He also found the master bedroom unoccupied—although in that case the bed remained very neatly made.
Harlin’s eyes noticed one thing, though, that troubled him slightly: one of Sarah’s shoes lay on the carpet a few centimeters from the bed on the side on which he usually slept. The shoe rested on its side and, from where Harlin stood, the one that matched it was nowhere in sight. It was unusual not only in that it was out in the open without its mate, but that it was out on the floor at all. Harlin could remember only a handful of times when Sarah had not kept her shoes neatly stacked in her closet—and all of those had taken place during their much younger days when they were either dating or newlyweds.
His head began to buzz unpleasantly from his swelling uneasiness. He walked over the shoe, picked it up, and examined it, turning it over in his hand. It looked undamaged as far as he could tell. Looking down, he quickly scanned the floor for its mate. He failed to find it. Still holding the shoe, he moved toward the bathroom.
It, too, was empty. Harlin stood, rolling the shoe absently between his hands, trying to understand the situation: the house had been unlocked, his family appeared to be missing, and there were as yet no clear signs as to where they might be—or what might possibly have happened to them.
Harlin placed the shoe lightly down on the bed and headed back into the hallway.
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