I felt a sudden pit in my stomach.
I stepped around him.
“Toby, why didn’t you answer your phone?”
“I left it upstairs after I sent the picture. You weren’t supposed to see him.”
I slowly turned around.
“See who?”
“You weren’t supposed to see him.”
Toby pointed at the thing in the chair.
“Him.”
Someone was sitting in Julian’s chair. They wore dark jeans and a gray sweatshirt, a baseball cap pulled low over their face, with Julian’s own sneakers planted firmly near the rug.
For one terrible second, my brain still saw a man.
Toby pointed at the thing in the chair.
Then I moved sideways.
The head rolled.
A soccer ball slipped out from beneath the cap, bounced once off the armrest, and hit the floor.
I stared.
The jeans were stuffed with couch cushions.
A towel poked from the collar.
Julian’s shoes had been tied around the stuffed pant legs.
