Chapter 12 - The Window Was Open
I reached Lily’s room in eight seconds.
The window was open.
Cold night air poured through the curtains, lifting them like pale hands. Lily stood in the corner beside the dresser, screaming without sound now, her mouth open but empty.
Mia came running behind me with a baseball bat.
“What happened?”
I crossed the room and scooped Lily up. Her body was rigid.
“She was there,” Lily gasped. “Grandma was outside.”
I looked at the window.
The screen had been cut.
Mia whispered, “Oh my God.”
I carried Lily into the hallway and handed her to Mia only long enough to check the yard. The backyard was dark, fenced, and empty. But beneath the window, in the flower bed, were footprints.
And something white caught on a rosebush.
A glove.
Navy blue trim.
Evelyn’s color.
I called Barnes.
Then Maya.
Then I called Taylor.
She answered on the first ring.
“Daniel?”
“She came to Mia’s house.”
Taylor’s breath stopped. “Is Lily hurt?”
“No. But the window screen is cut.”
A sound came through the phone—half sob, half rage.
“She’s not supposed to be able to—she has an ankle monitor.”
“She found a way.”
“She always does.”
Police arrived within fifteen minutes. Barnes came personally, hair messy, coat half-buttoned.
He examined the glove.
“Her attorney will say anyone could plant this.”
“What about the ankle monitor?”
He looked grim. “It shows her at home.”
“She beat it?”
“Or someone helped her.”
Rebecca.
The cousin who left the key.
Or someone else still loyal.
That was the most terrifying part of Evelyn’s power. She did not need to be everywhere. She had spent a lifetime teaching other people to move for her.
Lily refused to sleep after that. We made a nest in the living room with every light on. Mia’s dog, Copper, lay beside her like a golden guard.
At four in the morning, Lily finally spoke.
“Grandma said she missed me.”
My skin crawled.
“She talked to you?”
Lily nodded. “Through the window.”
“What did she say?”
“That everybody lies. That Mommy lied. That you’ll get tired of me being scared.”
I sat beside her on the floor.
“Look at me.”
She did.
“I will never get tired of helping you heal.”
“What if it takes a hundred days?”
“Then I’ll be here a hundred days.”
“What if it takes a hundred years?”
“Then I’ll be very old and still here.”
Copper sighed loudly, as if agreeing.
Lily touched his ear. “Grandma said I belong to her.”
“No,” I said. “You belong to yourself.”
She frowned.
“You are not property,” I said. “Not mine. Not Mommy’s. Not Grandma’s. You are Lily. The grown-ups who love you are supposed to protect you, not own you.”
She thought about that for a long time.
Then she whispered, “I don’t want to be a lesson.”
The words nearly ended me.
“You’re not a lesson.”
“Grandma said children are lessons for parents.”
“She was wrong.”
“Then what am I?”
I brushed hair from her face.
“You are my daughter. You are a person. You are a little girl who likes pancakes shaped like stars and hates mushrooms and sings to dogs when she thinks nobody hears. You are not what happened to you.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
For once, they were quiet tears.
At dawn, Barnes called.
They had arrested Rebecca.
She confessed to driving Evelyn near Mia’s neighborhood, but insisted she didn’t know Evelyn planned to approach the house. She said Evelyn told her she only wanted to see Lily from a distance.
“Why would Rebecca help her after giving us the key?” I asked.
Barnes sighed. “Fear is complicated.”
I was beginning to hate that sentence.
That afternoon, Taylor requested an emergency meeting with Barnes.
I went because Maya said I had the right to hear anything related to Lily’s safety.
Taylor brought a file.
“My mother has a lake house under a trust name,” she said. “Nobody knows about it except family.”
Barnes opened the file. “Address?”
Taylor nodded.
“She used to take Henry there when Dad was away.”
My mouth went dry.
“Why are you telling us now?”
Taylor looked at me.
“Because last night I remembered something Lily said once.”
“What?”
“She told me Grandma promised to show her the room with no windows.”
The words fell into the room like a body.
May you like
Barnes stood.
“Give me the address.”
