Chapter 5. Abigail Branigan sat at the top of the stairs and listened to the commotion.

There was a spot at the very top of the Brannigan house, three steps down from the little

landing outside Abigail's bedroom, where every sound in the house filtered perfectly, if you

cared to listen.

Abigail certainly did.

She had discovered the spot years ago, and used it to keep up with all of the latest household happenings that no one thought she needed to know about.

But tonight, nothing that was being broadcast to her about the house's strange acoustics

was really a secret, nor was anyone who was doing the to her about the house's strange acoustics was really a secret,

nor was anyone who was doing the talking thinking of Abigail at all.

Jeremy's room was one floor down from Abigail's, and at the far end of the hall, but

Abigail heard everything.

It had all begun after dinner, when Jeremy had retired to his room to unpack, which in this case meant dumping the contents of the overstuffed backpack he had arrived with in the beambag chair in the corner of the room, except the beanbag chair wasn't there anymore.

And Jeremy had stood for several minutes in confusion, staring at the spot where it had once been.

He had spun his head every few moments, as if the small room offered many different places

where an aging chair that leaked styrofoam beans from three separate berseems could possibly be hidden.

"'Mom?' he had called at last.

"'Where's my chair?'

There had been no immediate reply.

A thought had suddenly seemed to occur to Jeremy,

and he had begun opening drawers and cupboards,

where he might have once seen a balled-up mass of long-forgotten clothes,

he had found only a few items neatly folded. Where stacks of shabby cardboard boxes had once

...