Chapter 2
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
Three times.
Mrs. Carter had recorded Rachel locking my children inside that kennel three separate times.
I stared at those words until they blurred.
Rachel was still on the phone.
“Michael?”
I swallowed.
“Yeah.”
“What is wrong with you tonight?”
I looked at the frozen image on my screen.
Emma’s tiny fingers were wrapped around the metal bars.
Noah’s wet face was pressed against her shoulder.
My daughter was trying to protect her little brother while the woman who was supposed to protect both of them stood outside holding an umbrella.
Nothing had ever made me feel so helpless.
“Nothing,” I said.
My voice sounded strangely calm.
“I’m just tired.”
Rachel sighed.
“Then go to sleep.”
“I will.”
“Good.”
She hung up.
I immediately called Mrs. Carter.
She answered after one ring.
“Oh, thank God.”
“Are they still outside?”
“No. She brought them in maybe two minutes ago.”
“Can you see them?”
“No.”
“Are you sure they’re inside?”
“Yes. I watched her unlock the kennel.”
I closed my eyes.
“When did this start?”
Mrs. Carter was silent.
“Michael…”
“Please.”
“The first time I saw it was about three weeks ago.”
Three weeks.
I had traveled twice during those three weeks.
“How long were they locked outside?”
“The first time? Maybe twenty minutes.”
My stomach turned.
“The second time?”
“Longer.”
“How long?”
“Almost an hour.”
I stood so quickly the hotel chair crashed backward.
“An hour?”
“I called Rachel.”
“You called her?”
“I told her I could see the children. I told her I would call the police if she didn’t bring them inside.”
“What did she say?”
Mrs. Carter’s voice became quiet.
“She said they needed to learn consequences.”
I walked to the window.
Chicago lights glowed through the rain.
My children were hundreds of miles away.
I had never hated distance more.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I tried.”
I froze.
“What?”
“I called you twice last Tuesday.”
I grabbed my second phone.
My work phone.
There were dozens of missed calls from clients and numbers I didn’t recognize.
“Which number?”
She told me.
I searched.
Nothing.
Then I checked blocked contacts.
My chest tightened.
Mrs. Carter’s number was there.
Blocked.
“I never blocked you.”
“I didn’t think you did.”
Rachel had access to my phone whenever I was home.
She knew the passcode.
She knew everything.
“Send me every video.”
“I already did.”
Three files arrived.
I couldn’t press play.
Not yet.
“Mrs. Carter, I need you to do something.”
“Anything.”
“If Rachel puts them outside again, call the police immediately.”
“I will.”
“And please keep recording.”
“I will.”
“Don’t confront her.”
“I’m not afraid of Rachel.”
“I am.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
Not afraid for myself.
Afraid of what Rachel might do if she realized someone was watching.
I opened the airline app.
The last direct flight had already departed.
Every morning flight was delayed because of the storm system.
I searched neighboring airports.
Nothing useful.
Then I called the airline.
“I need the earliest possible flight to Nashville.”
The agent searched.
“There is a connection through Atlanta departing at 5:40 a.m.”
“Book it.”
“It’s expensive.”
“I don’t care.”
After I hung up, I called Nashville police.
I explained everything.
The dispatcher transferred me.
Then transferred me again.
Finally, I spoke with an officer.
“Are the children currently in immediate danger?”
“I don’t know.”
“Sir, are they outside right now?”
“No.”
“Do you have evidence?”
“Video.”
“Do you know when it was recorded?”
“Tonight.”
The officer became more serious.
“We can send someone for a welfare check.”
“Please.”
“Are there weapons in the home?”
“No.”
“Any history of domestic violence?”
The question hit me harder than it should have.
“No.”
At least I thought there wasn’t.
Then Emma’s words replayed in my head.
Daddy said you’re not allowed to lock us up anymore.
I had never said that.
Because I had never known.
Which meant Emma had either imagined saying it to me…
Or someone had told her to pretend I knew.
Why?
I opened the first older video.
Bright afternoon.
No rain.
The kennel was in direct sunlight.
Noah was lying on the concrete.
Emma was standing at the bars.
Rachel sat on a patio chair scrolling through her phone.
Emma asked for water.
Rachel didn’t look up.
“Not until you stop whining.”
The video ended.
My hands shook.
The second recording was worse.
It was nighttime.
The patio light was off.
Mrs. Carter had zoomed through her upstairs window.
I could barely see the kennel.
But I could hear Emma.
“Mommy, I’m sorry.”
Then Rachel’s voice.
“If Daddy calls, what are you going to tell him?”
Emma cried.
“That we’re playing.”
“Playing what?”
A pause.
“Hide-and-seek.”
I stopped the video.
Every hair on my arms stood up.
This wasn’t something Rachel had invented tonight.
She had trained my four-year-old daughter to lie to me.
I called Mrs. Carter back.
“Did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t know how much you knew.”
“I knew nothing.”
“I understand that now.”
A message appeared from an unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then I read it.
Stop asking questions if you want your kids safe.
I stared at the screen.
“Mrs. Carter.”
“What?”
“Did you text me from another number?”
“No.”
I took a screenshot.
Someone knew what I was doing.
My phone rang.
Rachel.
I hesitated before answering.
“Hello?”
Her tone was different now.
Cold.
“Did you call the police?”
I said nothing.
“Michael.”
“I asked them to check on my children.”
“Our children.”
“Then let them check.”
“You embarrassed me.”
My jaw tightened.
“Where are Emma and Noah?”
“Asleep.”
“I want to see them.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“Turn on video.”
“No.”
“Rachel.”
“You don’t order me around.”
The anger in her voice rose suddenly.
“You disappear for work whenever you want, and then you think you get to judge everything I do?”
“I’m not discussing our marriage. I want to see the children.”
“You really want to do this?”
“Turn on video.”
She laughed once.
Then the call switched.
Video.
Rachel’s face filled the screen.
Her hair was wet.
Behind her was the kitchen.
“Happy?”
“Show me the kids.”
“They’re sleeping.”
“Show me.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Then she walked upstairs.
She opened Emma’s bedroom.
Empty.
My chest stopped.
“Where is she?”
Rachel quickly turned the camera.
“I opened the wrong door.”
“You opened Emma’s room.”
Rachel said nothing.
“Where are my children?”
The doorbell rang.
Rachel flinched.
Hard.
“Police?” I asked.
“You’re unbelievable.”
She ended the call.
I immediately called Mrs. Carter.
“They’re there,” she whispered.
“You can see the officers?”
“Yes. Two patrol cars.”
“Can you see Rachel?”
“She just opened the front door.”
“What about the kids?”
“Wait.”
Silence.
I paced the hotel room.
Then Mrs. Carter gasped.
“What?”
“One officer is going around back.”
“Can you see the kennel?”
“Yes.”
“Is anyone inside?”
“No.”
I exhaled.
Then she said, “Wait.”
My heart jumped again.
“What?”
“Rachel is bringing them downstairs.”
“Can you see them?”
“Not clearly.”
Another minute passed.
“They’re talking to the officers now.”
I covered my mouth.
I wanted to teleport through the phone.
“Do they look okay?”
“I think so.”
Then my phone rang.
Unknown Nashville number.
I answered.
“Mr. Harris?”
“Yes.”
“This is Officer Reynolds with Metro Nashville Police.”
I stopped moving.
“We conducted the welfare check.”
“Are my children safe?”
“They appear physically safe at this moment.”
At this moment.
Not the answer I wanted.
“Did you see the video?”
“Your neighbor showed us.”
“And?”
“We’re documenting it.”
“Are you leaving them with Rachel?”
There was a pause.
“For tonight, we are contacting the appropriate child services unit and making a report.”
“For tonight?”
“Mr. Harris, I understand you’re upset.”
“Upset?”
My voice cracked.
“My three-year-old was locked in a kennel during a thunderstorm.”
“I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
Another pause.
Then Officer Reynolds lowered his voice.
“There is something else.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“Your daughter said something while we were speaking with her.”
I felt cold again.
“What did she say?”
“She asked whether we were going to check the downstairs room.”
“What downstairs room?”
“That’s what we asked.”
“And?”
“She stopped talking when your wife walked into the hallway.”
I stared at the wall.
Officer Reynolds continued.
“We asked Mrs. Harris whether there was a room downstairs.”
“She said?”
“She said your daughter makes up stories.”
I closed my eyes.
There was only one finished room downstairs.
My home office.
And one unfinished storage area beside the furnace.
Then I remembered something.
Two months earlier, I had returned from a trip and found a new lock installed on the basement utility door.
Rachel told me Noah had learned to open it.
She said it was for safety.
I had believed her.
“Officer.”
“Yes?”
“There’s a door beside the furnace.”
“I know.”
My heartbeat pounded in my ears.
“Did you open it?”
“We asked your wife.”
“And?”
“She said she lost the key.”
I grabbed my suitcase.
“Break the door.”
“Sir—”
“Break it.”
“We need legal grounds.”
“My four-year-old daughter asked you to check that room.”
“I hear you.”
“No. Listen to me.”
I was shouting now.
“If Emma is afraid of that room, there is a reason.”
The officer remained calm.
“We have contacted child services. Someone will follow up.”
“When?”
“As soon as possible.”
I nearly threw the phone.
Then another text appeared.
From Mrs. Carter.
A photograph.
The basement window on the side of my house.
Something small and pink was pressed against the glass from inside.
I enlarged it.
A stuffed rabbit.
Emma’s stuffed rabbit.
The one she slept with every night.
Under the picture, Mrs. Carter had written four words.
May you like
Michael.
That window is locked.
