The eBay Review

"The eBay Review," I muttered, scrolling down to the feedback section of my seller profile. It was 11 PM on a Friday. The house was quiet, save for the rhythmic *thump-thump* of Marcus pacing in the living room, ostensibly "cooling off" after our fight about the garage. I was hiding in the attic, surrounded by the dusty detritus of other people's lives—Gary's "junk"—trying to find solace in the one place where I felt something resembling control.

My phone screen glowed blue in the darkness, illuminating the stacks of cardboard boxes labeled "Misc." and "Kitchen??". I had listed the vintage silver locket three days ago, right after the first Zillow incident. It had sold within hours for $500, a sum that felt like a lifeline. I had shipped it to the P.O. Box, anonymous and safe, and tried to forget about the inscription inside.

*To Maya, Love Mom.*

Now, the buyer had left feedback.

*M_B_88: Beautiful item. Exactly like the one my sister had before she died. Fast shipping. Thank you.*

My breath hitched. *Exactly like the one my sister had.* Not "a nice locket." Not "good condition."

*Before she died.*

I stared at the username. *M_B_88.*

Maya B.

I clicked on the user's profile again. *Member since: October 17, 2026.* Two days ago.

But the review mentioned a sister.

I typed "Maya B 88 sister death Atlanta" into the search bar, my fingers trembling slightly.

Nothing. Just more articles about traffic accidents and humidity.

I tried "Maya B missing Atlanta."

This time, a hit.

A cached page from a neighborhood blog called *Buckhead_Safety_Watch*. The post was dated October 15, 2023.

*Missing Person Alert: Maya Bishop, 24. Last seen leaving her residence at 104 Hydrangea Lane.*

The address. My address.

I clicked the link, but it was dead. *404 Error. Page Not Found.*

But the snippet was enough. Maya Bishop. She had lived here. She had vanished from here.

And I had just sold her locket to someone who claimed to be her sibling.

"Thea?" Marcus called from the hallway below. "Are you up there?"

I froze. I didn't want to talk to him. I didn't want to hear him tell me I was paranoid. I didn't want to look at his face and wonder if he knew.

"Yeah," I called back, my voice tight. "Just... looking for a suitcase."

"Well, come down. Gary's here."

My heart stopped.

"Gary?" I asked, crawling toward the attic ladder. "Why is Gary here?"

"He says he needs to check the HVAC filter," Marcus said. "For the open house."

The open house that supposedly wasn't happening. The open house Gary had denied knowing about.

I scrambled down the ladder, my bare feet hitting the carpet with a dull thud. I ran down the stairs, clutching my phone like a weapon.

Gary was standing in the foyer. He was wearing his signature Kirkland jeans and a polo shirt that was two sizes too small. He looked sweaty. Nervous. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding mine.

"Hey, Thea," he said, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Sorry to bug you so late. Just... you know. Maintenance."

"It's 11 PM, Gary," I said. "And you told me you were in Vegas."

"I got back early," he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Look, I just need five minutes. The filter is in the attic, right?"

"No," I said. "The filter is in the hallway ceiling. You know that."

Gary blinked. "Right. Right. Hallway. My bad."

He didn't move toward the hallway. He looked at the stairs. He looked at the ceiling where the attic access was.

"Why are you really here, Gary?" I asked, stepping closer.

"I told you," he said, his voice rising. "Maintenance. Look, Thea, you've been a great tenant, but this... this attitude is why people get evicted."

"Evicted?" I laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. "You're selling the house! I found the listing!"

"I didn't list it!" Gary shouted. "I told you! It's hackers! Or... or a glitch!"

"Stop lying to me!" I screamed. "Who is Elowen Vance? Why does she have a key? Why is she staging my house?"

Gary flinched at the name. His face went pale.

"I don't know who that is," he muttered, looking at the floor.

"Liar," I whispered.

I held up my phone. I showed him the eBay feedback.

"Who is Maya Bishop, Gary?" I asked. "And why did she leave her locket in the attic?"

Gary stared at the screen. His eyes widened. He looked like he was about to be sick.

"Where did you get that?" he whispered.

"In the attic," I said. "Where you keep your 'junk'. The junk you told me I could sell."

Gary lunged for the phone.

I stepped back, but he was faster than he looked. He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong.

"Give me that!" he yelled. "That's my property! You stole it!"

"It was Maya's!" I shouted, struggling against him. "It says 'To Maya' inside!"

"Maya is gone!" Gary roared. "She's gone! And you're going to be gone too if you don't shut up!"

Marcus stepped between us, shoving Gary back.

"Hey!" Marcus shouted. "Get your hands off her!"

Gary stumbled, hitting the wall. He looked at Marcus, then at me. He was breathing hard, sweat dripping down his forehead.

"You don't understand," he said, his voice shaking. "You don't know what you're dealing with."

"Tell us," I said, rubbing my wrist. "Tell us what happened to Maya."

Gary shook his head. "I can't. They'll... they'll ruin me."

"Who?" I asked. "Elowen?"

Gary didn't answer. He just looked at the door.

"I have to go," he said. "I have to... I have to fix this."

He turned and ran out the front door, slamming it behind him.

I stood in the foyer, my heart pounding. Marcus looked at me, his face pale.

"He knows," Marcus said. "He knows everything."

"Yeah," I said. "He does."

I looked at my phone again. The eBay app was still open.

A new message had appeared in my inbox.

It wasn't from the buyer.

It was from a user named *El_Elevates*.

*I hope you enjoyed the $500, Thea. You're going to need it for the lawyer.*

I stared at the screen.

She knew about the eBay sale. She knew about the locket.

Because she was the one who bought it.

*M_B_88.*

Maya Bishop 88.

Elowen Vance had created a fake account using the dead girl's name.

She had bought the locket back.

I looked at the timestamp on the message.

*11:05 PM.*

Right now.

"Thea," Marcus whispered. "Look at the window."

I turned.

Outside, in the driveway, Gary's truck was peeling away, tires screeching.

But parked across the street, under the streetlight, was a black SUV.

The engine was off. The windows were dark.

But the interior light was on.

And sitting in the driver's seat, illuminated by the soft glow, was a woman.

She was holding a silver locket.

She looked up at the house. She looked right at me.

And then, she smiled.

It was Elowen Vance.

And she was wearing my watch.