Chapter 1 - Under the blue tarp
My name is Michael Carter.
I was thirty-nine years old when I found my ten-year-old daughter locked inside a dog cage behind the house where she was supposed to be safe.
It was a Thursday afternoon in late May.
The rain had ended less than an hour earlier.
Everything behind Laura’s house looked washed out and neglected.
Wet grass.
Mud.
A sagging wooden fence.
An above-ground shed with one broken window.
Tools scattered beneath a plastic workbench.
The swimming pool had gone green weeks earlier because the pump was broken.
And near the back corner of the yard stood two old metal dog runs left by the previous owner.
Laura had talked about getting rid of them.
She never did.
At 4:11 p.m., Mrs. Harris called me.
Her first name was Dorothy, though everyone on the street called her Mrs. Harris.
Seventy-three.
Widowed.
Lived behind Laura’s house for sixteen years.
She said:
“Michael, I think Emily is crying outside.”
I was halfway through a service call at an office park twenty minutes away.
I worked for a commercial HVAC company.
“Outside where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I can hear her. I think it’s from the old kennel area.”
My body went cold.
“Where’s Laura?”
“Her car isn’t there.”
“What about Derek?”
“I saw his truck earlier.”
Derek Shaw.
Laura’s boyfriend.
Forty-one.
Living in her house for five months.
I did not like him.
That did not mean I had evidence he was dangerous.
At least that was what I had told myself.
“Call 911.”
“I did. They said someone is coming.”
“I’m coming too.”
I left.
No permission from my supervisor.
No finishing the job.
I drove.
Mrs. Harris was waiting by the rear gate when I arrived.
She had unlocked it because she still had an old emergency key from Laura.
“Michael.”
“Where?”
She pointed.
Behind the shed.
A blue tarp had been pulled over one of the old dog cages.
I heard something.
Not crying now.
A faint scraping sound.
“Emily?”
Nothing.
I ran.
Grabbed the tarp.
Ripped it away.
My daughter was curled inside.
Pale blue hoodie.
Jeans.
Bare feet.
One sneaker lay outside the cage.
Her hair stuck damply to her forehead.
There were bruises on one knee and one forearm.
She clutched nothing.
Her favorite stuffed rabbit was nowhere in sight.
Her eyes opened.
“Dad?”
I dropped to my knees.
“Emily! I’m here—don’t panic!”
The cage door was secured with a small brass padlock.
Not a toy latch.
A real lock.
I grabbed the pliers lying among the scattered tools.
Clamped them onto the metal.
Pulled.
Nothing.
Again.
Emily started crying.
“Dad.”
“I’ve got you.”
I twisted until my wrist hurt.
The shackle bent.
One more wrench.
Snap.
The lock fell into the mud.
I pulled the cage door open.
Emily crawled out.
Then launched herself into me.
Both arms around my neck.
“Dad… please get me out of here.”
I held her so tightly I was afraid I was hurting her.
“I’m here.”
Her body felt cold despite the warm afternoon.
Mrs. Harris covered her mouth.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I lifted Emily.
She buried her face against my shoulder.
“You’re safe. I’m getting you out.”
Then her body suddenly went rigid.
I followed her stare.
The pool.
Green water.
Leaves.
Algae.
And beneath the surface near the shallow end, several tied black contractor bags.
Three that I could see.
Maybe four.
A strip of silver duct tape floated against the wall.
Emily grabbed my shirt.
Hard.
“Please don’t look at the pool.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She shook her head violently.
“Please.”
Movement caught my eye.
Upstairs.
Behind the curtain in Laura’s bedroom.
A shadow moved away from the window.
Then the back-door handle began rotating.
Slowly.
Mrs. Harris backed toward the gate.
May you like
I tightened my grip on Emily and took one step backward.
“Who’s inside that house?”
