Chapter 12 - HOW HE GOT OUTCharles’s basement had a narrow window behind storage shelves.
Eli knew it.
When he was ten, Grandpa let him climb through it after they accidentally locked themselves outside during a barbecue.
Children remember escape routes adults forget teaching them.
At 7:01, someone rang the front doorbell.
Grocery delivery.
Denise went upstairs.
Charles followed.
Mark took a call in the garage.
Eli was alone for perhaps two minutes.
His left shoe had come off during the fall.
His ribs hurt badly.
He climbed onto an old plastic storage trunk.
Pushed the window.
It stuck.
He pushed again with his shoulder.
The latch tore loose from old wood.
He squeezed through.
Dropped into hydrangeas.
Then ran.
One block.
Maybe two.
He could not remember.
He cut through yards because he heard Mark’s SUV.
Did Mark see him?
No evidence he did.
A neighbor’s camera later captured the SUV turning onto Jefferson Street at 7:14.
Eli was three streets east.
He lost speed.
Walked.
Leaned against fences.
At one point sat behind a parked truck for five minutes.
Then continued.
Seven blocks.
His bare foot was cut by gravel but he kept moving.
He told investigators:
“I knew if I could get to the crooked mailbox, Dad would see me.”
Not the porch.
Not the door.
The mailbox.
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My stupid crooked mailbox had become a landmark of safety.
I did not learn that until much later.
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