Chapter 6
Glass from the porch light scattered across the steps.
Aunt Rachel screamed.
Officer Morales shoved us down before I even understood what had happened.
“Stay low!”
Noah sobbed into the carpet.
I crawled over him, covering his body with mine just like I had in the living room.
Only this time, there was no belt.
This time, there might be a gun.
Aunt Rachel crawled to the hallway and pulled open the coat closet.
“Basement,” she gasped. “Now.”
Morales moved to the window, staying below the frame.
Another sound cracked through the night.
Not a gunshot.
A rock smashed the front window.
It landed on the floor wrapped in paper.
No fire.
No explosion.
Just a message.
Morales grabbed it with a towel.
I could see the words written thick in black marker.
LAST WARNING.
Under the message was Mom’s name.
ELISE WAS FIRST.
Noah made a tiny sound.
I slapped my hand over his eyes.
But he had already seen it.
Aunt Rachel’s face went white with rage.
“Take them downstairs,” Morales ordered.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“Rachel. Now.”
She grabbed Noah.
I grabbed the flash drive from the table.
Morales saw me.
“Leave it!”
“No!”
I shoved it in my pocket and ran.
The basement smelled like laundry soap and old paint.
Aunt Rachel pulled us behind stacked boxes of Christmas decorations.
Above us, footsteps crossed the kitchen.
Morales shouted into his radio.
“Officer needs assistance. Shots fired at residence. Possible suspect vehicle dark sedan, eastbound—”
Another crash.
Then silence.
The kind of silence that makes every heartbeat too loud.
Noah clung to me.
“Is Dad dead?”
“No,” I whispered.
“Is Melissa going to kill us?”
“No.”
My voice shook.
He heard it.
I hated myself for that.
Aunt Rachel held both our faces.
“Listen to me. Your mother survived things before that crash that would have broken most people. You are her children. You breathe. You stay quiet. You stay together.”
Her words were meant to make us brave.
But they made me think of Mom.
Mom in her yellow kitchen.
Mom kneeling to tie Noah’s shoes.
Mom laughing when Dad burned pancakes.
Mom driving away into rain and never coming home.
My grief changed shape in that basement.
It stopped being soft.
It became sharp.
Footsteps thundered above us.
More voices.
Police.
I heard Morales shout, “Clear!”
Aunt Rachel waited until he called down before she opened the basement door.
The living room was filled with officers.
The broken window let cold air in.
Red and blue lights washed across Mom’s old furniture.
The rock sat in an evidence bag now.
A young officer spoke to Morales.
“Neighbor saw a sedan but no plate. Security camera caught maybe two people inside.”
“Melissa?” I asked.
Morales looked at me.
“Unknown.”
“But it was her.”
“We will find out.”
I hated how careful adults were with truth.
They wrapped it in words like unknown and alleged while children bled under their roofs.
Morales’s phone rang again.
He answered.
Listened.
Then turned away.
His shoulders stiffened.
When he came back, his face looked older.
“What happened?” Aunt Rachel asked.
He looked at me.
“Daniel has been transferred to county.”
“Why?”
“The detective assigned to the older allegations requested a hold.”
“Because of Melissa’s recording?”
“Yes.”
I grabbed the table.
“What recording? Let me hear it.”
“That is evidence.”
“He is my father.”
“Ava—”
“She said he confessed about Mom. I deserve to know what she is using against him.”
Morales hesitated.
Then Aunt Rachel said, “She is right.”
He looked between us.
Finally, he opened his phone and played a short audio file someone had sent him.
Dad’s voice filled the room.
Low.
Broken.
“I did what I had to do. Elise was going to ruin everything. The car took care of it. The kids never had to know.”
Noah screamed.
I felt my knees give out.
Aunt Rachel caught me.
“That is not him,” she said immediately.
But it sounded like him.
Not just close.
It sounded exactly like my father.
Morales stopped the audio.
“It is being analyzed.”
I pressed both hands over my ears, but the words kept echoing.
The car took care of it.
The kids never had to know.
“No,” I whispered. “No.”
Morales crouched in front of me.
“Ava, listen. Daniel gave me evidence before Melissa released that audio. He knew something like this might happen.”
“How could he know?”
“Because he found drafts.”
I looked up.
“What?”
“On Melissa’s laptop. Phrases. Scripts. Audio fragments. He believed someone was generating or editing recordings.”
Aunt Rachel frowned.
“Can you prove it?”
“Not yet.”
The burner phone buzzed again.
Everyone froze.
Morales picked it up with gloves this time.
The screen showed a message.
She played the file. Good.
Then another.
Tell the girl her mother begged too.
A sound came out of me that did not feel human.
Morales’s face hardened.
“We need that phone unlocked.”
“I don’t know the code.”
Noah lifted his head.
“Try Mom’s birthday.”
We all looked at him.
“What?”
“Melissa used it sometimes. I saw. She said dead women were useful when they stopped talking.”
Aunt Rachel whispered, “God.”
Morales typed Mom’s birthday.
The phone unlocked.
A list of messages appeared.
Melissa’s name was not on them.
But one contact stood out.
R.K.
Morales opened it.
Message after message filled the screen.
Payments.
Threats.
References to Dad.
References to us.
References to Mom.
Then one image loaded.
It was a photograph of Mom’s car.
Taken from underneath.
A hand wearing a silver bracelet reached toward the brake line.
I knew that bracelet.
Melissa wore it every Sunday.
Noah whispered, “She killed Mommy.”
May you like
Officer Morales did not correct him.
Not this time.
