Chapter 4: Her Voice on the Line
My hand locked around the phone so hard my knuckles went white.
"Cynthia." It came out as barely a breath.
"Cynthia, is that you?"
"Mom." Her voice broke on the second syllable.
"Mom, I'm okay.
I'm okay, I promise, but I need you to listen to me right now because I don't have very long."
"Where are you?
Tell me where you are — "
"I'm in Ohio.
I don't know the exact address but it's a house outside a town called Millfield.
There's a red barn across the road.
The mailbox number is 412." She said it fast, like she had rehearsed it.
"Mom, write it down."
Reyes was already moving.
His colleague had a notepad out before I could reach for anything.
"412, red barn, Millfield, Ohio," I repeated aloud.
"Reyes — "
"I have it." He was already on his radio.
"Cynthia, listen to me.
There are officers here with me right now.
They're going to find you.
Are you safe?
Are you hurt?"
"I'm not h*rt.
The woman here — she's not like him.
She doesn't know I'm calling.
She left her phone on the kitchen table when she went outside." A shaky breath.
"Mom, how did you find out?
Did something happen?"
"I took the Disney suitcase to the airport by accident.
Security found what was hidden inside."
Silence on her end.
Then: "The photos."
"Yes."
"I didn't know he kept those." Her voice dropped.
"I didn't know he kept any of it."
"Cynthia — " My throat closed.
"I need you to know that I didn't know.
I had no idea.
Not one second of one day did I know."
"I know, Mom." She was crying now.
Quietly, like she had learned to cry quietly.
"I know you didn't."
That undid me completely.
Reyes put his hand briefly on my shoulder and I gripped the phone and breathed.
"Stay where you are," I managed.
"Do not let anyone know you called.
Can you do that?"
"Yes."
"Ohio authorities are being contacted right now," Reyes said close to my ear.
"Keep her on the line as long as possible."
"Cynthia, keep talking to me.
Tell me anything.
Tell me what you had for breakfast.
Tell me about the house."
A small sound — almost a laugh, almost a sob.
"There's a dog," she said.
"A big brown one.
He sleeps on the porch.
I've been feeding him pieces of my toast every morning because he looks at me like I'm the only person who's ever been kind to him."
"What's his name?"
"I don't think he has one.
I've been calling him Biscuit."
I pressed my free hand over my mouth.
"That's a good name," I said when I could speak again.
"That's a very good name."
We stayed on the line like that for eleven minutes.
She told me about the house.
The woman who lived there — she called her Carol — who cooked real meals and never raised her voice but also never answered questions about when Cynthia could leave or call home.
She told me about the bedroom she'd been given, with yellow curtains and a bookshelf full of paperback novels.
She told me she had read every single one of them twice.
Fourteen years old.
Alone in a house in Ohio.
Reading the same paperback novels twice because there was nothing else to do.
Then she went quiet suddenly.
"She's coming back inside," Cynthia whispered.
"I have to go."
"Cynthia — "
"I love you, Mom."
The line went d*ad.
I stood holding the silent phone until Reyes spoke.
"Ohio State Police have been dispatched to Millfield.
We have the address." He paused.
"Ma'am, I need to ask you one more question."
I turned to face him.
"Your husband," he said carefully.
"Do you have any reason to believe he is currently at your home address?"
I thought about Gary's voice on the phone.
The panic.
The way he had said *come home* over and over, like a man trying to pull something back that was already gone.
"He was home when I left this morning," I said.
"He was still asleep."
Reyes nodded once and reached for his radio again.
"We need to move quickly," he said.
"If he realizes what's been found, he may — "
My phone lit up in my hand.
Gary.
Again.
This time I answered before Reyes could say another word.
"Gary."
His voice was different now.
Quieter.
Controlled in a way that was worse than the panic.
"I need you to listen to me very carefully," he said.
"Do not tell those officers anything else.
Not one more word.
If you do — if you keep talking to them — I promise you, things will get much worse for Cynthia."
My blood went cold.
"What did you just say to me?"
"You heard me." A pause.
"Come home, and we can fix this.
Stay there, and you can't protect her."
The line stayed open.
He was waiting.
Reyes was watching my face.
I looked at the photos still spread across the table.
Gary shaking hands with a stranger.
Smiling.
My daughter sitting on a bed in a room with gray curtains, her hands folded in her lap, her face completely still.
"Gary," I said.
"Yes."
"She already called me."
Silence.
"Ohio State Police are on their way to Millfield right now," I said.
"It's over."
May you like
The line went d*ad for the second time that morning.
But this time, I was the one who felt something close to air.
