Chap­ter 10 begins with Patri­cia doing her best to com­fort Mrs. Greene, who is shak­en after the chaos of the evening. They sit qui­et­ly togeth­er, watch­ing Miss Mary final­ly drift off to sleep. Once Patri­cia is alone, a heavy mix of guilt and con­fu­sion floods her thoughts—she knows her deci­sion to intro­duce James Har­ris to the group caught every­one off guard, and now the evening has soured. A hot wind whips through the trees, the kind that feels charged with some­thing unnat­ur­al. As she stands alone in the dri­ve­way, exposed beneath the dim glow of a dis­tant street­lamp, Patri­cia is gripped by the eerie mem­o­ry of Miss Mary and Mrs. Savage’s recent strange behav­ior. The scent of decay and unease lingers, and with a sud­den bolt of fear, she bolts inside and slams the front door. The dead­bolt is locked in haste, her pulse rac­ing.

As the house set­tles into uneasy silence, the phone sud­den­ly shrieks, send­ing a jolt through Patri­cia. It’s Grace Cavanaugh on the oth­er end, her voice crack­ling through the sta­t­ic, call­ing late to check on Miss Mary and to gen­tly express dis­ap­point­ment over the dis­rupt­ed book club evening. Grace’s tone is civ­il but cool, her dis­ap­proval bare­ly hid­den beneath polite phras­es. Patri­cia, still shak­en, apol­o­gizes for spring­ing James Har­ris on the group with­out warn­ing. Grace chalks the evening up to the book selec­tion and curt­ly ends the call. Alone again, Patri­cia reflects on Carter’s absence—he should be home, espe­cial­ly now. She climbs the stairs, hop­ing for reas­sur­ance from her chil­dren, but instead, she finds some­thing that freezes her to the floor: Korey, stand­ing in the dark, whis­per­ing about a man on the roof.

The fear becomes pal­pa­ble. Patri­cia tries to steady her­self and con­firm what Korey saw. There’s noth­ing vis­i­ble from the win­dow, only shad­ows and move­ment in the wind—but Korey is firm. She believes what she saw. Down the hall, Blue echoes the same fear, describ­ing some­one in the back­yard. The illu­sion of safe­ty with­in the house begins to unrav­el. Then Patri­cia hears it herself—a delib­er­ate, unmis­tak­able foot­step above her. Not a creak. Not the wind. Some­one is walk­ing on the roof. Her instincts shift instant­ly from dis­be­lief to sur­vival. She gath­ers both chil­dren and moves them down­stairs, try­ing to act calm even as her mind races.

She dou­ble-checks each door and win­dow, dead­bolt­ing every pos­si­ble entry, her hands trem­bling. Miss Mary, bare­ly con­scious, stirs in her room, unaware of the ris­ing ten­sion around her. Patri­cia scans the flood­lit back­yard, watch­ing for any move­ment beyond the glow­ing perime­ter. Her grip tight­ens on the phone, but when she calls 911, the sig­nal crack­les and fails. Pan­ic sharp­ens. Her bath­room window—left open earlier—is the weak link, and she knows it. Rac­ing upstairs, she hears some­thing mov­ing above her, some­thing mov­ing fast. Her breath burns and legs ache, but she hurls her­self toward the open win­dow and slams it shut just in time. A shad­ow flash­es by—close, too close.

Now there’s no doubt. The chil­dren need to get out. The plan is made quick­ly: the kids will hide with Miss Mary, and Patri­cia will run to the neigh­bors’ to call the police. As she opens the door, her heart pounds—and some­one steps inside. It’s James Har­ris. Patricia’s scream dies in her throat as he grabs her arms, speak­ing calm­ly. Relief floods her for a moment. He explains he saw the lights and want­ed to check in. Patri­cia tries to explain the dan­ger, but James insists there’s no need to call the police. He press­es past her, toward Miss Mary’s room. Sud­den­ly, Patri­cia no longer feels safe.

She tells him no—firmly, loud­ly. His demeanor shifts slight­ly, just enough for her to notice. Why doesn’t he want her to call for help? The moment stretch­es, ten­sion climb­ing, until blue lights flash out­side and flood the win­dows with police search­lights. James steps back. Offi­cers arrive and begin check­ing the house. Patri­cia, the chil­dren, and Miss Mary are moved into the garage room to stay togeth­er. James gives a state­ment and dis­ap­pears before Carter final­ly returns home. Patri­cia doesn’t speak much; she’s shak­en, aware that some­thing is deeply wrong but unsure how to name it.

In real-world terms, moments like these reflect how women are often made to sec­ond-guess their instincts, even in threat­en­ing sit­u­a­tions. Accord­ing to FBI data, most home intru­sions hap­pen dur­ing the night when peo­ple are least pre­pared. Patricia’s sto­ry under­scores the impor­tance of trust­ing one’s gut and hav­ing safe­ty plans in place—like escape routes, secure locks, and emer­gency con­tacts. This chap­ter also reminds us how fear, once dis­missed, can erupt when least expected—and how, some­times, the real dan­ger wears a famil­iar face.