The Game You Played by Anni Taylor

ask that in front of Phoebe, but the words rushed out. “If it turns out that it’s just someone who wants to hurt us, why did they wait? I mean, why didn’t they send them straight away?”
    “Well, one possibility is that they didn’t feel secure enough to do so. There was a heavy police presence in the early months. Maybe now they feel bold enough to send the letters.”
    Phoebe pulled her mouth in. “Makes me feel sick to think that someone might have been out there planning this all along.”
    I caught her eye. There was something fierce in her eyes, something I hadn’t seen for many months.
    “It’s all speculation at this point,” Gilroy said, glancing at both of us. “For all we know, this person might have seen a story on the internet about Tommy, and for some reason, it provoked them into doing this. Some people would do it for the attention alone. Even if it landed them with criminal charges. For that reason, I’m not going to make this public. Not yet anyway. I’d ask you both not to go to the media either. Keeping it quiet might draw this person out.”
    “So what now?” I said. “Could this person be dangerous?”
    He took a moment to answer, as if weighing up his words. “I don’t think so. But take the normal precautions you’d take, living in the city as you do. Ensure all windows and doors are secure, even when you’re at home.”
    Gilroy stayed a while longer, even though there was nothing more to be said. A bit of small talk, something to bring us back to normality. But from the distant expression on my wife’s face, there was no going back from this, not even back to how things were yesterday.
     
    *
     
    I jolted awake. Someone was knocking.
    The clock’s illuminated display on my bedside table had the time at ten past two in the morning. Maybe I’d dreamed the sounds.
    Rolling over, I turned to Phoebe, to check if she’d heard it too.
    There was no Phoebe in the bed.
    She wasn’t in the ensuite either. The door to our bathroom was open, the room empty.
    The knocking sounds rattled through the house again.
    Throwing off the covers, I jumped out and rushed down the hall. Did we have an intruder? Fuck , I should have run out and bought an alarm system last night.
    Whoever the person was, they were in Tommy’s room. Banging things—maybe going through his set of drawers. I should have a baseball bat or something— why didn’t I own a baseball bat? —and where the hell was Phoebe? If they’ve hurt her—
    From the doorframe of Tommy’s room, I got the answer to my last question. My wife was kneeling on the rug in the middle of the floor, rolling Tommy’s trains along his wooden train tracks. The carriages rolled down the hill, whacking into the carriages at the bottom, the magnet connectors making a loud metallic clatter. I hadn’t heard that sound in six months.
    She was fully dressed, in jeans and a jacket and shoes.
    “Feeb, what are you—?” I stopped mid-sentence. The expression on her face was so strangely content .
    She didn’t turn around or even acknowledge my presence. I realised then that she couldn’t hear me. She was in some weird state between being asleep and awake. Leaning against the doorframe, I watched her, not wanting to disturb her.
    Sleepwalking?
    Was it possible for someone to dress themselves and then drag out a whole train set and put it together while they were sleepwalking? It seemed that it was.
    Tommy’s toys had all been put away months ago. My mother had taken it upon herself to do the clean-up. She’d said that the way the toys had been left, all half set up and scattered on his floor, it looked like Tommy still occupied the room and was coming back any moment now. With a shake of her head, she’d called it morbid. She’d even washed Tommy’s sheets and made his bed. That had killed Phoebe. After Tommy vanished, Phoebe used to slip into Tommy’s bed and sleep there, just to breathe in the scent of him. My mother had apologised