Chapter 7 - Behind the Locked Door
Police entered through the open front door.
Nathan showed them Ava’s photographs and video.
An officer accompanied Ava and Diane upstairs.
Nathan remained between Wade and the staircase.
Franklin sat on the sofa with his head in his hands.
The silver key fit the lock.
Diane turned it.
The door opened six inches before something heavy blocked it.
A dresser had been pushed against the inside.
“Tommy?” Ava called.
No answer.
The officers forced the gap wider.
The room smelled of stale air and disinfectant.
The windows had been painted shut.
A thin mattress lay on the floor.
There was no bed frame.
No toys.
No visible bathroom.
A plastic bucket sat behind a folding screen.
Diane covered her mouth.
Then Ava saw movement beside the dresser.
Tommy was curled beneath a blanket.
Small.
Pale.
His dark hair had been cut unevenly.
One ankle was secured to the dresser leg with a padded medical restraint.
There was no blood.
No open wound.
But the condition of the room told its own story.
Ava dropped to her knees several feet away.
“It’s me.”
Tommy opened his eyes.
He looked first at Ava.
Then at Diane.
“Is he gone?”
Diane began crying.
“He can’t hurt you right now.”
Tommy did not believe her.
He looked toward the hallway.
A police officer radioed for paramedics and child-protection investigators.
When the restraint was unlocked, Tommy refused to stand.
Ava remained where he could see her.
“You don’t have to come out fast.”
He stared at her bandaged hand.
“Did he hurt you?”
Ava shook her head.
“I got away.”
Tommy’s face folded.
“I tried.”
Diane turned away, devastated.
Downstairs, Wade heard the radio traffic.
He pushed past Nathan.
Nathan caught him and held him against the wall until officers handcuffed him.
Wade shouted that Tommy was dangerous.
That the restraint was medical.
That Rachel had caused the boy’s problems.
Franklin finally stood.
“Stop.”
Wade stared at his father.
Franklin’s voice cracked.
“You said the same thing about Rachel.”
The name changed Wade’s face.
Nathan noticed.
So did the detective entering the room.
“What happened to Rachel?” the detective asked.
May you like
Franklin looked toward the ceiling where paramedics were lifting Tommy onto a stretcher.
Then he whispered, “I think my son killed her.”
