Chapter 1 - The Voice Behind the Vent
I walked into the kitchen and found my seven-year-old son on his knees.
“Ethan… what are you doing?”
He spun around.
Three pieces of bread fell from his hand.
His face went white.
Behind him was the low metal vent beneath the kitchen cabinets.
Ethan had been pushing food through the slats.
“She said never to tell you,” he whispered.
“Who?”
His eyes filled.
“The little girl.”
My stomach tightened.
“What little girl?”
“She’s hungry.”
I moved toward the vent.
Claire came running into the kitchen.
My wife threw herself between me and the wall.
“Ryan, don’t open it!”
I stopped.
Not because she yelled.
Because Claire looked terrified.
Then we heard it.
A tiny cry.
From inside the wall.
Ethan backed away.
I dropped to my knees.
A small hand appeared between the metal slats.
Dirty fingers curled around the edge.
Then a weak voice whispered:
“Daddy… help me.”
Every sound in the room disappeared.
I slowly turned toward Claire.
She stepped backward.
“Why did she call me Daddy?”
Claire opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I reached for the screws holding the vent.
She grabbed my shoulder.
“Ryan, please.”
I looked at her.
“Move.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Her eyes dropped toward Ethan.
That was when my son whispered:
“Mom said she would disappear if I told you.”
Claire snapped toward him.
“Ethan!”
I stood.
My blood went cold.
“How long has he known?”
Claire began crying.
“How long?”
Ethan answered for her.
“Since Christmas.”
Christmas had been four months ago.
For four months, my son had been sneaking food to a frightened child hidden inside my house.
And my wife knew.
I grabbed my screwdriver.
Claire suddenly said something that stopped my hand.
“If you open that wall, Ryan, you’re going to lose everything.”
I stared at her.
“My job?”
She shook her head.
“Our house?”
Another shake.
May you like
Then she whispered:
“Your family.”
