. Hungry?"

I shrugged. "Sure, I could go for some food."

"Did you get here okay? You didn't forget how to get here by yourself, did you?" He walked back out the kitchen, spatula still in hand.

"Ah no, no. I'm fine. I mean, I was fine. Yeah, no issues. . ."

His eyes narrowed. "What's on your mind?"

"What?" I frowned.

"What's on your mind?" he repeated. "First off, I get this vague text about you needing to talk to me while I'm at work. Then, I answer, offer to call you, and you say we need to talk in person. So, what the hell have you gotten yourself into this time?"

I scoffed. "Why do you always think I'm in trouble?"

"Are you not in trouble then?" Christian waved the spatula at me.

"Okay no . . . not exactly," I muttered.

"What's going on then, Tyler?" He frowned. I followed him back into the kitchen. He took his place at the stove, flipping the remaining burgers. I leaned against his counter. My tongue was filled with so many words, I had no idea where to start.

"I think . . . I saw someone," I said.

"You saw someone?" he hummed.

"I saw someone outside our house."

He paused mid-flip. "Outside your house? . . .What kind of someone?"

"Someone wearing all black who I think sent me a package."

The spatula hit the floor.

"Like a stalker?" he blurted, eyes wide.

"I think so?" I chuckled nervously. I then reached into the backpack I'd brought along with me, unveiling the package from inside. "I received this delivery yesterday." Christian wasted no time snatching the box. He peeked inside, his eyebrows furrowing in concern.

"What is this?"

"It's about the lake house. Or should I say, Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens."

"Um what?"

"The lake house was previously known as Lake Bellinor's Group Home for Teens."

"And someone sent you this. . ." he asked, dumbfounded.

"I don't know who. But when I was at the lake house the day after I left your apartment, I snapped a few photos, and in one of them, I caught this"—after pulling out my phone, I flashed him the picture of the creepy shadow—"Mr. Jefferson and Patty suspected it might've been a person. We had a few doubts, but after receiving this package. . ."

"You think it is," Christian stated. Damn, I hated how quiet he got.

"Well, don't just stand there. Say something," I begged.

"Give me a minute. I'm thinking—shit!" he turned to the stove and hissed as smoke rose from the pan, setting off the fire alarm. "Get that for me, please!" I ran to the nearest smoke alarm, muffling the obnoxious, ear-piercing beeps. Soon, all was quiet again. The soft sizzling of the burgers as they left the pan, and were placed in a nearby tray filled my ears.

"Okay, okay." He sighed once everything was calm again. I could feel his detective instincts pooling in like a light switch flipping on. "Did you notice anyone on your way here?"

"I circled around the neighborhood three times," I responded.

"Okay good. Any more stalker sightings? When did this happen?"

"No, the last time I saw them was three days ago. They were lurking around the house late at night. It felt like they were staring at my bedroom window. At me. I thought I imagined them. . ."

"Jesus Christ, Tyler." Christian scowled. "And this package?"

"I think whoever was watching me wanted me to know this. . . They purposely addressed it in my name. I'm not sure why. But obviously, they know I was investigating something."

"I don't like this. . . Not one fucking bit." Christian gnawed at his knuckles, his stress oozing from his tone. I'd never seen my brother look so out of whack. Maybe if I'd been more careful this would have never happened. Maybe if I never went to the lake house on my own, this would have never happened. All of the maybe's in the world wouldn't help rid me of my guilt though.

"Are you going to tell my mom?"

"Are you kidding me, Tyler? Of course! Any other time, sure, I'm willing to compromise. But not this time. This is no joke. If someone has been watching you since you left that house, then there's no telling what they'll do. Or what they're thinking of. Or what kind of person they are."

"No, I-I know . . . I understand perfectly." I sighed.

Christian dragged his hands down his face. "Fuck, why did I let you do this?" And so, his pacing began. His arms dropped to his sides, his fingers curling and uncurling. It was like he had no idea what to do with himself. Not that I could blame him.

"Christian, what if they send me more packages?"

"We're going to find them before anything else happens." He glared.

"But what if you don't? Let's be realistic about this for a second." His glare softened. As much as he wanted to play the big brother role right now, he knew just as well as I knew that there was a chance they wouldn't find this person so easily.

"If you receive any more packages, you tell me immediately. If you see any strange people lurking around your house again, you tell me immediately. I need to be the first to know."

"Understood." For once, I didn't argue. This wasn't the time for unnecessary debates or negotiations. Not when there was an actual threat this time. It was still hard for me to believe.

"Christian," I spoke up again.

He sighed. "What is it?"

"Why do you think they sent me this? I mean, it's pretty weird isn't it? To send me background information about the lake house. This is basically a clue to who they are."

"Or . . . it's a puzzle piece," responded Christian.

"A puzzle piece?"

"A puzzle piece—not to clue us in on who they are—but to help us figure out why they murdered the three victim's. It looks like they're toying with you and testing you all at once."

"So, you also think it's the same person? My stalker and the victim's murderer?"

"It's either that or one hell of a coincidence. But it definitely looks like you've finally dragged in a stray from your vision hunts. . ." I hated to think he was right, but I didn't know what to think anymore. And by the sounds of it, neither did he.