Chapter 3
Mark did not sleep.
Rosie finally drifted off around three in the morning with her hand wrapped around two of his fingers.
He stayed in the chair beside her hospital bed.
Every time she moved, he woke fully.
Every time her face tightened in a dream, his heart pounded.
At six twelve, his phone rang.
Detective Cole.
He stepped into the hallway.
“What did you find?”
“We recovered video.”
Mark leaned against the wall.
“How much?”
“We're still determining that.”
“Did it show Rosie?”
“Yes.”
His legs nearly gave out.
He closed his eyes.
“Tell me.”
“Mr. Bennett—”
“Tell me.”
Cole's voice remained steady.
“The footage confirms Rosie was placed inside the storage room multiple times.”
“How many?”
“We've confirmed nine incidents so far.”
Nine.
Mark gripped the phone.
“Nine?”
“Yes.”
“Over how long?”
“Approximately seven weeks.”
Mark pressed his forehead against the wall.
Seven weeks.
He thought of Tuesdays.
His late meetings.
His mother's texts.
ROSIE ATE ALL HER DINNER!
WE'RE WATCHING A MOVIE!
SHE'S HAVING SO MUCH FUN!
Nine times.
“What happened in the videos?”
Cole hesitated.
“Bethany places her in the room.”
“And?”
“Sometimes Diane is present.”
Mark shut his eyes harder.
“Does she hurt her?”
“In several clips, yes.”
He felt sick.
“What kind of camera was it?”
“Home security camera.”
“Why would they film it?”
“That is one of our questions.”
“Did they know it was recording?”
“Bethany appears to speak toward the camera in some clips.”
Mark opened his eyes.
“What does she say?”
“I can't give you all the details while the investigation is active.”
“She's my daughter.”
“I know.”
“No, you don't.”
Silence.
Mark immediately regretted it.
Cole had not hurt Rosie.
His family had.
He breathed.
“I'm sorry.”
“You don't need to apologize.”
“Please. Give me something.”
Cole lowered her voice.
“In one recording, Bethany says, ‘Maybe this one will teach you.’”
Mark's skin went cold.
“This one?”
“Yes.”
“You think there are others.”
“We know there are other children visible on the recordings.”
Mark stopped breathing.
“How many?”
“At least two.”
He stepped away from the wall.
“Who?”
“We're working on identification.”
Then he remembered.
His cousin Laura had a six-year-old son.
Diane watched him sometimes.
His cousin Eric had twin girls.
His aunt Melissa brought her granddaughter to family gatherings.
His mind began racing.
“Oh God.”
“Mr. Bennett?”
“There are other kids in the family.”
“We're aware.”
“Have you contacted them?”
“We're doing that now.”
Mark turned toward Rosie's room.
Through the glass, he saw her sleeping.
A nurse adjusted her blanket.
“Detective.”
“Yes?”
“Yesterday, when my mother said Rosie needed discipline, nobody in that room looked surprised.”
Cole was silent.
Mark continued.
“They knew.”
“We're investigating what everyone knew and when.”
“They knew.”
“Possibly.”
“No. I saw their faces.”
Mark remembered the dining room.
His aunt Carol staring down at her plate.
Uncle Stephen pretending to study his drink.
Cousin Andrew quietly moving away from Bethany.
Nobody asking what happened.
Nobody asking why Rosie was bruised.
Because they already knew something.
Maybe not everything.
But something.
“They're going to protect each other.”
Cole answered without hesitation.
“Then they can explain themselves individually.”
Mark almost smiled.
Almost.
Rosie woke an hour later.
Her first question was, “Do we have to go to Grandma's?”
“No.”
“Today?”
“Not today.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“Next week?”
Mark sat beside her.
“Rosie, you never have to go there again.”
She stared at him.
“Never?”
“Never.”
Her shoulders dropped.
A four-year-old child's entire body relaxed at the word never.
That broke him more than anything else.
She reached for the plastic cup beside her bed.
Mark helped her drink.
Then she whispered, “Is Aunt Bethany mad?”
“I don't care.”
Rosie looked surprised.
Mark softened his voice.
“Her feelings are not your responsibility.”
She frowned.
That was too complicated.
So he tried again.
“You don't have to make Aunt Bethany happy.”
“Oh.”
“You don't have to make Grandma happy.”
Rosie's eyes widened.
“You don't have to keep secrets that make you scared.”
She stared at him for a long time.
Then said, “Even the red box?”
Mark froze.
“What red box?”
Her face changed instantly.
Fear.
Mark kept his expression gentle.
“You're safe.”
“I wasn't supposed to tell.”
“Tell what?”
Rosie pulled the blanket to her chin.
“Grandma said the red box was grown-up business.”
Mark felt a chill.
“What was inside it?”
“I don't know.”
“Where was it?”
“Downstairs.”
“In the dark room?”
She shook her head.
“Other room.”
“What did Grandma do with it?”
Rosie shrugged.
“Pictures.”
Mark's pulse accelerated.
“What pictures?”
“She put papers in it.”
“Did you see the papers?”
Rosie thought.
“One had Uncle Andrew.”
Mark stared at her.
“Andrew?”
Rosie nodded.
“He was little.”
Before Mark could ask another question, a social worker entered.
He told her immediately.
Within twenty minutes, Detective Cole was back on the phone.
“There was no red box recovered during the initial search.”
“Then somebody moved it.”
“Possibly.”
“Who had access?”
“The house was secured shortly after officers arrived.”
“Shortly after.”
Mark remembered Bethany trying to go inside.
Diane telling her to go inside.
Richard giving police permission to search.
But what about the minutes before police arrived?
The family had been moving around.
His uncle Stephen had disappeared from the dining room.
Mark suddenly remembered that.
“Stephen.”
“What?”
“My uncle Stephen.”
“What about him?”
“He wasn't outside when police came.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
Mark closed his eyes, replaying the scene.
Diane.
Bethany.
Richard.
Aunt Carol.
Cousin Andrew.
But Stephen?
Gone.
“He left the dining room before I called the police.”
“I'll check body-camera footage.”
Mark paced.
“Could he have taken the box?”
“We don't know whether the box exists yet.”
“Rosie doesn't make things up.”
“I didn't say she did.”
“She's four. She remembered the color.”
“I understand.”
Mark stopped.
“Detective, what if that camera wasn't about punishment?”
Cole did not answer.
“What if they kept records?”
“We are considering every possibility.”
That answer frightened him more than reassurance would have.
They discharged Rosie later that morning.
Mark did not take her home.
Not yet.
His house was known to the entire family.
He did not trust them.
Cole arranged for a temporary protective order preventing Bethany and Diane from contacting Rosie.
Richard was also ordered not to approach Mark after throwing the glass.
Mark checked into a hotel under a reservation made through a friend.
He bought Rosie pajamas, a toothbrush, crayons, and a stuffed purple dinosaur from the hospital gift shop.
She named it Pickles.
For three hours, they watched cartoons.
For three hours, Mark pretended the world was normal.
Then someone knocked.
He froze.
Rosie immediately went silent.
That reaction told him everything.
Children should not be terrified by knocks on doors.
Mark checked the peephole.
His cousin Andrew stood outside.
Alone.
Mark opened the door but kept the security chain latched.
“What are you doing here?”
Andrew looked exhausted.
“We need to talk.”
“How did you find me?”
“Your truck.”
Mark cursed himself.
“I didn't tell anyone.”
“I believe you.”
“Can I come in?”
“No.”
Andrew looked past him.
“Is Rosie okay?”
Mark moved, blocking his view.
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“You were there last night.”
Andrew went pale.
“You saw her bruises.”
“I did.”
“You heard Bethany admit touching her.”
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
Andrew lowered his eyes.
Mark's anger rose.
“Why?”
“You wouldn't understand.”
“Try me.”
Andrew looked down the empty hallway.
Then back at Mark.
“Because Bethany did it to me too.”
Mark said nothing.
Andrew swallowed.
“When we were kids.”
Mark's hand tightened around the door.
“What?”
“Not exactly the same way.”
“Explain.”
Andrew rubbed his face.
“Bethany was seventeen. I was nine.”
Mark remembered.
Bethany had always been difficult.
Cruel jokes.
Temper.
Their parents constantly excused her.
She's spirited.
She's sensitive.
Don't provoke her.
Andrew continued.
“She used to lock me in that basement room.”
Mark's stomach dropped.
“Did my mother know?”
Andrew laughed bitterly.
“Diane taught her.”
Silence.
Mark felt the floor disappear beneath him.
“No.”
“Your mother called it the quiet room.”
Mark stared at him.
“She did it to you?”
“Not just me.”
Andrew's eyes were wet now.
“Mark, that room has been used for years.”
Rosie appeared behind him.
“Daddy?”
Mark immediately turned.
“It's okay, sweetheart.”
Andrew stepped backward.
“I shouldn't be here.”
Mark looked at him.
“Wait.”
Andrew stopped.
“What red box?”
Every bit of color disappeared from Andrew's face.
Mark knew.
“You know.”
Andrew whispered, “Who told you about that?”
“Rosie.”
Andrew closed his eyes.
“Oh God.”
“What is it?”
“Not here.”
“Tell me.”
Andrew's voice cracked.
“It's the reason everyone stayed quiet.”
Mark stared at him.
“What was inside?”
Andrew looked toward Rosie.
Then back at Mark.
“Proof.”
“Proof of what?”
“Everything.”
Before Mark could ask more, Andrew's phone buzzed.
He looked at the screen.
His face changed.
“What?”
Andrew showed him.
A message from an unknown number.
STOP TALKING.
Below it was a photograph.
May you like
Andrew standing outside Mark's hotel room.
Taken less than a minute earlier.
