| emma’s pov |
I knocked on the door of the address written on the paper. I called up the number next to Riley Brown earlier, and the lady gave me this place, saying the Brown family moved here. But she didn’t say anything specific about Riley.
A man, about sixty years old, opened the door. He looked at me strangely, like he hasn’t had visitors in years, but he greeted me, “Hello. Uh, how may I help you, young lady?”
“Good afternoon, sir. Does Riley Brown live here?”
The man gulped, opening the door wide, so I could go in. “I’m his father. You are?”
I was awestruck; he lived with his parents? Well, I am, too, but I was seventeen! “I’m Emma, sir. I would just like to ask him about Tabitha, his old friend?”
The man closed his eyes and his lips seemed to quiver. “Riley’s… dead. But… bu
