by Mark Souza
her son. She tried to let go, but it had her. It jerked. Mary’s feet lifted off the floor and she flew into the abyss. The dryer door slammed closed in the empty laundry room.
Sadie McFadden watched from her apartment as the police came to the loony bin - first the blue and whites, then later, an unmarked detective car. She’d seen the Amber alert for Mary's boy on the news. It was so sad. The next day, Mary's picture showed up in the Inquirer. They said she had fled and was wanted for questioning as a person of interest in her son's disappearance. The police considered her a fugitive. Sadie didn't believe it. Mary didn't seem the type. Sure, she was out of sorts the day they talked, but who wouldn't be the day after a move with the family pet missing.
And her disappearance was so odd. They found her purse slung over the back of a chair at the dining room table as was her habit. Her wallet was still inside with all her ID and credit cards. Nothing was missing from her closet. If she’d run, she did so in her pajamas without a dime to her name. The house was to blame, Sadie knew it.
A week later the moving van came. Men loaded up Lou Givens’ things and drove off. It must have been hard for him. Sadie wondered if he believed any of it. Did he actually think the woman he loved killed his son and hid his body? Did he believe she had fled prosecution? Surely he couldn't. But what other explanation could he come to? He didn't know about the house and what it could do. Sadie wanted to tell him, to explain so he wouldn't have to be so sad, so he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life wondering, but he left before she got the chance.
A 'For Sale' sign went back up days after Lou Givens moved out. The house was famous, having been the backdrop for so many news stories. Maybe infamous was a better choice of words. The price was lower than ever. Real estate agents in their bright, red blazers held open houses and led hapless couples on guided tours. Fresh meat for the grinder.